The mansion stood like a silent monarch at the heart of the city- a city of glory, of wealth, of wonders born from both science and secrets. Its tall iron gates framed gardens that seemed to breathe with their own life; roses glimmered like spilled rubies in the morning light, and marble fountains whispered tunes no ear could truly name.
Inside, the sunlight crept through tall windows and settled upon a beautiful room- pale walls, velvet curtains, and a bed wrapped in sheets as soft as mist. Beneath those sheets, a girl slept peacefully, her dark hair spilling across the pillow like spilled ink.
The alarm on her bedside table began to ring. The sound was sharp, impatient- like a clock reminding her of time she did not wish to face. Still half-asleep, the girl reached out, silenced it with a single tap, and remained still for a moment before finally sitting up.
She stretched, yawned softly, and blinked against the golden light. Before she could fully wake up, a knock came at her door.
"Miss Miralen, wake up! It's time for school!" Called a gentle but disciplined voice- her maid.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm up," Miralen replied, voice muffled by sleep.
"Your uniform is on the dressing table, miss. Please come downstairs for breakfast once you're ready."
"Okay," Miralen muttered, waiting until the footsteps faded away.
Silence returned. She exhaled a quiet sigh. "Another day to pass..." she whispered, eyes half-lidded with an emotion between weariness and restraint- as if she carried questions even morning could not chase away.
---
After a bath and careful dressing, Miralen stood before the mirror. Her reflection wore a coat of royal green stitched with golden embroidery, the fabric gleaming softly in the light. A uniform too regal for a mere schoolgirl. Her black shoes clicked faintly on the marble floor as she made her way downstairs.
The staircase wound in graceful arcs, lined with portraits of ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow her with eternal patience. At the bottom of the hallway awaited- vast, immaculate, and dazzlingly bright beneath a chandelier that rained gold upon the polished table below.
Her father was already there. Valerian Evander- owner of two great companies, man of reason and repute, his name whispered in the city with both admiration and envy. He looked up as Miralen entered, his stern face softening for a moment.
"Good morning, sleepy sloth," he said with a faint smirk.
"Dad! How many times must I tell you not to call me that?" Miralen's pout made her look even younger, but her eyes- her eyes were sharp, aware.
He chuckled. "It's not my fault you keep falling asleep everywhere- even in school. Someone has to remind you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she grumbled, rolling her eyes.
The air between them was warm, yet beneath the warmth, there lingered something unspoken- a thin veil of distance neither of them acknowledged aloud.
---
After breakfast, her car awaited outside a black Rolls-Royce, as silent and smooth as a shadow carved from the night itself. Its obsidian body caught the dying rays of sun like gold threads across silk. Even in the heart of the busy street, it commanded stillness.
Inside, Miralen sat quietly, her reflection faint in the tinted glass. The city blurred by in fragments - light, movement, voices - all merging into one long, quiet hum.
---
At school, laughter filled the corridors like waves on a restless sea. Miralen's friend, Elysia, burst into the classroom with her usual energy.
"Hi, bestie!" she nearly shouted.
"Elysia, please - my ears," Miralen sighed, but smiled nonetheless.
Their conversation carried the easy rhythm of old friendship: teasing, laughing, trading jokes that echoed through the room. Yet even in laughter, Miralen's gaze occasionally wandered to the window - to the open sky beyond, to something far away that her words never touched.
---
When the day ended and Miralen returned home, twilight had begun to settle a soft gold fading into quiet blue. She went straight to her room, threw her bag aside, and sank into her bed, the silence almost comforting.
A gentle knock came after some time. The door opened, and Valerian stepped in, something hidden behind his back. His usual sharpness had softened; he looked almost uncertain.
"Miralen," he said softly, "I've brought something for you."
She sat up, curious. "What is it?"
He handed her a maroon box, small and elegant, threads of gold weaving across its surface like rivers of light. Miralen opened it and gasped.
Inside lay a golden hairpin. It shimmered as though it carried sunlight trapped within metal. Its end bore a delicate clock design, encircled by jasmine blossoms crafted from gold, their petals seeming almost real.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted it. "It's beautiful..."
Valerian smiled faintly. "I thought you'd like it."
Without warning, she hugged him tightly. Valerian stiffened, then slowly returned the gesture.
"Thank you so much, Dad."
"You're welcome, dear." He paused. "Shall I put it on for you?"
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
He nodded. "Of course."
She sat before the mirror, her dark hair falling like a waterfall down her back. Valerian brushed it gently, his reflection standing beside hers a picture of warmth that somehow carried an undertone of melancholy. As he fixed the hairpin in place, the clock's tiny hands gleamed faintly as though they were moving.
"You look just like your mother," he said quietly.
Miralen blinked. "Really?"
"Yes. Just like her... though less mature, and a bit clumsy." He smiled, patting her head.
She giggled softly. "Hehe... but, Dad... where is Mom?"
The air froze.
Valerian's hand stopped mid-motion. His reflection in the mirror stiffened, his eyes shadowed by something unreadable.
"Your mother... she's in another country," he said at last, his tone carefully neutral.
Miralen's smile faded. "No, she's not. That excuse doesn't work anymore, Dad. If she was abroad, she would've called me- once, at least. But she never did." Her eyes locked onto his in the mirror. "Tell me the truth. I'm old enough to catch lies now."
Valerian's breath caught. For the first time, something like fear flickered behind his eyes.
"Miralen, she's actually-"
"No, she's not!" she interrupted sharply, standing up. "Tell me the truth, Dad. What happened? Why have I never seen her? Did she leave you? You left her? Or..." she hesitated, voice trembling, "is she dead?"
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Valerian said nothing. The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
And somewhere, deep within the golden clock on her new hairpin - the tiny hands shifted, ever so slightly backward.
(The end of chapter 1)