Aqua’s POV
The girl in the mirror looked almost like a bride.
Almost.
Not because something was missing.
Because I was still trying to believe she was me.
I sat at the vanity in one of the guest rooms of Worth manor, wearing a soft white robe that tied at my waist and fell over my knees. My dress hung from the wardrobe door a few steps away, white lace catching the morning light like seafoam. The veil lay across the foot of the bed in a careful spill of soft fabric. My bouquet rested in a crystal vase near the window, blue flowers and white blooms gathered with greenery and silver ribbon.
Everything waited.
The dress.
The veil.
The flowers.
The day.
Me.
I folded my hands in my lap and tried not to fidget.
Dipsi stood behind me with a small brush in one hand and a compact in the other, looking far too pleased with herself for someone holding tools near my face.
“Stop looking like I am about to paint war markings on you,” she said.
I looked at her through the mirror. “Are you?”
“No. It is a wedding, not a conquest.” Her eyes flicked toward the dress. “Though depending on who hears about it, perhaps both.”
“That is not comforting.”
“Comforting was not the goal.”
“What was the goal?”
“To make you beautiful enough that Steven forgets how to breathe.”
My face warmed instantly.
Dipsi smiled.
“There. Much better. A little color before I even touch the makeup.”
“Dipsi.”
“What? I am helping.”
“You are embarrassing me.”
“That is also helping. Brides are supposed to glow.”
“I do not think embarrassment is the traditional method.”
“It is efficient.”
She touched two fingers beneath my chin and tilted my face toward the light.
Her hands were gentler than her words.
That surprised me each time I noticed it.
Dipsi moved like someone who could tear open the air if she wished. She entered rooms like rules were polite suggestions written for other people. She smiled too easily, appeared without warning, and spoke as though every conversation were a game she had begun before anyone else understood the rules.
But now her fingertips were careful against my skin.
She brushed a soft shimmer across my eyelids, light enough that I barely felt it. Then she leaned closer, studying my face with the seriousness of someone inspecting a spell.
“You do not wear makeup often,” she said.
“No.”
“I could tell.”
I blinked. “Is that bad?”
“No. It means your face still knows what it looks like.”
I was not sure what to say to that.
Dipsi seemed to take my silence as permission to continue.
“Close your eyes.”
I did.
The brush moved over my eyelids, soft and light. Something cool touched the inner corners, then beneath my brow. A powdery scent drifted around me, delicate and floral. Not heavy. Not like palace oils or formal cosmetics meant to turn a princess into a painted symbol.
This felt different.
Small.
Human.
Chosen.
“Open.”
I opened my eyes.
The girl in the mirror looked back at me with my own face, only brighter. Softer around the eyes. A faint silver-blue shimmer made the blue in them seem clearer. My lips had been tinted a gentle pink, not enough to look unlike me, only enough to make me look awake in a way my nerves had not allowed.
I touched my cheek.
“You made me still look like myself.”
Dipsi’s smile softened for half a second.
“Why would I want you to look like anyone else?”
The answer was so simple that I did not know what to do with it.
I looked down at my hands.
My nails had been shaped and brushed with a soft shine earlier, pale enough to catch the light without drawing attention from the ring. The aquamarine sat on my finger, cool and bright.
Steven would already be getting ready.
The thought made my stomach twist.
Not unpleasantly.
Not entirely.
Somewhere in the manor, Steven was putting on his wedding clothes. Maybe Dylan was helping him. Maybe Fang was insulting him. Maybe Steven was nervous enough to forget how buttons worked.
The image made me smile.
Dipsi noticed.
“Thinking about the groom?”
I looked away from the mirror.
“No.”
“Terrible lie.”
“I was thinking about many things.”
“And the groom was one of them.”
I pressed my lips together.
Dipsi smiled wider.
“You are very easy to tease when you are in love.”
“I am not easy to tease.”
“You are sitting still because I have a brush near your face. That is the only reason I have not proven otherwise.”
I tried not to laugh.
The brush touched my cheek again, light as a feather.
For a few moments, the room stayed quiet.
Worth manor felt different from Steven’s house. Older. Larger. More aware of itself. The walls held the scent of polished wood and faint herbs, the curtains were thick and pale, and the mirror before me was framed in dark carved wood that looked old enough to have watched generations prepare themselves for important things.
I wondered how many brides had sat in front of mirrors like this.
How many had been afraid.
How many had been happy.
How many had been both.
Dipsi reached for another small brush.
I watched her through the mirror.
She had come early.
Not in a burst of smoke this time, though violet shimmer still curled faintly at the edges of her sleeves when she moved. She had knocked once, then entered before I answered, which she seemed to consider compromise. She had brought small cases of makeup, pins, delicate ribbons, and several boxes she had not yet explained.
She had taken charge of the room without asking.
And somehow, I had let her.
Not because I felt powerless.
Because I was grateful.
That was the part I did not fully understand.
“Dipsi?”
“Mm?”
“What do you get out of this?”
Her brush paused.
I immediately regretted the wording.
“I do not mean that rudely,” I said quickly. “I only mean… you have never done anything like this for me before.”
Dipsi looked at me in the mirror.
For once, she did not answer immediately.
Then her mouth curved.
“Must I get something?”
“Usually, powerful people do.”
“Powerful people.” Her smile sharpened. “How generous. I thought you were about to call me difficult.”
“You are difficult.”
“And powerful. I accept both.”
I looked at her reflection.
She held my gaze a moment longer, then lowered the brush and rested it against the vanity.
“I honor courage when I see it,” she said.
The room seemed to quiet around her voice.
“You were given a path. A royal one. A polished one. Everyone around you expected you to swim down it because it had already been prepared.”
Her thumb smoothed the tiniest bit of shimmer beneath my eye.
“And you left it anyway.”
My throat tightened.
“I ran.”
“Sometimes running is the first honest step.”
The words settled somewhere deep.
I looked at the dress hanging nearby.
White lace.
Human.
Impossible.
Mine.
“I thought you already did that,” I said softly.
Dipsi tilted her head. “Did what?”
“Chose your own path.” I glanced at her through the mirror. “You always seem to defy everyone.”
Her laugh was quiet.
“Oh, little sister, I follow orders all the time.”
“You do?”
“In my own order.”
“That sounds like defiance.”
“Only to people with no imagination.”
I smiled, but she did not.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Not fully.
She reached for a small comb and began separating a section of my hair with careful fingers.
“Freedom is not always as simple as leaving the room you were placed in,” she said.
There was something behind that.
Something older than the room.
Older than Worthington.
Older than the smile she wore so easily.
I wanted to ask.
I did not.
Dipsi rarely gave truths because someone pulled on them. She gave them like she gave everything else: when she decided the timing suited her.
So I sat still and let her comb through my hair.
It felt strange, letting someone do this for me.
In Atlantis, attendants would have prepared me if I had stayed long enough to marry the man chosen for me. They would have brushed my hair, arranged my clothing, set jewels near my face, and made sure I looked like the kind of princess Atlantis could present without shame.
But they would have done it because that was their duty.
Dipsi was doing this because she wanted to.
That difference made my chest feel full.
“Thank you,” I said.
Her fingers paused in my hair.
“For coming,” I added. “For helping me. For all of this.”
Dipsi’s eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Do not get sentimental.”
“I am getting married. I think sentiment is expected.”
“Then aim it at Steven. He looks like he will appreciate it more.”
I smiled.
“You do not like being thanked?”
“I do not like people making me look kind. It ruins my reputation.”
She went back to fixing my hair, smoothing one section until it lay exactly where she wanted it.
Dipsi did not say she cared.
She simply made sure everything about me looked cared for.
The silence between us softened.
Then Dipsi snapped a small compact closed.
“Now,” she said, her voice bright again, “we need old, new, borrowed, and blue.”
I blinked. “We need what?”
“Human bridal tradition. Charming. Slightly ridiculous. Therefore useful.”
“I do not know that one.”
“How tragic. Steven failed to educate you.”
“Steven probably does not know it either.”
“That is why I came.” Dipsi turned toward the vanity and began arranging small boxes in front of us. “Something old. Something new. Something borrowed. Something blue. Brides collect them before the wedding. Supposedly for luck.”
“Is it required?”
“No.” Her smile glimmered. “Which is why I like it.”
I looked at the items she had arranged.
A small velvet box.
A ribbon.
Another larger box still closed near the edge of the vanity.
Dipsi tapped the robe near my shoulder.
“Something new is simple. The dress.”
I looked toward it.
The white lace glowed softly in the light.
“The dress,” I repeated.
“Very new. Very human. Very symbolic.” Her gaze flicked toward me. “Try not to become overwhelmed. We still need you standing.”
“I am trying.”
“Continue.”
She opened the small velvet box.
Inside lay pearl earrings.
Simple.
Elegant.
Softly luminous.
The pearls were not large, but there was something graceful about them, something quiet and old. The kind of beauty that did not need to announce itself.
“Something old,” Dipsi said. “Lina’s pearl earrings. Fredrick said she offered them when she heard you had nothing old to wear.”
I stared at them.
“Lina offered these?”
“Yes.”
“She has never even met me properly.”
“Worth women are strange that way. Quietly generous. Annoyingly tasteful.”
I touched the edge of the box, not the pearls themselves.
“That was kind of her.”
“It was.” Dipsi made a face as if kindness inconvenienced her. “Do not make me tell her that. She will look pleased.”
I smiled.
Dipsi lifted one earring.
“Hold still.”
She fastened them carefully, one at a time.
The pearls brushed lightly against my neck.
Something old.
Not from Atlantis.
Not from the palace.
Not from the life that had been prepared for me.
From Worthington.
From a woman I barely knew, but who had offered something of hers because I had nothing of my own to bring.
The earrings felt delicate.
They also felt like welcome.
Dipsi studied me in the mirror.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Do not fish for compliments. You look beautiful.”
My face warmed.
“I was not fishing.”
“You were standing near water emotionally.”
I laughed.
Dipsi looked pleased.
Then she moved to the dress.
“Now, before Steven expires from waiting, let us put you into the actual reason everyone will forget how to speak.”
My stomach flipped.
“The dress.”
“The dress,” she agreed.
I stood carefully.
The robe slipped soft against my legs as I crossed the room.
Dipsi lifted the dress from where it hung on the wardrobe door. For once, she did not make a joke as she handled it.
The white lace fell over her arms like foam over dark stone.
I touched the fabric.
It was real.
I had looked at human wedding dresses in old catalogs when I was younger. I used to keep them hidden in my room in Atlantis, tucked between books no one else cared about. The dresses had seemed impossible then.
White skirts.
Lace.
Little buttons.
Beaded straps.
Dresses meant for walking down aisles instead of swimming through palace water.
I had never known if I wanted one because it was human, or because no one in Atlantis expected me to have it.
Maybe both.
Now one waited in Dipsi’s hands.
For me.
“Breathe,” Dipsi said.
“I am breathing.”
“Again, barely.”
She helped me step into the dress.
The fabric slid up my body, cool at first, then warm where it settled against my skin. Dipsi adjusted the skirt, guided my arms, and fastened the back with far more patience than I expected from her. The bodice held me securely without trapping me. The neckline was soft, a gentle V that felt pretty without making me feel exposed. Thin beaded straps rested over my shoulders, catching the light every time I moved.
The skirt fit through my waist and hips before loosening lower, opening with a soft flare that made the dress feel graceful instead of restrictive.
A fit-and-flare shape.
Something with the elegance of a mermaid gown, but softer.
Fitted enough to feel like a bride.
Loose enough that I could move.
When I turned toward the mirror, the girl looking back at me no longer looked almost like a bride.
She looked like one.
My breath caught.
White lace.
Pearls.
Soft shimmer near my eyes.
Beaded straps.
A skirt that opened lower, not too sharply, more like water widening after it passed over stone.
For a moment, I did not move.
I was afraid that if I did, the image would vanish and leave only the girl who had once hidden catalogs beneath her bed in Atlantis.
Dipsi came to stand behind me.
Her expression was softer than usual.
Then she ruined it immediately.
“Well,” she said, “Steven is doomed.”
I laughed, but it came out unsteady.
Dipsi noticed.
She did not tease me for that.
Instead, she lifted her hand and gently adjusted one of the straps.
“You look like yourself,” she said.
My throat tightened.
“In a wedding dress?”
“In your wedding dress.”
The difference mattered.
I nodded, because I did not trust my voice.
Dipsi stepped back and looked over my dress with a critical tilt of her head.
“Now for something borrowed,” she said.
“Borrowed from whom?”
“Me, naturally.”
I should have expected that.
She lifted one hand in front of her.
Violet smoke curled from her fingers, soft and bright, spilling through the air in a thin ribbon. With one graceful wave, the smoke drifted over my dress and sank into the lace.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the fabric caught the light.
Silver.
Blue.
The faintest hint of violet.
Not loud.
Not too much.
Only a delicate shimmer along the lace and lower skirt, like moonlight sliding over water. When I shifted, the dress glowed for one breath and then softened again.
“It is beautiful,” I whispered.
“Yes,” Dipsi said, pleased. “I know.”
“How long will it last?”
“Until morning.”
“Only until morning?”
“Borrowed things should know when to leave.”
I looked at the shimmer again.
Something borrowed.
Dipsi’s magic.
Dipsi’s mark, but temporary.
A gift that did not try to keep me.
That felt right.
The bouquet waited near the window.
Dipsi lifted it from the vase and brought it to me.
Blue lake irises, white roses, small bluebell vines, greenery, and silver ribbon. A few delicate blooms I did not know the name of tucked between the larger flowers, pale and soft.
“Something blue,” she said. “Your bouquet is blue enough to satisfy the tradition and possibly blind a sentimental florist.”
I took it carefully.
The stems felt cool against my palm.
The blue flowers matched the aquamarine on my finger.
The ring flashed as I adjusted my grip.
Dipsi’s gaze dropped to it.
“Still like the ring?”
I looked at it.
“Yes.”
“Good. It suits you.”
“Steven chose it.”
“That is why I am impressed.”
I smiled.
“He did well.”
“He did.” Dipsi’s smile turned sly. “Do not tell him I said that.”
“I might.”
“Then I shall deny it beautifully.”
I held the bouquet against my dress and looked in the mirror again.
Something new.
Something old.
Something borrowed.
Something blue.
The pieces should have felt random.
Instead, they felt like small hands gently pushing me toward the door.
The dress I had chosen.
Lina’s earrings.
Dipsi’s shimmer.
The blue bouquet.
My ring.
The day.
Dipsi set the bouquet back in the vase for a moment.
“We are not finished.”
I looked at her through the mirror.
“What else?”
For the first time that morning, Dipsi looked almost careful.
Not uncertain.
Dipsi never looked uncertain.
But careful.
She reached for the larger box on the vanity.
It was longer than the box holding Lina’s earrings, covered in dark blue velvet that looked old enough to remember hands I had never seen. Silver fastenings curved around the front like waves.
My pulse slowed.
“What is that?”
Dipsi did not answer immediately.
She opened the box.
A tiara rested inside.
Silver, bright and old, with aquamarine stones set along the front like captured sea-light. It was not small, but it was not heavy either. The points rose in graceful curves, more like waves than spikes, delicate enough to be beautiful and strong enough to feel important.
I stared at it.
The room seemed to fall away.
“Dipsi…”
“Father wanted you to have this,” she said.
My breath caught.
“He did?”
“Yes.” Her voice stayed plain, but not careless. “He said it was meant for you when you were grown enough to choose your own path.”
Her mouth curved faintly.
“He wanted that for you. For all his children, I think. But this one was yours.”
I looked at the tiara.
Not a crown.
Not exactly.
It did not feel like Atlantis’s claim.
It did not feel like a kingdom setting something on my head and calling it duty.
It felt older than that.
Quieter.
As if it had been waiting somewhere beyond the reach of palace expectations.
I wanted to ask more.
How long had Father kept this?
How long had he planned to give it to me?
Had he looked at it and thought of the day I might be grown enough to choose a path of my own?
But the tiara waited in the box.
The wedding waited outside.
And Dipsi, for once, looked as if the questions could wait too.
She reached for the veil.
“Veil first,” she said.
I stood very still.
Dipsi lifted the veil from the bed, the fabric light and soft between her hands. She moved behind me and began arranging it in my hair with careful pins, anchoring it so it fell behind my shoulders like mist.
For once, she did not joke.
The silence made the moment feel heavier.
Then she lifted the tiara from the box.
The aquamarines caught the light.
Dipsi set it carefully over the veil, securing it in place.
The weight was slight.
Barely there.
But I felt it.
Not as duty.
Not as command.
As blessing, maybe.
Or memory.
Dipsi stepped back.
I looked in the mirror.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
The dress shimmered faintly with borrowed Aetheris light. Lina’s pearls rested against my neck. The veil fell soft behind me. The tiara rose from my hair in silver curves and aquamarine light.
I looked human.
I looked royal.
I looked like neither Atlantis nor Worthington had made me alone.
I looked like all the pieces of my life had met in one room and decided, for once, not to fight over me.
Dipsi watched my face.
“Well?” she asked.
I swallowed.
“I do not know what to say.”
“That is rare for a bride before a wedding, I imagine.”
“I thought brides were supposed to cry.”
“They are. But I have just finished your makeup, so choose another tradition.”
A laugh slipped out of me, small, shaky, and soft.
Dipsi’s expression warmed.
Then she turned away too quickly, as if she regretted letting me see it.
“Pick up the bouquet,” she said. “Before I become sentimental and ruin everything.”
I obeyed.
The bouquet fit in my hands as if it had been waiting for them.
My fingers brushed the silver ribbon.
The aquamarine ring caught the blue flowers.
I looked at myself one more time.
In Atlantis, I would have been prepared for a ceremony arranged around a future I had not chosen.
Here, I stood in a human wedding dress I had wanted, wearing borrowed magic from Dipsi, old pearls from Lina, and a tiara Father had saved for the day I chose my own path.
I did not feel arranged.
I felt gathered.
A soft knock came at the door.
My heart jumped.
Dipsi smiled.
“Try not to look so alarmed. I doubt Steven has escaped.”
“That was not my concern.”
“It should not be. He is far too in love to run properly.”
“Dipsi.”
She crossed the room and opened the door.
Henry stood in the hall, posture straight, expression calm and kind.
“Miss Aqua,” he said with a small bow. “Miss Dipsi.”
Dipsi leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.
“Miss Dipsi makes me sound like a schoolteacher with secrets.”
Henry did not blink.
“My apologies, Miss Dipsi.”
Her eyes narrowed.
I pressed my lips together to hide a smile.
Henry turned his attention back to me.
“Lord Fredrick sends word that the ceremony is ready. Sir Steven is waiting.”
Sir Steven.
Waiting.
The words went straight through me.
Steven was already there.
At the hilltop.
In front of Fredrick, Dylan, and Fang.
Waiting for me.
My hands tightened around the bouquet.
Dipsi looked over her shoulder at me.
Her teasing faded just enough.
“Ready, little sister?”
I looked at the mirror one last time.
I was not Atlantis’s offering.
I was not a treaty.
I was not a princess being placed beside a man chosen for me.
I was a bride.
Steven’s bride.
Because I wanted to be.
I lifted my chin.
“Yes,” I said. “I am ready.”
Dipsi smiled.
This time, she did not hide the softness quickly enough.
“Then let us not keep your groom waiting long enough to combust.”
Henry stepped aside.
Dipsi turned back to me and gave a small, theatrical sweep of her hand.
“After you.”
I stepped into the hall first.
The skirt whispered around my legs, and the veil shifted softly behind me. Dipsi followed close enough to gather the edge of the train and veil before either could brush the floor.
“Careful,” she said. “I did not spend all morning making you look like a vision just so Worthington’s hallway could claim part of your dress.”
I glanced back at her.
“You sound very serious about this.”
“I am serious about beauty when it has behaved well enough to deserve protection.”
That almost made me smile.
The path from the manor curved through the side garden, where the afternoon light fell in soft pieces between the trees. Somewhere ahead, hidden by hedges and the slope of the hill, the ceremony waited.
Each step made the bouquet tremble slightly in my hands.
Dipsi noticed.
Dipsi noticed everything.
“Last chance to panic,” she said behind me, adjusting the fall of my veil like she had been born criticizing fabric.
I looked back at her. “That is your comfort?”
“Comfort is overrated. Clarity is useful.”
I slowed.
Dipsi slowed with me, still holding the train and veil with unexpected care.
The side garden was quiet around us. Blue flowers lined the path in small clusters, and the silver ribbon around my bouquet brushed against my fingers with every breath.
Dipsi’s brown eyes moved over my face.
“You are young, little sister,” she said. “Both of you. Steven is powerful, unstable in charmingly disastrous ways, and still learning how not to set the world on fire when his feelings become inconvenient.”
I looked down at the flowers.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question was sharper than the first.
Not cruel.
Careful.
Dipsi was not trying to talk me out of walking forward.
She was making sure I knew why I was walking.
I lifted my gaze back to hers.
“Yes.”
For once, she said nothing.
So I kept going.
“Steven is still growing,” I said. “So am I.”
Dipsi’s hands stilled around the veil.
“But I do not want a man who pretends he is already finished becoming someone. I had enough of that in Atlantis.”
My throat tightened, but my voice stayed steady.
“Steven struggles. He doubts himself. He makes mistakes. But he listens. He comes back. He tries again.”
The breeze moved softly through the trees.
I looked past Dipsi, toward the path that led to the hilltop.
Toward Steven.
“I am not marrying him because everything is settled,” I said. “I am marrying him because I want to build the unsettled parts with him.”
Dipsi’s expression shifted.
Only a little.
But I saw it.
Something proud.
Something sad.
Something she hid almost as soon as it arrived.
“That sounds dangerously mature,” she said.
“Is that approval?”
“Do not become greedy.”
A laugh slipped out of me, small, shaky, and soft.
We reached the place where the garden path opened toward the hilltop aisle.
Dipsi moved behind me and lowered the train carefully, spreading the lace so it fell cleanly behind my dress. Then she adjusted the veil one last time, arranging it over my shoulders so it would catch the light when I walked.
Maybe she only needed something to do with her hands.
When she stepped back, her smile returned, bright and sharp enough to hide whatever softness had nearly escaped.
“This is where I go first.”
My fingers tightened around the bouquet.
“You are leaving me?”
“Only by several dramatic steps.” Her brown eyes met mine. “I will be waiting up there.”
I looked toward the hilltop.
Blue flowers.
Tideglass light.
A white aisle beneath the trees.
Somewhere beyond the slope, Steven waited.
Dipsi touched the edge of my veil once more.
“My final advice,” she said, “is to remember that you are walking because you want to.”
The words settled over me more carefully than the veil.
I nodded.
“I will.”
Dipsi smiled.
“Good.”
She turned toward the path, violet silk whispering around her as she stepped ahead of me.
Then she paused, looking back over one shoulder.
“And Aqua?”
“Yes?”
“Let us marry your beautifully unstable Salvatore before he convinces himself the grass is judging him.”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Dipsi walked ahead.
Not carrying me.
Not giving me away.
Only going before me, as my witness, to stand in the place she had chosen.
I waited beneath the trees, bouquet in both hands, feeling the silver ribbon brush against my fingers with each breath.
Ahead, the hilltop came into view.
Fredrick beneath the arch.
Dylan standing calm and straight.
Fang watching from his chair like he had been appointed judge of the world.
Dipsi stepping into place with a smile that dared anyone to question her belonging there.
And Steven.
Steven was waiting.
I took one breath.
Then another.
And when I stepped forward, I walked alone.
Not because no one stood with me.
Because everyone who mattered already had.
I walked toward Steven because I wanted to.
And this time, my hands were steady around the bouquet.