Chapter 2 - The Gold Satin Moth
Julian froze. His heart gave a hard, violent thump against his ribs.
Around them, the conversation of nearby guests faltered. A wealthy donor from the hospital board paused with a forkful of caterer’s duck midway to his mouth. A socialite lowered her silk fan. All eyes pivoted slowly toward the boy in the black wheelchair and the little girl in gold.
Julian looked at her extended hand. Her skin was pale, unmarked, her nails clipped into tiny, clean crescents. But there was something wrong with her stance. She didn't sway; she didn't look shy; her amber eyes were fixed on his face with a clinical, unblinking intensity that belonged to an adult surgeon examining a surgical tray.
"I can't dance," Julian said, his raspy whisper cutting through the quiet. "I can't walk."
The little girl did not pull her hand back. Her smile didn't fade; it remained perfectly fixed, as if drawn onto her skin with a fine-tipped brush.
"I didn't ask if you could walk," she replied smoothly, her voice carrying an uncanny composure. "I asked if you will dance with me."
Before Julian could answer, a hand descended onto his shoulder. Victoria moved forward, her silver dress rustling loudly in the quiet garden. Her face had shifted—the serene mask of the grieving matriarch replaced by a sudden, sharp edge of panic that flickered across her eyes before she smoothed it down into protective concern.
"Sweetheart, please," Victoria said, stepping between the girl and the wheelchair, though she kept her body turned angled toward the onlookers. Her hand squeezed Julian’s shoulder, her fingernails pressing through the silk jacket into his collarbone. "He can't. My son hasn't been able to stand for a very long time. Please don't pressure him. It's... it's very painful for him."
The crowd murmured sympathetically. Poor Victoria, a woman whispered three feet away. She shields him from everything. Such a devoted mother.
The blonde girl did not back away. She looked up at Victoria, her golden curls catching the light, her expression entirely unreadable.
"I'm not asking him to walk, Mrs. Vance," the girl said, her tone utterly calm, almost disrespectful in its lack of deference. "I just want him to try."
"That is quite enough," Victoria said, her voice dropping an octave into a cold, hard register that few outside the family ever heard. She took a half-step forward, using her tall frame to block the girl entirely. "His nerves are severed. His muscles are atrophied. Do not make a spectacle of my child's suffering at his father's memorial gala."
"Let her speak, Mom."
The words were tiny, but they hit the humid night air like iron rivets.
Victoria turned her head slowly, looking down at Julian. Her eyes widened slightly, a flash of genuine shock breaking through her composure. "Julian, darling, no. You know what happens when you distress yourself—"
"Let her speak," Julian repeated, louder this time.
May you like
The blonde girl stepped around Victoria’s shimmering silver skirt. She didn't look at the mother. She stepped right back into Julian’s personal space, reaching out once more until her cool, slender fingers actually brushed against the back of Julian’s knuckles.
"Your mother is wrong, Julian," the girl whispered. Her amber eyes held his with a terrifying, magnetic weight. "Your nerves aren't dead. You're just listening to the wrong voice."
