Chapter 4: Lovely Eyes

Sabine washed Ayoka’s hair with rosewater and braided it tight, her fingers both precise and

oddly tender. The scent of the rosewater lingered in the air, blending with the faint earthy

perfume of the old house. Ayoka’s hair, vibrant and naturally teal, shimmered under the

candlelight, casting iridescent reflections on the walls. Sabine paused at one point, eyes wide

with curiosity. “That color... are you descended from one of them? The demi-gods? Erzulie’s

line, maybe?” Ayoka gave a small shrug, her voice even. “I don’t know. Never got the chance

to find out.”

Sabine hummed softly, brushing through another section. The gown laid out for her today was

nothing simple—an ornate piece of Russian-inspired royal wear, heavy with detail. Its high

collar and velvet cuffs glittered with dark jewels that caught the candlelight like drops of ink.

Embroidered deep into the bodice and hem were swirling, smoke-like patterns that revealed

themselves only in angled light—shadow dragons, winding and watching.

The dress shimmered faintly, matching the teal undertones of Ayoka’s hair in a way that felt

both deliberate and prophetic. Sabine’s eyes lingered on the way the shadows played along

the fabric. Ayoka saw it too. It struck a strange contrast—sacred and staged. Like something

meant for a coronation in the underworld. This wasn’t worship. It was dressing for a role

someone else had already written for her. This wasn’t love—it was costuming, sharp and

beautiful and threaded with control.

Sabine couldn’t stand the quiet. She filled it with soft murmurs as she worked, her voice

smoothing over the tension in the air. Ayoka tried her best to nod, to listen, knowing this was

more than dressing up—this was a lesson.

“You know the rules,” Sabine said, her fingers quick and steady in Ayoka’s hair.

“Don’t stare too long.”

“Don’t smile unless he does first.”

“Don’t mention the baby unless asked.”

Each line came gently, like advice from an older sister, but Ayoka heard the warning in them.

This was her new duty, her new role. Sabine’s hands were rough from work, but her guidance

was exact. While tightening Ayoka’s bodice, she muttered, “If you want to know when

supper’s coming, listen for the dogs. Or rather—those chimera mutts he keeps out back.”

Ayoka groaned. “The ones with lion tails and smoke breath? Gods, they howl like they’re

singing to the dead.”

Sabine snorted. “Better than some of the workhouses I’ve been in. At least these ones ain’t

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biting children.”

Ayoka arched a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You been bitten by one?”

“Worse,” Sabine replied, grinning. “Ate one. Not here—last estate. Stewed it. Tasted like

regret and pepper.”

Ayoka’s laugh escaped before she could stop it. It was sharp and sudden, cutting through the

stillness. “You’re lying.”

Sabine gave a shrug, playful. “Might be.” Then came the wink. “But I’m a free woman now. I

get to lie when I want.”

The words landed softly but carried weight. Ayoka blinked. She hadn’t known that. Something

in the way Sabine moved had always hinted at restraint, at invisible lines she couldn’t cross.

But free? That rewrote everything she thought she understood—not just about Sabine, but

about the house, the rules, and maybe even herself.

Ayoka began to respect her. Sabine carried herself like the elder women back

home—dignified, sharp-eyed, always watching. Benoît, in contrast, was clumsy with his

secrets. He stared too long, flinched too fast. One afternoon, Ayoka caught him returning

with a scrap of folded paper. Sabine said nothing, only washed her hands three times within

the hour

That was the game.

Pretend you don’t know what you’re part of. Pretend you don’t see what you’re doing. Ayoka

cleaned rooms that were already clean, folded unused sheets, dusted untouched books. It was

a performance. Every act proved her worth, her obedience, her silence. Sabine made sure she

played it right.

“Keep the baby out of sight unless he asks,” Sabine had whispered once while setting down a

polished bowl, her tone matter-of-fact, as though she were instructing someone on how to

fold towels. “He loves children, truly. But he doesn’t like them around when folks are playing

roles for him. It’s like breaking the illusion.”

She straightened the linens as she spoke, eyes never lifting. “He keeps them safe, lets them

be soft and unafraid. Until they turn thirteen. Then they start to work—just like the rest of

us.”

Ayoka said nothing, but the words etched themselves deep. Another rule in the theater of

Barinov House. Another line she couldn’t cross.

Ayoka had nodded, saying nothing. She was starting to understand the rhythm of this house,

the rituals it demanded.

Viktor visited rarely. When he did, he looked at her, not the baby. Malik stayed hidden behind

velvet curtains and softer lies. She nursed him herself. Sabine never held him—not out of

coldness, but because she was rarely alone. Always being sent, watched, redirected. Someone

always had eyes on her, too.

Still, Malik was Ayoka’s. And in this house of masks and shadows, love was the one thing she

refused to share.