Selene's POV
When they say dreams take shape slowly, they don't talk about the moment it all suddenly becomes real.
That moment came wrapped in sunlight, laughter, and an email from Vogue Austria.
I was sitting by the tall window of our shared suite in Vienna, watching Mira and Amara twirl and hum in perfect harmony—still flushed from their performance at the Royal Conservatory—when Ayra burst in, her hands trembling with her phone clutched tight.
"Selene," she whispered, almost breathless, "you won't believe this."
I turned, sensing it before she even said it.
"They saw it," she said, eyes shining. "Vogue. They saw the dress—the one you sketched from my idea. They want us. Both of us."
Time froze.
"You mean…" I stammered, standing up slowly, "the starlight gown? The one we stayed up until 2 a.m. over coffee and color swatches for? Your vision—my lines—your hands…"
Ayra nodded, laughing now, overwhelmed. "They called it 'a symphony in silk'. They want to feature it in their next season. You as the model. Me as the designer. It's happening, Selene. This is it."
I nearly dropped the mug in my hand.
That gown… it had started as a flurry of passion in Ayra's voice one night: a story she told me with her eyes and gestures—how she wanted a dress that felt like dusk and first stars, like a wish caught mid-fall. I just put it on paper—my pencil guided by her dream. She brought it to life, with her needle, her vision, her craft.
"I just wanted the world to see what I see," she said, quieter now. "You walking in something that was… us."
Tears clung to my lashes. "And now they will."
Later that evening, as we celebrated with warm pastries and fruit teas, Mira played a melody on the piano and Amara danced in the background. Eliot twirled Ayra in a spin, whispering how proud he was.
Antonio sat beside me, arm around my shoulder. "You've always belonged in the spotlight," he whispered. "But this… this is a spotlight you built—with someone who believed in you. That's the kind that lasts."
I leaned into him, heart full. Because this wasn't just a fashion breakthrough.
This was sisterhood sewn into silk. A bond turned into beauty.
We weren't just going to Vogue.
We were walking into our own future—stitched, sketched, and imagined by us.
The day
The moment we arrived at the Vogue venue, my heart was pounding louder than the heels clicking on the marble floor. The building itself was a masterpiece—sleek glass walls reflecting the soft glow of Parisian streetlights, the hum of excitement buzzing like electricity in the air. Every corner whispered glamor and stories waiting to unfold.
I clutched Ayra's hand tightly as we stepped inside, her fingers warm and steady—an anchor in the whirlwind. This was her moment as much as mine. The dress I had sketched, born from her vision, now shimmered on me like a second skin, delicate yet powerful.
Backstage, the chaos was beautiful in its own way—stylists fussing over hair and makeup, models practicing their walks, photographers setting up flashes. The air smelled of hairspray, perfume, and a hint of nerves.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—my hazel eyes bright but shadowed with a flicker of doubt. "You've got this," Ayra whispered, her smile a silent vow of confidence.
When the makeup artist brushed the last strokes of deep rose on my lips, I felt the transformation. I wasn't just Selene Adele Laurent, a girl who loved to sketch—I was a story coming alive under the Vogue spotlight.
The photo shoot started first. The flashes felt like thunderclaps as the camera captured every tilt of my chin, every curve of the dress, every flicker of emotion. Antonio was there, watching from the sidelines, his steady gaze a silent promise that I wasn't alone.
Then came the ramp walk. Standing at the edge of the stage, the bright lights suddenly felt overwhelming, the crowd's murmur a distant wave against my focused heartbeat. But as the music started, slow and commanding, I stepped forward.
Each step was a declaration—of my dreams, of Ayra's talent, of the journey we had walked together. The applause swelled as I reached the end, a brief moment of pure magic before turning to walk back, the dress flowing like a river of light behind me.
Backstage again, Ayra rushed to hug me, tears glistening. "You were perfect."
Antonio pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "My firefly, shining brighter than ever."