Chapter 149: A Thread Between Us
The rain hadn't stopped since Eva returned.
Not a downpour — no, that would have been too dramatic, too finite. This was a gentle, endless mist, the kind that seemed to hum against the glass like a lullaby sung through fog. It softened everything: the slate walkways winding through the garden, the trimmed hedges now dotted with sleepy drops, even the world beyond the estate, which blurred into brushstrokes of gray and green. The air held the kind of chill that clung to windows but couldn't quite breach the warmth inside.
Inside Seraphina's room, all was still.
Eva lay curled on the fainting couch like a cat, her cheek pressed to Seraphina's thigh. She was draped half in a cream - colored blanket far too large for her, the folds spilling to the floor like a spilled cup of milk. She'd appeared shortly after breakfast, silent as a shadow, slippered feet making no sound. Her fingers now toyed with the edge of Seraphina's linen sleeve, rubbing the seam absently between thumb and forefinger.
Seraphina had not asked questions. She had simply shifted her book aside, opened the blanket, and made room for her.
"You're quiet today," Seraphina murmured at last. Her voice was low, soft like silk unraveling. One hand drifted slowly through Eva's damp curls, still faintly scented with lavender and a touch of rosemary shampoo from this morning's shower.
Eva made a small sound — not quite a word, more an exhale dressed as a thought. "I'm scared if I move, it'll break."
"What will?" Seraphina asked, though her tone already held understanding.
"This." Eva's voice was muffled. "You. Me. This room. The way it smells."
Seraphina smiled faintly, the expression barely tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You think I'm a dream?"
"You felt like one. For weeks. Everything did."
The room held its breath. The antique clock on the mantel ticked softly, a heartbeat in a house too large for silence. Seraphina's hand stilled in Eva's hair, fingers now resting at the nape of her neck.
"Then I'll just have to weave myself more tightly into you," she said. "So you never wake up alone again."
Eva blinked up at her, eyes storm - grey and too honest for six. "How?"
Seraphina slipped her hand into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a small spool of bright red thread — its color vivid and glossy, like fresh cherry candy under the glow of the lamp.
"Hold out your hand," she said gently.
Eva did.
Seraphina unwound a single length and wrapped it slowly, reverently, around Eva's wrist. Not tight — just enough for the thread to kiss the skin. She tied it in a loose knot, the ends fluttering like a sigh.
"What is it?"
"A lifeline," Seraphina said softly. "A reminder that I'm right here. No matter how far you drift, I've got the other end."
Eva stared at her wrist as though it had become sacred. "But what if it snaps?"
Seraphina leaned down, pressing a kiss to Eva's temple, warm and solemn. "Then I'll tie it again. And again. Until you stay."
Eva pouted, then inched up until her nose brushed Seraphina's. "You promise?"
Seraphina brushed her lips against hers — just a breath of a kiss, soft as silk, too much and not enough.
"I swear it on every breath I take."
That afternoon, Vivienne's voice came floating through the corridor, sharp and honeyed.
"It's apple blossom week, darling! Do you know how rare that is? Eva, put on something pastel. Ina, you too."
Eva didn't move. She just burrowed closer into Seraphina's lap, as if the folds of her robe had become a second skin.
Seraphina's lips twitched. "Shall we humor her?"
"Only if I get to sit beside you," Eva murmured without opening her eyes.
"You always do."
And so they did — on the terrace just outside the sunroom, the sky still heavy with stormy clouds. The garden shimmered with spring rain, and pale blossoms quivered on their branches. The tea was light, gently steaming with hints of cardamom and apple. Pastries dusted with lavender sugar sat untouched on a sleek porcelain tray.
Eva barely looked at hers. Her eyes never strayed far from Seraphina, as if measuring the weight of her every movement.
Vivienne chatted breezily about a message from Evelyn — "She says P•••• is a nightmare in May, but her roses are in full diva mode" — as Seraphina nodded at all the right moments, her hand casually resting against Eva's knee beneath the café - style table.
The terrace lights flickered gently overhead, casting a warm glow as light rain speckled the glass railing. A soft jazz playlist hummed from someone's Bluetooth speaker nearby.
When a nosy little wasp made a beeline for Eva's cup of apple - cardamom tea, Seraphina didn't even blink. She just calmly trapped it with an empty glass and a coaster in one fluid move and slid it to the edge of the table like it was no big deal.
Eva blinked at the glass, then up at her. "You didn't even flinch."
Seraphina shrugged with a small smirk. "I've seen worse."
"Worse than a wasp? What, like… me after piano practice?"
Seraphina laughed under her breath. "Please. You at your worst is still adorable."
"That's cheating," Eva mumbled, pouting.
"What is?"
"You always know what I'm feeling."
Seraphina tilted her head, her eyes soft but teasing. "Should I stop?"
"No," Eva said instantly, then added, "But you don't have to be so good at it."
Seraphina leaned in just a bit. "Isn't that kind of the point?"
Eva's cheeks turned a shade pinker. "Of what?"
"Love," Seraphina said, her voice so quiet it almost melted into the rain.
Across the table, Vivienne paused mid - sip, one perfectly shaped brow lifting in slow, amused curiosity — but she didn't say a word. She just smiled behind her cup like someone watching the first scene of her favorite rom - com unfold in real life.
That evening, Eva reappeared in Seraphina's room with a different kind of offering.
Not her usual sketchbook — the oversized one filled with botanical studies and violin compositions — but a smaller, frayed leather one, worn soft with use. She pulled it from beneath the false lining of her violin case and handed it over wordlessly before crawling into Seraphina's lap.
Seraphina opened it slowly.
Inside were fragments. Glimpses. Sketches caught in motion. A hand curved mid - air. The wing of a bird in profile. A mouth half - smiling. All rendered in graphite, some hastily, others with impossible delicacy.
But the eyes.
Over and over again. Seraphina's eyes. Different angles. Different emotions. In pain, in laughter, in silence.
"You draw me," Seraphina said, her voice gentler than before.
Eva pressed her cheek against her shoulder, hiding. "I don't mean to. It just happens."
Seraphina set the sketchbook aside and looked down at her. "You're weaving me too, little one."
Eva blinked. "Weaving?"
"You're threading me into your hours. Into your pages. Every drawing, every song. We're two ends of the same thread now."
Eva sat up slightly, brow furrowed in concentration. "Does that mean… I can keep you?"
Seraphina paused — not out of doubt, but precision. Her words were chosen like lace, each one deliberate.
"Yes," she said softly. "As long as you want me."
Eva's arms tightened around her waist. "Then I'll never let go."
They'd picked up their walks again — those quiet strolls down the misty trails behind the house, earbuds forgotten in their pockets, soft scarves tugged snug around their necks, rain still clinging to their boots from the gravel paths. Eva always reached for Seraphina's hand first, no hesitation — her fingers slipping between hers like it was second nature.
Sometimes, when the trees grew thinner or they passed the old stone bridge with moss growing over the edges, Seraphina would let go.
Just for a moment.
Testing something.
Eva would stop, spin around, and blink at her, brows furrowed. "Hey."
Seraphina raised her hands innocently, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "I was testing a theory."
Eva narrowed her eyes. "What kind of theory?"
"How long it takes you to miss me."
Eva groaned and marched back toward her. "Not funny."
"It was a little funny," Seraphina murmured as she took her hand again.
"You have the worst sense of humor."
Seraphina leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Eva to hear, "You still came running."
Eva huffed. "That's because I thought you tripped or something."
"Sure," Seraphina said, grinning. "Totally wasn't because you love me."
"I don't love you," Eva said quickly, blushing, then added after a beat, "Not when you're being annoying."
Seraphina feigned a gasp. "So cruel. Abandoned and unloved."
Eva bumped her shoulder into Seraphina's. "You're not unloved."
"Oh?"
Eva mumbled, "Just… mildly tolerated."
Seraphina laughed. "Wow. I must be really special to earn such affection."
"Don't test it again," Eva muttered, tightening her grip on Seraphina's hand.
"I won't," Seraphina promised sweetly.
But she did.
And every time, Eva spun around faster. Grabbed her hand harder. Held on longer. As if that invisible thread between them had shortened bit by bit — until there was hardly any space left at all.
On the third night after returning from her trip, Eva still couldn't sleep.
It was well past midnight when she crept through the quiet halls of the Langford estate, hoodie zipped up, phone flashlight dimmed to nothing, her socks whispering against the polished floors. The house was still — the kind of hush that made even the rain outside seem polite.
Seraphina's bedroom door wasn't locked. It never was, not for her.
She slipped in without a sound.
The windows glowed faintly with moonlight through sheer curtains, and Seraphina's reading lamp was off, a paperback face - down beside her. Her breaths were slow, even. Asleep — but not deeply.
Eva didn't say a word. She padded over, lifted the covers just enough, and slipped beneath them, curling into Seraphina's side like she belonged there. Her head found its place just above her heart, like it had always known the way.
Seraphina stirred, but didn't open her eyes. "Hey."
Eva didn't answer.
"Nightmare?"
"Kinda," Eva mumbled.
Seraphina cracked one eye open, her voice still half - asleep. "Wanna tell me?"
"It was snowing," Eva whispered. "You were walking away. I kept calling, but you didn't look back."
"Did I vanish?"
Eva shook her head against her chest. "No. You turned into a hawk. You flew away."
Seraphina went quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Cool bird choice."
Eva smacked her lightly in the side. "I'm being serious."
"I am too," Seraphina murmured with a sleepy smile. "Better a hawk than a pigeon."
Eva huffed a small laugh, then whispered, "You didn't even hesitate. You just left."
Seraphina's voice was barely audible now, a little lullaby of words. "Then I hope I was flying toward you. Not away."
Eva's arms tightened around her. "Don't go anywhere, Ina. Not unless I'm with you."
"I won't," Seraphina promised. Her voice dipped into something softer — gentler than sleep. "But if I ever do, I'll leave you signs. Music. Texts. A hundred missed calls. A red thread tied to your AirPods."
Eva laughed through her nose. "You don't even have AirPods."
"Okay, fine. Around your ridiculous water bottle."
Eva reached down and gently took hold of Seraphina's wrist. The scarlet thread was still tied there — slightly frayed now, but still glowing faintly in the moonlight, like it remembered.
"I won't get lost," Eva whispered.
"Good," Seraphina murmured. "Because I'm not finished weaving."
They lay like that for a while — tangled up in each other, in silence, in promises. And outside, the fog curled around the Langford estate like it, too, was trying to find a place to sleep.
The next day, voices floated from the study — Vivienne's voice, bright and intrigued. Something about a visitor, a potential collaboration. Eva didn't pay it much mind.
She had begun composing again.
Small pieces at first. Piano trios that danced like raindrops. String duets that clung and parted like breath. Her favorite was a short melody built around a descending scale — Seraphina called it The Soft Spiral.
That afternoon, Seraphina caught her slipping a finished page into her notebook.
"You've been busy."
"I didn't want to stop again."
"Why would you?"
Eva hesitated. "Because I'm scared it'll hurt too much. To love you in the music."
Seraphina cupped her face gently. "Then let it hurt. Let it bloom. I want your love to sound like thunder and lullabies. All at once."
Eva laughed — a soft, trembling thing. A tear slipped down her cheek, unnoticed.
"I can't keep you just in pages."
"Then don't."
Seraphina kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, slow and worshipful. "Spoiled moonbeam," she whispered. "You always write me into stardust."
That night, the sky deepened into a wet navy ink, clouds low and sighing. Eva curled on the couch again, tangled in Seraphina's arms, the rain whispering its endless lullaby on the windows.
"I feel you more now," Eva whispered.
"I know."
"Are you doing something to me?"
Seraphina smiled faintly. "I'm just reminding you."
"Of what?"
"That I was always yours first."
Eva nodded, eyes slipping closed, her wrist cradled to her chest like a relic.
The red thread shimmered softly in the moonlight.
Still warm.
Still unbroken.