Daniella Seraphina Arison pressed her palms against the cold marble walls of the Arison estate, willing herself not to turn back. She had only been home for a single day, and already the suffocating weight of her family’s favoritism pressed against her chest like a vice. Laughter drifted from the grand hall, soft music spilling into the corridors where golden chandeliers cast dazzling light. It was her sister’s laughter that rang the loudest, of course.

Always her sister.

Lila Rose Arison, the jewel of the duke’s household, glided through the world as though it had been sculpted for her alone. Beloved by the nobility, praised by tutors, adored by servants—her presence filled every room until Daniella’s own existence seemed to shrink into nothingness.

Daniella drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders and slipped into the one place that still belonged to her. The library.

The moment the heavy doors shut behind her, muffling the sounds of the party, she exhaled. The scent of parchment and ink wrapped around her like an old friend. Endless shelves of tomes loomed above her, filled with spells and theories, histories of forgotten kings, grimoires brimming with half-buried secrets. Here, in these shadows, she had carved out a piece of herself—one her sister had never managed to steal.

She climbed the familiar spiral stair to the second floor, where the light dimmed and dust collected undisturbed. She traced her finger along the spines of worn books, whispering the titles under her breath. Arcane Principles of Illusory Constructs. The Four Founders of the Imperial Academy. Blood Runes and the Binding of Spirits.

Her chest eased as she opened a volume and began to read. Hours slipped away unnoticed.

Until voices shattered the silence.

Daniella froze. The library was supposed to be deserted during the festivities. She pressed the book shut and ducked between shelves, heart pounding.

“…you needn’t worry, Mother,” Lila’s voice carried, sweet and melodic as always, though beneath the practiced gentleness lay steel. “I’ll make certain Daniella disgraces herself before the academy board. Once she’s expelled, she’ll be nothing more than a shadow in our house—easily cast aside.”

The duchess’s voice followed, clipped and cold. “See that you do. Your father is preparing the final arrangements for your betrothal to the crown prince. We cannot afford any embarrassment—not from your sister.”

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Daniella pressed herself against the shelf, the rough wood biting into her palms. Her sister… her mother… plotting against her, as though she were nothing more than an obstacle to be erased.

Her throat burned. How many times had she endured their neglect? How many years had she smiled through the sting of indifference, pretending that her efforts mattered? She had studied, struggled, clawed for even a fragment of recognition, and yet here was the truth: she had never been a daughter to them, only a liability.

The weight inside her chest shifted—shattered.

Fine. If that was the role they had written for her, she would not resist it. Let them call her disgrace, failure, villain. Let them cast her into shadow. She would take that darkness into herself and sharpen it until it cut them all.

Slowly, Daniella straightened from her hiding place. The whispers of the library seemed to stir around her, the air charged with a faint hum of magic. Her reflection in the tall window caught her eye—her dark hair falling across her face, her gaze no longer meek but sharpened, aflame.

Never again would she beg for their acknowledgment. Never again would she wait for scraps of affection.

If they wanted a villain, she would give them one.

And when the time came, the house of Arison would fall with her laughter echoing in its ruins.

From the moment she could walk, Daniella Seraphina Arison learned her place in the household was always two steps behind her sister.

Lila Rose Arison had been born beneath auspicious stars, or so the duchess often said. The family astrologer claimed she radiated brilliance even in the cradle, destined for greatness. Servants whispered that her smile could soothe even the coldest winter winds. Tutors marveled at her quick mind, declaring she would become the pride of House Arison.

And then there was Daniella.

When she was born two years later, there was no starlight proclamation, no whispered awe. She was healthy, quiet, and entirely unremarkable. “A second daughter,” the duchess had said with the faintest smile, as if the child were a spare trinket tucked into an overflowing chest.

Daniella’s earliest memories were of watching Lila shine. When guests visited, it was always Lila who was brought forward to curtsy and recite poetry, her golden hair catching the candlelight. Daniella lingered in the corner, clutching her skirts, waiting for someone to notice her.

They rarely did.

When she was six, Daniella presented her first spell to the family—an elementary conjuring flame she had practiced for weeks. She remembered the spark flaring in her tiny hand, her chest swelling with pride. But before her father could even react, Lila stepped forward, weaving the same spell effortlessly and adding a flourish of wind to make the fire dance. The duke clapped, the duchess praised, and the tutors applauded.

Daniella’s flame guttered, unseen.

At ten, she stumbled into the library for the first time, tears still drying on her cheeks after yet another lesson where Lila had answered every question before her. The towering shelves intimidated her at first, but soon they became her sanctuary. Books did not scold her for being slow. Tomes did not compare her worth to another’s. The pages whispered only of possibility.

So she read. And read. And read.

She buried herself in grimoires of magic theory, histories of the empire, journals of explorers long dead. Knowledge became her lifeline, her fragile proof that she, too, could become something more than “Lila’s sister.” She dreamed of someday unveiling a spell even her perfect sibling could not master.

But each year the gulf widened. Lila’s charm blossomed as Daniella’s awkwardness deepened. Her sister was paraded at banquets, praised in the academy’s preliminary examinations, admired by sons and daughters of noble houses. Daniella was tolerated. Forgotten.

Worse still, her own mother’s gaze carried the sharpness of disappointment. “Do try harder,” the duchess would say when Daniella faltered. “You must not embarrass your sister.” Those words carved themselves into Daniella’s bones until every effort felt meaningless.

By sixteen, Daniella no longer sought their approval. She told herself she didn’t need it. But still, some small, foolish part of her clung to the hope that if she worked hard enough, studied long enough, achieved something grand enough—her family might one day look at her and see her.

That hope died slowly, choked by years of favoritism.

It was the little things that gnawed at her: the way her accomplishments were met with silence, the way her father absentmindedly forgot her birthday, the way servants avoided speaking her name in front of guests. And always, always, Lila stood in the light, smiling sweetly, pretending to be a saint while quietly ensuring Daniella remained in her shadow.

She remembered once overhearing the servants whispering:

“Lady Lila is like the sun, and Lady Daniella… well, the world only needs one sun, doesn’t it?”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

By the time Daniella entered the Imperial Academy at eighteen, she had already grown skilled at fading into the background. She smiled when spoken to, bowed when required, and spent long nights hidden away in the library instead of reveling in the grand halls. She thought, perhaps, distance from her family would ease the sting.

It did not.

Even there, Lila’s shadow followed her. Letters from home always detailed her sister’s triumphs, never her own progress. Noble students, eager to curry favor with the favored daughter of Duke Arison, approached Daniella only to ask questions about Lila. Her roommate, Vivian, noticed the way Daniella stiffened each time, but Daniella laughed it off, burying the ache beneath layers of composure.

And then came the holiday break. The moment she stepped back into the Arison estate, the memories returned like chains. The same golden halls, the same laughter that wasn’t hers, the same constant reminders that she was an afterthought.

By now, Daniella had learned to endure. To swallow the neglect and pour her energy into the only comfort left to her: the endless, quiet embrace of the library. She thought she could survive another season in silence.

Until that night.

Until she overheard the voices—her mother’s, her sister’s—plotting to cast her aside entirely.

And in that moment, the last fragile thread of hope inside her snapped.

The voices faded. The click of her mother’s heels and the rustle of Lila’s gown retreated down the library steps until silence returned.

But Daniella did not remain hidden.

Her hands trembled for only a moment, then stilled as she pressed her palm flat against the dusty grimoire she had been reading earlier. Its cracked spine bore no title, only faded ink and strange sigils. She had found it tucked away in the deepest recess of the library years ago, forgotten by time, dismissed as irrelevant by scholars who prized modern theory. But Daniella had devoured its pages in secret.

Ancient magic, it called itself. Old words, old diagrams, old power. Complicated. Dangerous. Unfashionable.

Perfect.

Her mother and sister thought her nothing. A shadow. A liability. Tonight, they would see.

She drew herself up and smoothed the creases of her gown. Her reflection in the glass panes no longer looked like the overlooked daughter cowering in corners — her dark hair framed a face sharpened with resolve, her eyes steady, gleaming with something unspoken. For the first time, Daniella walked not as someone seeking approval but as someone who would take it by force.

The doors to the banquet hall swung open.

Light and sound crashed over her: the warm glow of chandeliers, the swell of violins, the murmur of nobles clustered in jeweled finery. At the far end, her father raised a glass, his proud gaze fixed not on her, but on the shining figure at the center of it all.

Lila.

The elder daughter sparkled as if the hall itself bent around her. Her golden hair gleamed, her lips curved in a gentle smile, her every movement graceful. Guests hung on her every word, basking in her radiance. Charm and poise — those were her weapons, subtle and inescapable.

Daniella’s steps echoed against the marble as she crossed the threshold. Conversations faltered. Heads turned, surprised by her sudden entrance. For once, she welcomed their stares.

“Apologies for my lateness,” Daniella said, her voice steady, carrying across the hall. “I was preparing something for tonight.”

Lila blinked, the corners of her perfect smile tightening just slightly. “Oh? Sister, there’s no need—”

But Daniella raised her hand.

The sigils she had studied for years unfolded in her mind like a second heartbeat. Ancient words rolled from her tongue, low and resonant, each syllable stirring the air. A circle of light shimmered into existence above her palm, threads of violet energy weaving together in intricate patterns no modern spell could replicate. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

From the circle blossomed a storm of luminous petals — hundreds, thousands of them — glowing fragments that swirled through the hall like a living tide. They cascaded over chandeliers, drifted between startled nobles, and gathered into a vast blooming lotus of light that hung suspended above the banquet. The air thrummed, heavy with power, far more intense than Daniella had expected.

This was not a simple parlor trick.

This was magic so dense, so primal, that even the most seasoned sorcerers present staggered back, wide-eyed.

For the first time in her life, Daniella stood in the center.

Not Lila. Not her charm. Not her practiced perfection.

Her.

When the lotus of light finally dissolved into glittering motes, silence reigned. Every noble eye was fixed on her, every whisper sharp with awe and fear. Daniella lowered her hand, her heart pounding in her chest, but her expression never wavered.

Lila’s smile had frozen, though she quickly adjusted it into something more graceful, offering a delicate laugh. “Why, Daniella, what a… surprising performance. Truly, you’ve been studying harder than I thought.”

But the slight strain in her voice was there, hidden beneath honey.

The duchess’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze did not hold the warmth of pride, but neither could she disguise the sharp calculation flickering in her eyes. The hall murmured louder, nobles trading frantic whispers.

Daniella curtsied slowly, deliberately, and met her sister’s gaze across the room.

“You’re right, Sister,” she said, her voice calm, every word clear. “I have been studying. Perhaps more than you realize.”

A chill rippled through the banquet, though none could name why. Daniella offered them no explanation. She had no intention of playing by their rules anymore.

Let them wonder. Let them fear.

She turned, her skirts whispering against the marble, and strode deeper into the hall — no longer content to lurk in shadows.

For the first time, the name Daniella Seraphina Arison lingered on every tongue.