The Banquet’s Spark

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.

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