Untitled chapter

"May Almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

Standing behind the altar, the priest made the sign of the cross as Mass came to an end. It was the fourth Sunday of Advent—Golden Sunday.

"Amen."

The congregation answered in unison from the pews. Then the deep, reverent sound of the organ rose through the church, a sound that had always made Hanna's ears ache ever so slightly.

She had attended church since childhood.

Back then, her grandmother had taken her every Sunday evening, and they would sit somewhere near the back. Although the thought of being in God's house had always comforted her, her bones would tremble whenever the monumental instrument began to thunder. The deep vibrations, followed by the sharp cry of the pipes, stirred something within her.

Something majestic, awe-inspiring. Something that praised and glorified, yet demanded you fall to your knees. Much like the power of God Himself.

Now, as a young woman, Hanna attended church alone.

Her grandmother no longer had the strength. In her old age, she had become almost completely disabled. She walked with a cane, and even then only with difficulty. Unless absolutely necessary, she rarely left the house anymore.

The rest of Hanna's family - or what remained of it - had little interest in religion.

Her mother and older sister wanted nothing to do with church life. In fact, her mother often claimed that all that "love thy neighbor" talk irritated her more than anything else, which was reason enough for her to stay far away from churches and clergy alike.

Her sister Rebeka, five years older than Hanna, was fascinated by spiritualism, energy work, and self-discovery movements—things that filled Hanna with much the same discomfort. The thought of trying to bend reality to one's will through manifestations and crystals, rather than offering a prayer to God and His angels, made her skin crawl.

After Mass, Hanna walked home in step with the rhythm of the church bells.

Already, her thoughts had turned to the coming week. She allowed herself one hour of spiritual rest among the frescoes and gilded statues decorating the church's walls, but unfortunately, that was all she could spare. She had just turned twenty—an age when a young woman checked her reflection in every shop window she passed, wondering whether her outfit looked good enough.

Today, she wore nothing more than a long brown wool coat and a cream-colored scarf.

She glanced at her reflection again. Was her golden-blonde hair pulled tightly enough into its ponytail?

When she boarded the tram, she even checked her phone camera to make sure her red lip gloss hadn't smudged and that the thick layer of concealer still hid the dark circles beneath her green eyes.

By the time she arrived home, dusk had begun to settle over the city.

She hung up her coat and bag in the small entryway before heading into the kitchen, where her family was preparing dinner.

"We were never rich. Everything we have, we worked for."

Her grandmother's words echoed in her mind as she looked around the room.

The kitchen was simple: wooden furniture, an old dining table, and four chairs, though only three were ever used.

Her parents had divorced when Hanna was barely three years old, and since then all contact with her father had disappeared from their lives.

No one talked about what had happened. As a child, she had always been told that she would understand when she was older. Now that she was an adult, she no longer felt she needed explanations, she had accepted it.

Instead of a father on earth, she had been given a Father in Heaven—one who loved her more completely than any earthly father ever could. And that was enough for her.

The moment Hanna pulled out her chair at the dining table, the kitchen door opened and her sister appeared.

Leaning against the frame, Rebeka watched her younger sister, who had dragged her chair closer to the radiator in a futile attempt to thaw the parts of herself still frozen from church and the walk home.

"Hey," Rebeka greeted her. "Can we eat yet?"

"Yeah, sure."

Hanna turned toward her, then immediately stood up to see what was for dinner.

"Oh—hi," she added with an apologetic glance, realizing she'd forgotten to greet her sister back.

"Sit down. I'll serve you."

Rebeka waved dismissively and tossed her long braid over one narrow shoulder.

Her hair was a shade lighter than Hanna's. Under the kitchen lights, it gleamed like a field of wheat beneath the summer sun. Tall and slender, she carried an effortless elegance that seemed impossible to imitate.

Hanna had always envied her. Rebeka's femininity never suffered because of her thin frame. Compared to her sister, Hanna often felt painfully plain whenever she looked in a mirror. Men certainly didn't seem to think so. Rebeka could have wrapped one around every finger if she'd wanted. Yet she rarely allowed any man close enough to see her heart instead of merely staring at her neckline.

"You got a letter."

Rebeka's voice rang through the kitchen as she set a steaming bowl of golden broth before Hanna. Yet she remained standing, clearly waiting for her sister's reaction.

"The way you said that tells me it's not from the university."

Hanna dipped her spoon into the soup.

"I don't know." Rebeka's smile turned teasing. "There isn't even a recipient listed."

She dragged out the last word dramatically before dropping into the chair opposite her.

"And if you're selfish enough to start eating before sharing, then out with it. Who's your secret admirer?"

The question was delivered with such exaggerated enthusiasm that Hanna nearly sprayed soup across the table.

"You opened it?"

"Of course not!"

Rebeka raised both hands in surrender.

"It's still sealed. On the counter."

Then her eyes widened.

"Wait. Does that mean there is a secret admirer?"

"The last time I had one was kindergarten."

Hanna shook her head.

"So he'd have to be acting on some very old feelings."

A sigh escaped her chest.

She tried to appear calm, but in reality she could barely stay seated long enough to finish her soup.

Neither of them spoke after that.

Who would send her a letter?

In an age when nobody wrote letters anymore?

The thought alone nearly made her blush. There was something undeniably romantic about a gentleman who took pen to paper to court a lady.

She quickly swallowed the smile threatening to appear and hid her warming cheeks behind her makeup.

The last thing she needed was more ammunition for Rebeka's teasing.

The moment she swallowed her final spoonful—so large it nearly hurt going down—she crossed the kitchen in a single stride.

Grabbing the first knife within reach, she slit open the envelope.

Or rather, tore it apart.

Inside was a carefully folded letter.

As she pulled it free, a smaller card fluttered to the floor. A ribbon followed after it.

Hanna ignored both.

She would pick them up later.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded the paper.

The handwriting flowed elegantly across the cream-colored page, each letter leaning gently to the right.

It wasn't merely beautiful.

It was captivating.

As though the words themselves were whispering to her:

Read us.

You'll like what we have to say.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Rebeka rose onto her toes and peered over Hanna's shoulder.

Together, they read.

,,Miss Vértesi,

It is my pleasure to invite you to accompany me to the Morningstar Ball.

A ball celebrating the longest night of the year.

Inside this envelope you will find a ribbon. I ask that you honor the occasion by wearing attire matching its color.

On the night of the winter solstice, at sunset—precisely three fifty in the afternoon—please wait outside your home for the carriage that will arrive to escort you.

I look forward to making your acquaintance.

Yours sincerely,

The Lightbringer"

Rebeka bent down and retrieved the card from the floor. It was black, edged with delicate lace.

Written upon it in silver ink were only a name.
Hanna Vértesi.

Meanwhile, Hanna had already wound the ribbon around her fingers. Now she examined it more carefully.

Dark blue. The exact shade she always mixed when painting the night sky. So dark it was nearly black, touched only by the faintest hint of blue. For several moments she simply stared at the ribbon, then, at the letter. At the elegant handwriting. It wasn't calligraphy, it was something even more beautiful.
She had never seen writing like it before.

How could a man write this beautifully?
Surely no ordinary man could. The thought brought an involuntary smile to her lips. A gentleman had invited her to a ball.

"Hahaha!"

Rebeka burst into laughter.

Hanna froze.

"I never would've guessed the neighborhood kids were this creative."

She waved the letter dramatically.

"What even is this? Morningstar Ball? Winter Solstice? Did they find some weird fantasy novel on their parents' bookshelf?"

She paused.

Then looked more carefully at her sister.

"Wait."

Her eyebrows shot upward.

"Or did you find some ridiculous event online? One of those fantasy conventions where everyone dresses up as elves and fairies?"

"I've never heard of it in my life."

Hanna shook her head.

Unlike Rebeka, she wasn't amused.

She was confused. Completely confused.

"Winter solstice..." she murmured. "That's tomorrow. Who sends an invitation to a ball the day before it happens? Especially when you're expected to wear a specific color?"

"Because it's not real." Rebeka's tone left no room for doubt. "It's a joke."

But Hanna looked back down at the envelope. There was no stamp. No address, no sender.

Only her name.
Hanna Vértesi.

And for some reason, that made the whole thing feel even stranger.

"But it wasn't delivered by mail." Hanna turned the envelope over again. "It's Sunday. There isn't any mail on Sundays."

Her thoughts raced.

"Did you see anyone near the mailbox? Hear anything? Maybe the neighbors got one too. We could ask them. Or check the security cameras in the building. I'm pretty sure the mailbox area is covered—"

"Hanna."

Rebeka interrupted her gently.

"Forget about it."

"It's not normal."

"Neither are prank calls, but people still make them."

"Hannah, someone knows my name. My address. They wrote me a letter and told me to be outside at a specific time."

"And?"

"And I want to know who."

Rebeka sighed.

"The names are written on our mailbox. Anyone could've seen them."

She pointed toward the letter.

"Some idiot thought it'd be funny."

"But why?"

The question escaped before Hanna could stop it. Rebeka gave her a look.

The kind of look that made Hanna instantly realize she sounded naïve.

The kind that suggested she should already know the answer.

"Why not?"

Rebeka laughed lightly and waved a dismissive hand.

"Forget it."

She headed toward the hallway.

"Oh, and you're washing the dishes tonight, Cinderella. If you want, I'll scatter lentils around the fireplace so your pumpkin carriage can find its way here."

"We don't even have a fireplace!"

Hanna called after her.

"Exactly."

Rebeka's voice drifted from behind her bedroom door.

"And no carriage is coming for you either."

The dishes rattled softly as Hanna washed them after dinner.

Plates, glasses, cutlery.

Her hands worked automatically while her thoughts circled endlessly around the invitation. She kept searching for some clue, some detail that would prove it was real. When she finally finished, she carried the letter, ribbon, and envelope to her room.

As she walked, she read the invitation again. And again.

As if each reading might reveal evidence she had somehow missed before. Evidence that there truly was a ball. Evidence that a real gentleman had sent it.
Afterward she showered and laid out her clothes for university and work the next day.

Still, she couldn't stop thinking about it. Couldn't force the invitation from her mind.

Because she wanted it to be true. Desperately. A dream come true, a grand ball. A string quartet, like in her wildest dreams. Dancing with noblemen and officers, while drinking champagne.

Everything she'd ever loved in the period dramas she watched late at night.

Closing her eyes, she could almost see it.

The swirl of elegant gowns. Intricate hairstyles. Jewels sparkling beneath candlelight. Music filling a vast ballroom.

She sighed.

Her chest tightened.

How she wished she could attend something like that.

Just once.

To dance with a prince.

To curtsy as he kissed her hand.

To spin across a polished floor while he whispered compliments in her ear - polite enough to be respectable, mischievous enough to become a secret shared only between them.

A secret they would carry home together.

But it wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

The invitation was a joke, or a prank.

A cruel little fantasy dropped into her mailbox. And tomorrow morning she would have to return to reality. To university. To work.

To the ordinary life waiting for her.