The music drifted through the halls. No one thought to question where it came from. Who would dare?
It began softly, the gentle hum of a melody the twin’s mother carried on her breath as she moved across the bedroom floor. The room was warm with late afternoon light, sunlight slipping in through gauzy curtains and painting everything in gold. The furniture had been pushed aside without ceremony—chairs nudged toward the walls, a small table dragged out of the way—because space mattered more than order when there was dancing to be done.
Giselle laughed as her mother spun her, the sound bubbling out of her chest, bright and unrestrained. Her slippers scuffed against the wooden floor as she tried—and failed—to keep her steps neat. Gloria fared no better, though she insisted she was doing it
