"Perhaps you should get some sleep tonight," Emberlynn said. The attendant eyed her over the neckline of the nightgown she held in both hands.
Maren watched her from the bed, both of her knees tucked under chin. She was still in the day's gown, the changing tides of sunset painting room a soft rose and lavender. "Why is that?"
"Staying up all night and all day will begin to wear on you." The satin shift drifted onto the covers when the attendant tossed it onto the bed.
"I take naps in the afternoons and late mornings."
"Much to some of the ladies' dismay. They oft wonder about you." Emberlynn searched the room for something else to do, her options waning without the need for a sleep elixir or a stoke of the fireplace. She settled for going to fix the cushions of the seating area near the balcony even though they were all upright and fluffed. "Your absence is not received well."
"I go to the meals. I even hung out with them earlier." Maren let her legs fall, sweeping them under her hips instead. When Emberlynn finished fooling around with the couch, the attendant took an extra second to stare at her handiwork, placing her hands on her hips. But Maren awkwardly played with the folds of her skirt figuring that by now, Emberlynn would have been gone and off to her other duties if she truly had nothing else on her mind.
"Are you upset with me?"
Emberlynn turned suddenly, concern brightening her ash colored eyes. "No, of course not. You cannot control your circumstances any longer. It is nothing you've done."
"Then what is it?"
Emberlynn put her hands on her hips again. "Those women can be such gossips, and you're always the topic of conversation. I despise having to walk past them and hear all that they say about you."
Maren bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. "It bothers you?"
"They know nothing about you! They just assume the worst."
"My appearance would not deter them," Maren said.
Emberlynn groaned and paced through the little sitting area. "That may be true, but with you there they would have to find the backbone to say it to your face."
Maren couldn't hold it in. Her giggle stopped Emberlynn from pacing.
"What is it?" asked the attendant.
"I have never seen you worked up."
Emberlynn raised her chin. "Well I'm not as passive as the Wind fae, so I am not afraid to express my emotions."
"You shouldn't be," Maren said. "I like this side of you."
"Let's see if you still like it when I direct it to you." Emberlynn approached the bed. "You are a part of this kingdom now, so the rules have changed for your stay. You can roam the palace at any time, but if you would like dinner at a later hour, please make those arrangements in advance. After His Highness eats, we leave our stations."
"If you're telling me to dine with him when he's different, I refuse," Maren answered, crossing her arms and turning her head.
"He has dined alone many a century before your arrival, Maren. He will survive. But you are still new to this." Emberlynn placed her hands on the comforter. "Your will to stay up at night and not leave your room is adverse to your health. There is no reason to stay up at all if you will not speak to His Highness or return to your world."
Maren scoffed. "And is it suddenly mandatory that I speak to him?"
Emberlynn grimaced. "No, but what else is there to occupy your time with? Why do you resist sleep when only he and a few others are awake?"
"I am just not tired."
"And I am not an attendant," Emberlynn quipped.
Maren guffawed, placing a hand over her heart. "Is that sarcasm?"
"I am simply calling you out for your blatant desire to speak with him, but your fear for doing so." Emberlynn's knowing stare did not waver.
"He is nothing but despicable at night," Maren countered.
"There are two sides to every tale, Maren. Have you ever thought of learning his?"
"No, because he was very quick to tell me about mine."
"Nothing you did not need to hear," Emberlynn remarked.
Maren bristled. "Your point?"
"Those in the palace will have differing opinions of you, including me. Except unlike them, I will not condemn you. I just wish to see you respond. To not let things lie where they are. I have seen the goodness in you from the moment you arrived. See it in yourself and move."
Dumbfounded, Maren blinked. Emberlynn sauntered to the door.
The attendant peered over her shoulder. "I will not be able to tend to you tonight while the Prince handles his matters. I will come to you in the morning." She motioned for the knob.
"Wait!" Maren surprised herself by the call, by the amount of passion in her voice. "Where will you be?"
"Serving the Prince wherever he needs me most," she answered. Emberlynn left, likely unaware of the stirring in Maren's chest, the embers she ignited there.
The girl sighed and ran hands through her hair. She let herself sit in the sting, catch her breath, steady her reeling mind. Though she could not escape the lasting effect of the exchange, she managed to pull the key and letter from her bodice.
There was plenty to do at night without the watchful eyes of the blackbird.
Maren waited a few minutes before slipping into the hall. For the first time, the night palace sent a small thrill up her spine. The Prince was not the only thing that lived in these rooms. There was something else there. Maybe it was nothing at all. But maybe it was magnificent. There were too many possibilities, and as she tread lightly over the carpet, her mind also conjured the thought that it would be a terrifying thing. A powerful thing. Something she ought to leave alone.
The night palace was a damaged place. A dashed illusion of wickedness and abandonment.
What were the odds that everything within it carried that same shroud of sorrow?
What if everything here mourned? What if the secrets of such an edifice were even darker than the creature that guarded it with talon and beak?
She supposed the only way to know was to find out. The master staircase in the very heart of the palace's foyer led into four separate directions. The stairs to her right would take her to the East Wing, where she lived and dined and wandered through the gardens until her legs grew tired. The stairs directly ahead brought her to the throne room. She had only seen the one part, but her intuition led her to believe that he held Court in that wing. Perhaps consulted a council or signed documents. The stairs at her back would take her down into the mouth of the palace for meeting rooms and the grand front doors. However, the one to her left...
Her hand clung to the railing.
The Prince demanded a meeting with Namjoon and Jimin, her two other questionable opponents. The servants were scarce at moonrise. If there were any time to explore, it would have to be now. Steadying her resolve, she took each step slowly. The wrought brass door closing off the West Wing had not been closed completely. Pressing one hand to the metal, it was lighter than she anticipated.
The stench was the first thing that hit her. A miasma of smoke, heated metal, and dust slammed into her like a wave. But unlike the first night she discovered it, the essence of it was thin. A whisper in the breeze strong enough to taint the air like a stick of incense. But as she adjusted to it, she drank in the view of the breathtaking hall before her.
The fire in this wing burned cerulean. A healthy teal almost the same shade as the roaring waves of the sea crashing against cliffs. Yet, the casted glow was not nearly enough to light the entire chasm. It was too dim, too weak to do much of anything but writhe and seemingly fight for oxygen. It also made the floor shimmer. Tiny shards of colored glass created a sparkling path forward into darkness, each fragment drained of life. Bits of broken obsidian dreams that were too dull to overpower the sense of despair lingering within the shadows of the corners and ceilings.
The walls were mere tatters. Gaping claw marks slashed through crowned moulding and wallpaper. There was no pattern, no logic to it. Only rage. The visual depiction of ascending into anguish. And she could not explain why she studied it for so long. Neither could she explain why she saw it and she felt at one with it. As though it were an art piece and not an attempt at trying to bring such a beautiful castle to its knees.
Her fingers grazed the torn edges. She did not flinch even though it bit into her skin. He had done this. There was not a shadow of a doubt.
What in the world is he hiding here?
She glanced at the key and letter bundled in her other hand. Then, she glanced at his work.
It suddenly felt intimate. A pang of guilt swam through her chest. She was not supposed to see this. She was not supposed to visit this wing. To see him.
But if that were true, then what was this yearning in her heart? This understanding of fury?
This was pain in such an obvious form. It deserved respect and a listener.
Though, she was not the one to give it to him. Not with this enchanted ring around her finger. Not when he presented himself in a plethora of ways to mask whatever creature he truly was underneath. Snatching her hand away, she walked with new fervor ahead, careful to stay closer to the middle of the corridor so that the torchlight could not reach her the same way it did the walls.
He was not the man that she met. Why was it so troubling to remember that?
She rounded the corner, pleased to find an array of doors lining both sides of the hall. There were four in total. Two to her left, two across from those. Unlike the other entrances she'd seen, these were still intact. The doorway furthest to the left was still open. The rumble of a familiar voice echoed from inside.
Maren stilled, leaning forward to hear.
"Jin, please. You do not have to do that. It is demoralizing," Namjoon insisted.
Though indecipherable, a response too soft, too defeated mumbled something in return.
"No. You do not have to do anything," Namjoon answered.
"I PROMISE I WILL KILL THEM ALL!" The snap of wood and the shatter of glass made Maren stumble back. Jin's voice was layered; somewhere in the suspended area between fae and animal. The silence that ensued was thick, but she knew he had broken something else. She even imagined Namjoon and Jimin glancing at one another, unsure of what to do.
"ANYONE THAT DARE THREATENS THIS PALACE. I WILL HAVE THEIR HEADS!"
"Jin," Jimin said. "You musn't lose your temper."
"HOW CAN I REMAIN CALM?"
A heavy thud made the wall shake. Maren jumped.
"I DO NOT CARE WHAT CROWN, WHAT THRONE, WHAT KINGDOM. I WILL ANSWER WITH BLOOD!"
"It is okay, Jin." Namjoon's voice soothed like a lullaby, but carried with a hint of caution. "The other Princes are already aware of our stance. Adara will not pursue the Elemental Throne."
There it was again. The Elemental Throne.
One of the voice's--Jimin's--was eerily close to the door's opening. "Would you like me to fetch a servant? You might do well calming down with tea."
Maren's heart sank, panic surging through her ribs as she turned left and right for anything to hide behind. His steps were distinct. He was coming.
Nausea churned through her stomach as he stepped into the hallway, violet eyes locking onto hers.
She could feel the color draining from her skin, the heat blaring through her palms and neck.
Jimin stared at her for a moment, the bewilderment clear in his expression. But as smooth as the rolling clouds in the night sky, it passed in seconds to be replaced with blankness. "Actually, I think we ought to all calm down and discuss this like the Dauphins we are. Plus Namjoon." He grabbed the door's handles, casting her a final kind glance before pulling them closed and retreating into the room.
She could not find it in her to move, his silence anchoring her to the mosaic floor.
Was he letting her pass?
Conversation no longer filtered through the hall. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears instead.
He had let her go.
She gathered her skirts and ran, for there was no use wasting so much precious time trying one of those doors when there was the risk of one of them leaving. Plus, something buried meant something abysmal. Not too obvious or superficial.
As she made a right, she came to a smaller wooden door with a glittering knob and lock. She squinted through the dim lightning for the key hole. Holding her breath, Maren tried the key.
Her fingers whitened as she used all of her upper body strength to turn it. She did not breathe again until the click echoed into the corridor at her back.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
She counted in her head to five, not daring to open the door until she knew several times over the fae men had not heard.
After a while, she used her shoulder to open it.
Stars spilled over the floor, hundreds of glittering corners spreading their light through the spacious, stone room. Except, they were not stars. Maren stepped inside, tilting her head as she looked down. They were shards of reflective glass. Fierce moonlight glinted from their edges, but they reflected the stone brick ceiling.
She stepped over them, checking each one. They did not show her reflection.
A soft catch in the wind made her look up--and come face to face with a tree. Only a head taller than her, its branches were wan and thin. The leaves were black and brittle, some of them white and crinkled, ready to fall off and drift to the unkept roots. It seemed to die just before it could grow.
Maren reached for one of the leaves, pausing when she heard it again.
A whisper.
So ginger, so hollow that the crunch of a leaf or shard underfoot would have concealed it. She considered the rest of the room.
Frames tall and thin, thick and wide leaned against the round walls in the shape of circles, rectangles, and squares. Paintings, she figured, covered in white sheets. Maybe parts of the palace art he did not mangle. But there were so many of them stacked against one another.
"Hello?" Maren called.
The deathly quiet answered.
She stepped away from the tree, walking to the first frame in the room. It was a perfect circle, a few sharp edges poking from under the sheet. With one hand, she peeled the cover off.
Wrought gold created the frame for a crystal clean mirror.
A mirror.
Maren frowned, doing the same to the next. This mirror was more rectangular and skinny, characteristic of something that could hang atop the fireplace in the dining room of the East Wing. It was still clean, likely taken down from somewhere in the palace and preserved here. She went around the room this way, uncovering each piece she could get a hand on.
All of them were mirrors. All of their images as clear as the surface of a lake. All of them displaying the other mirrors in the room, the tree, the broken mirror bits on the ground, but not her. Never her.
There was one mirror left in the very center of them all. The tallest one. The widest one.
That one would have to show her a reflection.
The sheet rolled off silkily to reveal the prettiest one yet. The edges were an overlay of silver and gold shaped in the most intricate decorations of ivy and roots and leaves. The reflection still remained true to the dome shape of the room and the patterns of the stone bricks. It showed off the withered tree, but there was something else--someone else.
A woman, young and enchanting by the sharp cut of her jaw through her profile, light blond hair twirled into an intricate bun that also spilled onto her shoulders, her bone white skin. She stared longingly into the dead tree, a pale blue and silky mask situated right above her petite nose. A masquerade mask similar to Seokjin's. Even her gown matched the shade, the skirts cascading over the clean floor. She did not step over shards of broken glass as Maren did.
Buried in the West Wing. Not underground, not in a coffin, or a treasure chest. In a mirror.
Maren was almost offended by her beauty as the mysterious young lady peered over her shoulder.
"Can you see me?"
Her voice. It cracked when she spoke.
Maren nodded, her mouth dry.
The woman's blue eyes began to shine. "Y-you can see me?" Her heels were delicate against the stone as she rushed to the mirror--to Maren. Her hands pressed against the glass, the simmer of burning skin making even Maren wince as the girl watched her yank her hands back and cradle them in her lap. Tears seeped into her mask.
"How did you find me?" Her lip wavered, the disbelief tangible in the way she fought not to place her hands on the glass again. "Please, how did you find me? How did you--," she shook her head, "He said I would never be found!"
Maren frowned. "Who said that?"
"I..." She fell to her knees. Her sobs jolting her shoulders, filling her lungs.
Through her hands, she said, "Help me. Please help me."
Hesitantly, Maren knelt. "I don't understand. You have to speak clearly. What is your name?"
"Faine." She glanced up through teary lashes. "I am from Elegia. I am a part of High Prince Yoongi and Dauphin Jimin's Court. The Court of Dusk."
"Then how did you get here?" Maren went to touch the mirror, but thought against it. A burn on her hand would be too obvious.
Faine's head fell to the floor, her fingertips digging at the rough bricks.
Maren checked over her shoulder. Besides Faine's sniffling, she did not hear another sound. She prayed that Seokjin had not finished his meeting. Swiftly, she turned back around and sat on the floor with her legs crossed. "You can tell me. You have to for me to help."
Faine shook her head. "I regret it so much."
"Faine--,"
"I tried to kill him."
The room of mirrors grew cold. Goosebumps covered Maren's arms. "Why would you do that?"
Faine slammed her fist into the ground. "Because he's a murderer! He took my city from me! My family. There is nothing left but rubble and ash."
"No," Maren said. "Namjoon wouldn't do that. Seokjin wouldn't do that either."
Faine pressed her hand to the glass, the sizzling making Maren shrink back. "The Prince of Adara looked me in the eye as his soldiers marched over our plains. He burned our harvests! He tried to make my people starve!"
"That's not true!" Maren snapped.
"He did! It may have been seven centuries ago, but I will never forget! And I will never forgive him for the Reign of Fire."
After a few seconds of sobbing and quiet, Faine clutched her bodice with a fist, her tone suddenly tender and soft. "My little sister's name was Elycia. She had just lost her wings around the time she asked me to go to the marketplace on her behalf to buy her new paint. When I came back home--," Faine clasped a hand over her mouth, pale cheeks reddening, "--she was gone. They were all gone."
Maren sat, her entire body numb. There were too many things to feel. Instead of letting one emotion overtake her, she shoved it all down and let her mind do the rest of the work.
"If you are from the Court of Dusk..." Maren gestured to the mirror with her eyes. "How did you get here?"
Faine calmed down a bit. "After the attack on the plains, Elegian soldiers combed over our land to find survivors. They found me still holding Elycia when they took me away to Nydaleswen, our capitol city. All of the survivors were being herded to the palace so that we would be accounted for, and we had heard that the Dauphin wanted to speak to us while his brother was away.
"He gave us a speech about how we would not cower to such a show of strength. He also said he would help in the effort to restore our lands even if he had to call on the other Courts for assistance. But, when the talk was over, he had summoned me to the throne room, and he asked me if I wanted revenge."
"Jimin was affected by this too, then," Maren said.
Faine nodded and went on. "I was hasty and full of rage when I agreed. The Dauphin told me that Prince Seokjin would be having a masquerade ball to choose a bride. He prepared me to go by giving me a gown, a mask, and a silver dagger. But the dagger itself held a deep form of the Dark Arts known as miralus magic. The magic of mirrors. The goal was for me to trap his soul in a mirror and shatter it so that he would never hurt anyone again."
The girl did not want to think of another ball. It was how Seokjin had found her, too.
"What happened when you went?"
"I managed to get him alone. He was impressed with me. I thought I had relaxed him enough to relieve his guard, but as soon as I drew the dagger, he knew. He was not fast enough to defend himself from my first attempt, but I missed his heart, and that was my gravest mistake. He overpowered me and stabbed me instead, so I took the full impact of the spell. But he--"
"But he didn't," Maren finished for her.
"Yes," admitted Faine. "I believe that my wound could not trap him, but it somehow found a way to divide him, to change him from dusk to dawn."
Maren looked away, not realizing she was crying until the rest of the room rippled and blurred. "How do you know that he changes?"
"He did not always keep his mirrors in this room. Yet, since I was trapped in one, the boundaries blurred. I saw him in every room, every corner even though he could not bring himself to look at me. Eventually, he ordered for all of them to be removed. Otherwise, we would continue to see one another, and I would be able to see him turn. It has done nothing to stop the effect of the miralus magic though."
"And because you missed your mark, he's suspended between two souls?"
"The Dark Arts is extremely powerful, but it is not straightforward. It is one of the only styles of magic that carries a will of its own alongside the will of the wielder."
Maren wiped her eyes. "And why will the mirrors not show me my reflection?"
Faine's gaze was intense. "Truly, I wonder the same thing."
"What is your name?" Faine added.
"Maren."
"Maren," Faine repeated, nodding with a distant look. "Do you care for him?"
The girl could not bring herself to answer. Not anymore.
"I am sympathetic to your innocence and ignorance in all of this. That does not make you any less of a fool."
Maren whirled on Faine, turning until there was nothing but just the two of them in the room. "How can I fix this?"
"Fix what?"
Maren said, "I want to get you out of the mirror, and I want the Prince to pay."
Faine studied her, a mixture of disbelief and excitement flashing in her blue eyes. "You would help me?"
"He has mentioned nothing about plundering villages and tearing families apart. He has not told a single soul about his transformations. I know that a woman was attacked here and that other beasts prowl these grounds. He made this wing forbidden to us so that you would never be seen or heard. If there is evil going on in this castle, I want no part in it." Maren refused to mention that she had just heard him lose his temper. He had demanded blood and the death of someone else minutes before this when he believed no one else heard.
It was easy to frame oneself as a kind, benevolent hero when there was no one else to relay the history.
Faine's voice was low, warning. "The cost for helping me is steep. The Dark Arts is not straightforward in casting, but it is unforgiving in the instance of undoing."
Maren swallowed as the young warrior woman said, "We will have to make a bargain."
"Bargains are risky," Maren murmured.
"Yes, they are. But the Dark Arts is an entity as well as a composition of magic. It gives desires and takes in return. Using the Dark Arts is always an exchange. It is no different for casters."
Maren sighed. "What would the bargain be?"
"Well... what do you want most?"
Faine waited patiently, even as Maren scratched the back of her neck. As the girl brought her hand back down to place in her lap, the woman in the mirror tilted her head.
"What is on your finger?"
Maren looked down. The ruby ring stared back, so did all the deep and dark memories. "He did it after I tried to take something from him. It used to be an engagement ring, but he put a binding spell on it to keep me in Neverin. "
Her eyes lit up. "I can grant you freedom."
Maren scoffed. "A High Prince cursed me. I'm sure this is not elementary."
Faine ignored her tone. "A Dauphin gifted me with magic."
"A Dauphin does not sound like High Prince," Maren countered.
"They are equal in power, but not in position. A Dauphin remains Crown Prince--one in-line to the throne. A High Prince has taken the helm of the kingdom."
"So, what are you saying?"
Faine straightened her posture. "If you succeed in getting me out of the mirror, I will return your freedom. But you mentioned an engagement ring, which presupposes a love before this castle. I will give him to you as well."
Maren's heart nearly stopped.
Nathaniel?
"All of this I promise," Faine stated.
"And what do I have to do? How do I get you out?"
Maren watched the girl in the mirror glance down at her skirt. Right there in her lap was a silver dagger with a blade forged from strengthened glass. The hilt was engraved with sigils and runes. Stories of a Court far, far from here. But as Faine studied it, Maren suddenly felt a weight in her lap as light as a pile of feathers. She peered down to find Faine's dagger in the exact same place on her body.
"To release me, you must kill him. That is the bargain I struck with Dauphin Jimin, and I failed."
Maren went white as a sheet. "Kill him?"
"Maren, he has marched on many villages other than mine. He led the front lines. The other Courts have lost their faith in allegiances because of him. Do not let his kindness at dawn distract you and later be the death of us all. Yes, fire can nurture, but it can incinerate what it touches as well. A low flame does not make any less impact."
Faine set her jaw. "I have lost over four centuries of my life being caged in a piece of glass, and you surely do not have as much time as I do."
Maren closed her eyes, her breath trembling. "You can give me the life that I want?"
"All of this, I promise," Faine repeated. "But you are not only giving me my life back, you are giving Neverin a chance to start over and heal."
When the girl opened her eyes, everything seemed unfamiliar; the West Wing, the palace, the people in it, but also the way her body felt. She did not quite know herself anymore either.
"And if I cannot follow through?"
"You owe me whatever else I request in return."
So, she could not order the life of Seokjin anymore. Maren noted that, not taking any comfort from it if he were just going to unleash his element on those that could not defend themselves.
But what did she really have to give without a single gold coin to her name? There was no family she belonged to. She could not find Vernice. Faine knew nothing of Penelope, which protected her old mistress. And if Faine wanted Nathaniel... Maren could think of a plan to handle that if it ever got to that point.
Faine picked up her dagger. "Do we have a bargain?"
Maren wrapped her hand around the hilt. "Yes."
She gasped as a current swept through her upper body. It turned her blood to ice. It felt charged with electricity. The hairs on her arms stood as her hands began to move on their own. Not from her own compulsion but something else, something far more powerful taking over her muscles and pulling the strings of her body like a puppeteer. She could not stop herself as she gripped the dagger with an iron fist and slashed the blade into the palm of her hand. Dark blood dripped from between her fingers, the sensation of the slice in her skin sharp for a split second and then painless as though it had taken what it needed.
"Please, do your best. For all of us," Faine said.
Maren could not stop staring at her own blood.
"The Dauphin knows that I am here. He will help you in your quest."
"Jimin knows?" Maren asked. But she didn't even need to. The white hot blossoming of recognition dawned on her in the middle of the question. Jimin's prolonged stay and his reluctance to share why. His insistence in pointing out a book of Dark Arts. He wanted her to find the key. He did not even out her when she passed because he trusted her enough to know the truth.
Faine nodded vigorously. "Find him, but return to your room first. The tyrant visits me on some nights and if he catches you here, I cannot protect you."
Maren pushed up from the ground, holding the dagger tight to her gown so that the white skirts would cover it. As for her bleeding hand, she held it away from her but marveled at it. It had stopped overflowing. The skin already began winding back together. Sparing one last glance at Faine, she locked the door on the way out and tiptoed through the West Wing.
The courtiers were no longer in their meeting. She dashed through the hall and into the main section of the palace, not wanting to slow or stop.
By the time she reached her room, she hurried out of her day gown and hustled into her pajamas.
Getting settled under her covers, she made sure to slip the dagger under her pillow.
(A/N)
Fae friends & citizens of Neverin,
We twirl, and twirl, and twirl onto roads that are darker and more winding than ever before.
Don't you love when your characters become liars, thieves, and possible assassins?
Don't you also love it when the guy you crush on plays an instrumental part in inciting wars?
Like wow. Heart eyes.
I've been waiting to throw this chapter at you and the time has finally come.
On an unrelated, super prevalent note... I owe all of you major, major thanks. As I once called it, a big fat thank you. Why? Because you're one of my readers, but also because A Court of Embers officially reached 1,000 votes today. I'm at a loss for words.
In TTS, I was able to throw a mini-party with Grey's aesthetics and a tag. But, we don't really do tags anymore and the only aesthetic you have left to see is Maren's. The story must go on with the shortened deadline I've set for myself, so any extra content will likely be posted after the epilogue and credits if I can find some way to celebrate and thank you for your overwhelming kindness. My thoughts are that perhaps my gift to you can come in the form of a bonus scene?
I will figure it out, and if you have any ideas or anything you wanna see—just say the word and I'll look into it.
But thank you.
Please accept a dire rise from me ❤️
Next release: 12/20, December 20th
With love,
Milan