We stepped into the estate gardens, where sunlight filtered gently through the gss dome of the greenhouse just ahead. Beyond it, nestled in the dappled shade of flowering trees, stood a charming little structure that looked like something from a storybook: whitewashed stone walls, a moss-covered roof, and tiny stained-gss windows that shimmered like butterfly wings in the light.

  It wasn’t the rgest or grandest pce on the estate—but it had the most heart.Of all the pces in Aunt Elle’s carefully curated world, this was the most peculiar—and oddly, the most honest. It was Eri’s world, untouched by courtly polish or noble expectation. A pce where bels didn’t matter, and everything, no matter how small, had a role to py.

  Welcome to The Bug Haven—Eri’s prized insectarium.

  Aunt Elle had tried to name it something more elegant like “The Conservatory Annex,” but Eri had insisted on Bug Haven, and the sign she’d hand-painted with watercolors still hung proudly above the arched doorway.

  Inside, I already knew what awaited us: rows of delicate enclosures filled with carefully beled specimens, fluttering wings in every shade imaginable, and jars of strange wriggly creatures I tried not to look at too closely. For Eri, it was paradise. For Jane and Cecil… Well, they were already stiffening like statues behind me.

  As Eri threw open the door with a dramatic flourish, she turned to us with a proud grin. “Prepare to be amazed!”

  Jane gave me a look that said save us, while Cecil whispered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

  And I? I smiled, taking a step inside. As odd as it was, this little bug house was so very Eri—and somehow, that made it wonderful.

  “Here, Nia—over here!” Eri called out, her voice bubbling with excitement.

  I followed her to the far corner of the insectarium, where she was crouched beside a long gss enclosure nearly the length of the table it sat on. Her eyes were practically glowing with anticipation. Kneeling beside her was Lime, her ever-patient attendant, gently adjusting the soil with practiced care. Her sleeves were rolled up, her gloves neatly dusted with flecks of earth.

  Lime was the perfect match for Eri. She never flinched, never compined, and knew every enclosure like the back of her hand. If Eri was the queen of this insect realm, Lime was her loyal steward—guardian of rvae, handler of molting schedules, and keeper of all things squirmy.

  Jane once asked her if she ever got creeped out tending to so many legs and wings.

  Lime had merely shrugged. “Bugs are tiny. Harmless, really. It's people you have to watch out for.”

  Iconic. She earned my respect that day.

  “Welcome, Nia,” Eri said now with great ceremony, lifting her hands like a royal presenter, “to the mighty empire of... Emberhold—home to the fiercest fire ants in the entire eastern continent!”

  She stepped aside dramatically to reveal the inside of the gss enclosure. And I had to admit—it was impressive.

  Dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny red ants were busily moving along a network of dirt tunnels and chambers carved into the soil. There were little bridges made of twigs, and even tiny polished stones arranged like sentry posts. It was a full-fledged kingdom beneath the gss.

  “Ohhh,” I breathed, leaning in slightly. “You actually have an entire colony?”

  “Not just any colony,” Eri said proudly. “A royal line! I got them from a breeder who specializes in structured nests. The queen is in there—look!” She tapped gently on the gss, and sure enough, nestled in a deeper chamber was a plump, amber-toned ant, surrounded by loyal workers fanning her with their wings.

  I blinked. “Wait. Did you build them a throne room?”

  “Of course,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is Emberhold, not some common anthill. They have a monarchy, a military, and a food storage wing. Lime even made them tiny cy pots for honeywater.”

  “I... don’t know if I’m amazed or mildly concerned,” I murmured.

  “Both is the right answer,” Jane whispered from behind me, clearly trying not to breathe too loudly.

  Cecil, meanwhile, had strategically stationed herself as far from the ants as physically possible while still technically “observing.”

  Eri leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I think they’re pnning an expansion. If they breach the moss wall again, we may have a civil war on our hands.”

  I snorted. “Please tell me you're not writing them royal family backstories.”

  She gave me a long, meaningful look.

  “Oh stars, you are.”

  When Eri finally finished proudly expining her fiery ant empire and their tiny conquests, she grabbed my wrist and tugged me excitedly toward the other side of the insectarium.

  “This way! I have something even more special to show you!”

  We passed into a quieter enclosure, bathed in soft amber light. The buzzing from before faded, repced by a dreamy stillness. Inside, delicate wingbeats floated in the air like whispers of silk.

  Rows of gss domes and hanging vine-ttices framed this space, but Eri led me straight to the center—where a single tall terrarium stood, branches crisscrossed with shimmering cocoons. She crouched beside it, eyes sparkling.

  “Remember the caterpilr I asked you to help me find a few weeks ago?” she whispered, practically vibrating with excitement. “She hatched. And she’s beautiful.”

  I leaned in closer. Perched gracefully on a low branch was a creature unlike anything I’d seen before. Its wings were long and sweeping, soft like velvet, catching the light in ripples of obsidian and twilight blue. The veins glowed faintly, like streaks of magic frozen mid-flight.

  As it fluttered its wings slowly, I noticed something startling—etched across the spread was a faint silvery pattern… a delicate sigil that looked just like a tiny crown floating above a blooming flower.

  “She’s a Shadowlume Sylph,” Eri said, as if she were revealing a treasure. “They’re incredibly rare—only emerge during the gloaming hour. I didn’t even think I’d manage to raise one. Isn’t she dreamy?”

  “She’s... haunting,” I breathed, unable to look away. “It’s like she’s made of dusk and starlight.”

  Eri giggled, utterly pleased. “They’re moth-butterfly hybrids, tied to fae flora and ambient magic. She’s calm now, but if you’re feeling too emotional, she’ll fly straight to you. They sense that stuff. I think… I think she might like you.”

  “She what?” I blinked at her, slightly armed.

  “She picked you,” Eri said, grinning wide. “She wouldn’t have shown the sigil if she didn’t.”

  I stared back at the Sylph, who had turned slightly, as if to listen. Her wings pulsed slowly like breathing. I wasn’t sure if I felt chosen… or warned.

  Either way, I had the distinct feeling this wouldn’t be the st time I saw her wings.

  Eri continued her very official tour of Bug Haven, even though I already knew half of her insect companions by heart. Still, she insisted on giving me the test updates on their lives—as if I were returning from a long diplomatic mission and needed to be fully briefed.

  With the fir of a court gossip, she unched into dramatic retellings of insect affairs: who had successfully molted, who was nesting, and the escating “tension” between two territorial beetles over a prime spot near the heat stone. She even gave them voices. It was absurd… and absolutely hirious.

  I was still trying not to ugh when Cherry, one of her attendants, stepped into the insectarium with a light knock.

  “Young Misses,” she said with a polite curtsy, “Miss Cece has arrived. She’s waiting in the sitting room.”

  Then, with a knowing look, she added, “She also said—and I quote—‘If those two don’t come soon, I’m eating all the cakes.’”

  I gasped.

  This was a critical emergency. I had specifically asked Eri to get me the strawberry shortcake from the famous patisserie in Hertel County—the one that always sells out by noon. And now Cece was threatening to devour it like a dragon hoarding treasure.

  “Let’s hurry, Eri!” I said, panic rising.

  Eri blinked, clearly torn. Her eyes still sparkled with untold bug lore, like she had at least five more insect scandals queued up and ready to share. Honestly, if I let her, we’d end up solving a fictional insect coup and naming all twelve members of her ant council before sundown.

  “Let’s go,” I added quickly. “You know how Cece gets when she has to wait more than five minutes. She’ll be grumpy, judgmental, and worst of all—cake-less.”

  Eri groaned in defeat. “Ugh, fine. But you owe me one Bug Haven gossip session ter.”

  “Deal,” I grinned, already turning for the door.

  And just like that, we left the insect kingdom behind—for now.