Page 4 of Meadowsweet and Marigold (EverAfter CozyXverse #1)

STARTING A NEW FROM THE ROOT

~ M ARIGOLD~

Marigold's reflection stared back at her, almost unrecognizable.

The mirror — once a trusted companion that had witnessed countless moments of preparation before performances — now showed a stranger with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

The elegant dressing room of her little studio that had once been her sanctuary felt like a mausoleum of dreams.

Her hands trembled as she clutched the cream-colored envelope.

The Everhart Pack's official seal was broken, and the letter partially unfolded.

She couldn't bring herself to read it completely, not yet. The familiar scent of her former Alpha still clung to the paper — sandalwood and authority — making her Omega instincts curl with remembered submission.

"Stop it," she whispered to herself, her voice cracking. "They don't own you anymore."

They don’t deserve her. Not a group of Alphas who use your passions and dreams against you…who will spin a fairytale in your mind when all they wanted is her sister who looks no different from her.

The polished surface of her vanity reflected the scattered remnants of her career— makeup half-packed into cases, hairpins strewn across the surface, a pair of pointe shoes hanging from the corner of the mirror, their ribbons dangling like nooses.

She couldn’t take long.

The taxi was awaiting her outside, which time was precious. She’d have to face reality…whether she liked it or not.

With a deep breath, Marigold forced herself to unfold the letter completely.

Dear Ms. Everhart,

We hope this letter finds you well in your... current circumstances.

The formal tone couldn't mask the condescension. Marigold's stomach tightened as she continued reading.

The Crescent Moon Ballet Company has flourished under new leadership.

As you may have heard, your sister Magnolia has graciously stepped into the principal role of Odette/Odile for our production of Swan Lake.

The critics have been unanimous in their praise, with the Chronicle calling her "the definitive interpretation of our generation — erasing all memory of previous dancers in the role. "

Marigold's fingers went numb.

That had been her signature role. The one she'd spent years perfecting.

Erased by the Omega who looks exactly like her.

How laughable all of this is…

Furthermore, the annual Moonlight Gala will proceed with Magnolia serving as chairwoman. The committee felt her vision better aligned with the pack's values moving forward.

"My gala," Marigold whispered, knees weakening. She reached for her chair, the plush velvet catching her as she sank down. "She's taking everything."

Literally everything.

Years of work.

Years of sacrifice.

Her eyes skimmed further down the page.

Your personal effects have been removed from the company locker room and pack house. They await your retrieval at the security desk. Please arrange collection at your earliest convenience, preferably during non-performance hours.

The pack council has unanimously voted to formally recognize your sister as the rightful cultural ambassador for the Everhart bloodline.

The letter was signed by Rowan Thorne himself — her former Alpha, the man who had promised her everything before publicly humiliating her with his rejection. The signature was bold and slashing, taking up more space than necessary.

Alpha arrogance, even on paper.

Marigold stared at the letter, hardly believing the words before her.

"How could she?" she murmured, the betrayal cutting deeper with each second. "My own twin."

She forced herself to look back at her reflection.

Same emerald-green hair as Magnolia, though hers was pulled back in a severe bun while her sister always wore hers in loose waves.

Same sunset-orange eyes, though now hers were bloodshot and hollow. Same sprinkling of freckles across their noses that their mother used to call "fairy kisses."

But Magnolia had succeeded where Marigold had failed.

She had secured the pack's approval.

Had stolen it, rather.

The letter continued more salt in the wound.

Magnolia wishes to express that she harbors no ill will and hopes that, in time, you'll understand this transition was inevitable. She's quoted as saying, "My sister was always borrowing time in a role that should have been mine. The universe simply restored balance."

"Borrowing time? Restored Balanced?" Marigold's voice rose, echoing in the empty dressing room. "I earned every moment on that stage! Every blister, every broken toenail, every sixteen-hour rehearsal day!"

Her reflection showed a flash of something beyond pain — a spark of the fierce independence that had always made her different from the other omegas.

The spark that had probably doomed her from the start.

She let the letter fall to her lap, her mind racing through a kaleidoscope of memories — Magnolia watching from the wings during Marigold's solos, Magnolia's too-tight hugs after successful performances, Magnolia's "helpful" suggestions to Rowan about pack protocol that gradually isolated Marigold.

"It was all calculated," Marigold whispered, the realization washing over her like ice water. "Every smile, every sisterly word of encouragement. She was just waiting for me to fall."

The phone on her vanity buzzed with a text. Marigold glanced down to see Magnolia's name on the screen:

Hope you got the update from the pack. Just wanted to check if you're coming to tomorrow's performance. We could have dinner after. I'd love to hear what you think of my interpretation of the Black Swan's thirty-two fouettés. I've added my own little flourish to the ending. xoxo

Marigold stared at the message, feeling the knife twist deeper.

Unbelievable. Madness!

Her heart hammered against her ribs as if trying to escape the agony blooming inside her chest.

With trembling fingers, she crumpled the letter, the expensive paper crinkling like autumn leaves underfoot. The sound filled her dressing room — the same room where she'd once prepared for countless performances, now a mausoleum to her former life.

"She planned this," Marigold whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself. "All of it."

The letter compressed into a tight ball in her fist, each wrinkle another betrayal. Her sister hadn't just stolen her role — she'd methodically dismantled Marigold's entire existence: her career, her relationships, her pack, her identity.

"My own twin." The words caught in her throat as tears threatened again, having to repeat or else her mind would never accept such cruelty. Her sister…of blood, a reflection of herself could be so sinister.

She wouldn't cry.

Not anymore.

Magnolia had already taken enough.

Marigold slumped against the vanity, her reflection fragmenting as her vision blurred. The weight of Magnolia's betrayal pressed down on her shoulders, a physical presence crushing her spine, forcing her to bend where she once stood tall.

Her mind drifted back to the opening night of Swan Lake six months ago — her last performance before everything crumbled. The theater lights had dimmed, and she'd stepped onto the stage, her body transforming into pure movement.

"I was born for that role," she murmured, eyes closed, remembering.

The audience had been utterly silent during her thirty-two fouettés — those impossible spinning turns that separated great ballerinas from merely good ones.

Then came the thunderous applause, the standing ovation that seemed to last forever. Bouquets at her feet.

Rowan waiting backstage with that look in his eyes — pride, desire, possessiveness.

"You were transcendent tonight," he'd whispered in her ear. "The pack is honored to call you ours."

Magnolia had been there too, green hair perfectly styled, golden-orange eyes glittering as she'd embraced Marigold.

"No one could ever dance it like you," she'd said, her voice dripping with what Marigold had mistaken for sisterly admiration.

The memory shattered against the harsh reality of her present.

Now she sat alone in a dressing room that would soon belong to someone else, her reflection a stranger — red-eyed, hollow-cheeked, a shadow of the dancer who had once commanded the stage.

"Look at yourself," she told her reflection. "What are you now? An omega rejected by her Alpha, a dancer without company, a sister without..." Her voice broke. She'd almost said "family," but the Everharts had made their choice clear.

They stood with Magnolia now.

No family. No pack.

In a few short hours, she was all alone in this grand world…

Marigold uncurled her fist, letting the crumpled letter fall to the floor. She stared at her empty palm, the same hand that had once expressed every emotion through dance, now just trembling flesh and bone.

"I'm nothing like her," Marigold said, straightening her shoulders slightly. "I wouldn't have done this to anyone, especially not my own sister."

The realization didn't comfort her, but it steadied something deep inside — a small flicker of self-recognition amid the chaos of betrayal.

Marigold pulled her large suitcase from the closet with unexpected force, sending a cascade of ballet slippers tumbling to the floor. They scattered like fallen petals — pink satin monuments to a life now ending.

She didn't bother picking them up.

"I won't need these where I'm going," she whispered, turning to her wardrobe with newfound determination.

Each item she packed carried the weight of memory.

The sapphire dress she'd worn to the company gala last winter.

The cashmere sweater Rowan had complimented during their third date.

The practice leotards, each worn thin at different spots from countless hours at the barre.

"Willowbend," she murmured, testing the name of her destination as she folded a simple blouse. "Where no one knows my name. Where no one has seen me dance. Where no one has watched me fall."

Her hands stilled over a framed photograph.