(Caption) The young mistress's birthday gift

Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, casting a soft glow on the pale blue walls. The air carried the faint scent of tea and flowers. Outside the door, a maid's gentle voice asked, "Young master, are you ready?"

After a brief silence, a slightly nervous reply came from inside. "…Yes, please come in."

The door opened quietly. The maids entered one by one, their steps light, arms filled with neatly folded garments, a shoebox, and a small round hat. The young master sat before the vanity, his reflection showing a delicate face tinged with unease.

"Then, let's begin."

The first layer was the underwear. The maid helped him into the soft lace fabric, the cool touch making his shoulders tense slightly. Next came the long stockings, drawn slowly from his toes upward, the sheer fabric clinging to his legs and knees like a fine veil.

Then came the dress. The maids carefully slipped the full, ruffled garment over his head, the fabric brushing gently against his cheeks and shoulders before settling around his waist. The deep brown cloth, embroidered with golden roses and ribbons, shimmered softly in the light. The waist ribbon was tied into a perfect bow, shaping his figure into something slender and graceful.

"Please lift your foot a little, young master."

One maid knelt and helped him into a pair of high heels. The small click of the buckle at his ankle sounded crisp and final. The elevated soles shifted his balance slightly forward. It was his first time wearing shoes like these; his steps felt uncertain but carried a strange, graceful rhythm.

"Now for your hair, please sit still."

The brush glided through his light brown hair, smooth and silky in the sunlight. The maid curled a few locks at the ends, letting them fall naturally over his shoulders, then tied ribbons into soft bows on either side. The dark bows framed his face, which now looked even more refined.

The makeup process slowed time itself. The soft puff dabbed against his skin, powder blending smoothly. A faint blush touched his cheeks, a gentle pink brushed across his lips. His brows softened, and his lashes lengthened with a light touch of mascara. Slowly, the figure in the mirror changed—no longer quite the same person.

The maid stepped back and smiled faintly. "From now on, you are no longer the young master."

She paused, her eyes warm. "You should be called the young mistress."

He pressed his lips together, as if to protest, but when his gaze met the mirror, he froze. The person looking back had soft curls of light brown hair, fair skin like porcelain, and a calm, almost tender glow. Her fingers trembled slightly; her cheeks were flushed with quiet color.

On the table rested a small gift box, wrapped in dark brown paper with a golden ribbon. She reached out to take it, her fingers shaking just a little.

"Good luck, young mistress," one of the maids whispered.

She nodded gently. In that moment, her heartbeat drowned out every other sound in the room.

She was going to see her dearest friend. The gift she carried was meant for that friend's birthday—but now, she understood that what she was giving was more than what lay inside the box. She took a breath, lips curling into a shy smile.

—The real gift was herself.

As she stepped out of the room, sunlight spilled across the deep brown fabric of her dress, the golden embroidery glowing softly. The skirt swayed with her movement, and the sound of her heels echoed delicately through the hall. Each step carried both shyness and quiet resolve.