Santa Aurelia's Haunting Party Secrets

The streets of Santa Aurelia ripple with late afternoon sun of golden dust spiraling in whirlwinds as the town prepares for its wildest party in decades. Banners ripple between terra-cotta buildings, music pulses from squares, and a thousand camera flashes go off like fireflies trapped in amber.
At the center of it all stands Adrien Vale, musician, heartthrob, heir to the empire of neon and platinum. And on his arm – the woman everyone came to see. Lena Carr, America's golden girl. She is a breath-taking vision in silk and diamonds as she walks with Adrien, looking like a character out of some fresco of the ancient times—Luminous, remote, destined.
Everyone is smiling except for Mira.
Mira DuPont sits on the edge of the rooftop balcony, drinking something cold from a cut tumbler. Her cousin Elise lounges beside her, her legs dangling over the cushioned bench, looking at the parade below with general interest.
"He's glowing," Elise says, swatting a crumb from her skirt. "Like he swallowed a searchlight."
"He's doomed," Mira replies.
Elise raises a brow. "There it is. The sunshine of your disposition."
Mira doesn't answer. She looks down at the couple below them, who slowly make their way to the steps of the cathedral, surrounded by a sea of admirers and reporters. Adrien's hand is on Lena's back as if they were afraid that she would disappear. Meanwhile, Lena scans the crowd like she is on the lookout for a trapdoor.
"You going to ruin the mood for all of us?" Elise asks.
It is not a mood; it's a mirage," Mira mutters. "And someone should be worried."
Elise yawns and stretches cat-like in the sun. "Is this about the dream once again?
"They aren't dreams."
You are woken up screaming and babbling about fires and broken glass, Mira. What shall I call them else?
"Warnings." Mira sets down her glass. "I see what happens next. And it's never good."
You said the same in the case of the Elric wedding, and only someone dropped the cake.
Mira puts her fingers to the temple. "No. That wasn't the vision. It shifted. The outcome changed. Because someone listened."
Elise softens. "You think Adrien's in danger?"
"I know he is."
They fall silent as the crowd below breaks out in a roar. A drone camera whizzes by the balcony, mumbling like an indolent wasp. Lena raises her face and smiles perfectly at the sky.
Mira turns away.
________________________________________
That night, the revelries continue inside the Vale family estate, a mansion snug into the cliffs above the sea, hacked out of alabaster and soaked in myth. Dressed up, guests waft from garden terraces to lavish halls. Champagne bubbles stardust in their flutes.
Mira cuts her way through the crowd as if she were a ghost. Her black gown shimmers only under the flash of candlelight. She does not talk much, and people move apart from her. The youngest of the Vale cousins, the weird one. An old blood relic and some unknown grief.
She finds Adrien in the vicinity of the west atrium – chatting with a bunch of fashion editors. His smile is wide, effortless.
She says, "I need a word."
He steps across from her, tone already wary. "You look... dramatic."
"You're in danger."
"And here I assumed you were to congratulate me.
"Adrien."
His smile fades. "You're serious. Again."
"Do you, actually, understand who Lena really is?"
"Don't start."
"I've seen her before. But it wasn't her. Not exactly. It was some echo. Some shade. And everything burned around her."
Adrien folds his arms. You think that these visions are real. Maybe they are your mind saying that you are afraid".
Mira nearly laughs. "Of what? Happiness? That's never been my problem."
He shakes his head. "You never liked her."
"For I feel what she is. Or what follows her. A storm. A trap."
"You want me to call-off?"
"I want you to survive."
He looks away, jaw tight. "You're wrong. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me".
Mira touches his hand. "And you'll die thinking that."
________________________________________
Two days later, at 5 am, a yacht pulled out of Santa Aurelia for the open sea with a hundred guests for the engagement cruise of the decade. Cameras follow where it flies away like migrating birds. The ship disappears on the horizon.
Mira doesn't board it.
She dreams that night of water that runs red, of Lena, standing at the prow in a white dress soaked to transparency, her eyes blank, her hands raised like a conductor calling thunder.
Early in the morning the next day, Mira calls Elise.
"Something's wrong."
"You say that every morning."
No, I feel it this time,".
Elise groans. "What do you want me to do, though?"
"Track the yacht. There's a storm coming."
"You said that last week."
" Because it's been building for days." This one feels real."
________________________________________
The yacht does not come back on time—communications blackout for eight hours. The coast guard is dispatched. Lastly, a chopper finds the drifting wreck.
Fire damage. Several injured. One missing: Adrien Vale.
News breaks the next day: The yacht caught on fire in the middle of the midnight fireworks. A system failure. Or sabotage. No one knows. Lena is found on a lifeboat, and she is unconscious. Her dress is scorched. Her eyes are closed for a whole day.
Mira reads the headlines in a silent room.
________________________________________
It is a week later when the funeral is done. The urn is gold. The guests are in low-key designer black. Lena stands next to Adrien's parents, looks pale, and is silent.
Mira doesn't cry.
After that, she sees Lena in the cliff garden, under the rose arches, all alone.
"You survived," Mira says.
Lena looks at her slowly. "Did I?"
Mira waits.
Lena sighs. "You tried to warn him."
"Yes."
Would it have been of any difference if I had disappeared?
"I don't know."
They stare at each other for a long period. Then Lena touches Mira's hand.
She whispers, "I dreamed of fire." "Long before I met him. I thought it meant passion."
"It never does," Mira says.
________________________________________
That night, Mira dreams about the city again, but it is different. The sea is still. The streets are quiet. And the sky is without any smoke.
She wakes with tears on her face, the type that falls uninvited.
This time, she does not see the end—only the beginning.
________________________________________
Over the next couple of months, the media changes Adrien into a legend. Lena retreats from public life. The Vale family turns the tragedy into grounds for maritime safety.
Mira stays in Santa Aurelia. Her visions soften. She does painting, a thing she has not done since childhood. She writes letters, which she never sends.
Sometimes, she walks along the cliffs in the dusk, gazing at the horizon, speculating about the alternative future that can still be available.
One afternoon, she gets a letter. Handwritten. No return address.
Inside: a sketch of a flower. A single line beneath it:
" Some storms are just the start".
No signature. But Mira recognizes the penmanship. Clean. Exact.
She smiles.
________________________________________
It is spring season in Santa Aurelia again. The banners come back, but this year, they are less flamboyant. Mira observes them from the rooftop, coffee in hand, with the sea wind in her hair.
Elise brings her up with a scarf and sunglasses.
"Still watching for ghosts?"
"Not anymore."
Then what are you looking out for?
Mira tilts her head. "Something unexpected."
Far below, music starts again. It is, however, no longer like a parade this time.
It sounds like hope.