i.

Mid November, 1927,

"AUTOBIOGRAPHIC?" RITA MAXWELL EXCLAIMED, a glass of rose champagne glittering in between her fingers as the blonde haired slender girl tried to mimic Evangeline Hamilton's—or rather Evangeline Milford's, as she was known to her friends and acquaintances in the city of New Orleans—elegant stance, as Maxwell watched the host of the city's most private and cultured all female book club sat perched on the arm of the green satin sofa in the rustic but quaintly furnished drawing room of her house.

Evangeline Milford was a muse in her own right. A sudden socialite gaining popularity in the Crescent city, a practicing witch—a spiritual woman with her mind and heart entirely in tune with the phases of the moon and the rituals she engaged in to ground and elevate herself, surrounded by crystals and candles—and a connoisseur of all things intellectual and beautiful to look at. With her shoulder length dark hair, her blood red painted lips, her high cheekbones on her sculpted face, and her big darkly eye-lined and thick lashed brown eyes, the twenty-four year old made a statement just by her glamorous and bold appearance. Her skin was a tanned light brown, and the unique color of it made her stand out in this city littered with the artful Creoles and sly Cajuns. 

The vision of her, at present, sitting perched on the arm of the sofa, higher than all her other female friends and fellow book club compatriots, with one golden tanned knee resting elegantly on the other, calmed and intimidated all those present at the same time.

"Autobiographic in what way?" Rita Maxwell—a hairstylist and manicurist by profession—asked, disbelief on her made up face as the girl hesitantly swallowed a gulp of champagne, pushing her short and frizzy platinum blonde hair back. 

"Did you not read Woolf's conversations about the book?" Babette Laurent—a gossip columnist for several newspapers—scoffed, her brown hair gelled and tied so tightly back that it was assumed every facial expression was hurting even if the girl did not let it show.

"She clearly says that To The Lighthouse has some autobiographical elements," Babette continued haughtily, as always prideful of having all the exclusive details as per her profession. "Mr and Mrs Ramsey are based on Woolf's own parents, and the character of Lily Briscoe and her thoughts of the creative process of painting, represent Woolf's own thoughts on writing."

"Well," Dorothy Carlton was the next to add, a single hand playing with the long loose braid she had pulled over her shoulder with big bits of her sleek light brown straight hair falling out. Carlton was not one to keep up with the trends of the Crescent city, and it was believed—amongst the girls, that is—that she was the possibly last woman in New Orleans to have long hair at present, well atleast in the circles that kept up with trends. 

The girl's voice was precise and toned, as it always was, for her profession as a hotel receptionist had catered it so, even if it had not catered to her personal style as much. 

"Surely merely adding two slight resemblances from one's own life into a piece of writing that is categorized as fiction, is not that significant as to be called autobiographical. Don't you think so, Evangeline?"

Evangeline Milford took a sip from her own glass of champagne, all of her thoughts consumed by To The Lighthouse, the center of discussion for her book club this November.

It was a beautiful November afternoon in New Orleans, and the sun was blaring strong outside, trying to drench the creeping cool whispering into the wind desperately before the cold eventually won the fight come December. But it wasn't December yet, and until the snow starts to fall, the winter could surely wait.

Evangeline had gathered the usual girls—or perhaps not gathered, but had let them flock to her house of their own accord once the day of the meeting rolled around like a slab of butter underneath a butterknife. She had just finished performing a generating ritual upstairs in her bedroom where she had her altar setup, and as a result she was fully grounded and full of the divine energy she had believed she had lacked waking up this morning. Having gotten that again, she had been quite more than ready for the day. 

As for the book club, she could not quite put a finger on the hows and whens of it all, of how and when she had started a book club, for Evangeline was not much for remembering insignificant details like that, she merely cared for progress and the event in general. After all, the jazz age was the jazz age, one did not see ladies or gentlemen in speakeasies inquire about the how the jazz age came to be or when it came be, they merely moved heads to the music and spun around on heels, letting fancier gentlemen take them home without a care in the world.

All Evangeline could offer, if asked about her how book club came to be, was that she was at St Dauphine's Books on an August morning as her fifth visit to the bookshop after she had moved to New Orleans at the end of July. It had suddenly rained hard that day, and the bookshop owner—a sly but charming gentleman—had been ever so pleased to have all the ladies present under his store's roof to stay until the downpour was over.

It were all those same ladies who now gathered at Evangeline Milford's house—one of the more grander houses on 33 Monticello street in New Orleans, Louisiana—to discuss a book every month over champagne, lunch and desert, just without the sly bookshop owner at St Dauphine's.

Evangeline had, it could be said, made quite a fresh start for herself in her three and a half months in this city. Certainly, her elder sister would say so, and so would her brother-in-law, if they ever left their throne and palace in Maldonia to visit her, that is. Her nephew though, cheeky and sly as he was, said more when he jested, but his wife said just the right amount.

Naveen and Tiana had visited Evangeline often in her three and a half months here, for Tiana's Palace—one of the most famed restaurants in New Orleans, was in the city and Tiana took time out to come supervise her establishment often, bringing Naveen with her as the couple travelled back and forth from Maldonia to New Orleans.

The last time they had dropped by at Evangeline's house was a week ago, and she had made sure to mention To The Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf to both of them, even going as far as to give them her own annotated copy in hopes that either of them would read it and join in the discussion Evangeline was to host. But as expected, neither of them were particularly open to developing a hobby like reading. Tiana was a cook, and Naveen was a sly crook.

"Evange, come on now," Naveen had grinned, his brown eyes twinkling, when she had expressed the statement to him once. "I read. I read the back of everything I buy so that I can work it and not embarrass myself. Reading instructions is reading. And not to mention all those headlines of myself. I may be a sly crook, but Of course I read!"

Tiana, on the other hand, was open to starting the hobby, sweet as she was. But God did the woman work hard, what with her restaurant in the city and her active duties as the Princess of Maldonia, Evangeline almost felt bad for insisting too much.

Evangeline too was a Princess, but she had no active duties. Evange was the kind of Princess who got left behind, for there had always been an elder sister who had been the crown Princess—the destined heir to their father's throne. Evangeline was born a few months after Prince Naveen was born. Her sister—sixteen years older than her—had become the Queen of Maldonia after their father had stepped down, she had married a Prince of a neighboring kingdom, making him her King and starting a family with him. Evange had came into being alongside that family that her sister had been creating for herself.

So Evange's title as Princess of Maldonia had always been less in political significance-more so when Naveen had married Tiana and made her the active Princess of Maldonia.

Evangeline Hamilton loved her elder sister dearly, she loved her brother-in-law and both her nephews—Naveen and little Ralphie—to death, and after Naveen had fallen in love, Evange had found herself making space in her heart for Tiana as well.

That was why she was here in New Orleans. They had all asked her to leave, worried about her wellbeing. They had insisted so much that Evangeline had no choice, for she would've rather faced the threat she had suddenly found herself under in Maldonia, head on.

Evange would rather have picked up a knife herself and faced her father's killer head on, regardless of how much her hands would've shook. She would've preferred anything to running away and hiding in a city where just changing her last name had made her utterly unrecognizable. Of course it had. Evangeline's face did not grace newspapers at all like Naveen's or Tiana's did. In Maldonia, she had been living a life of wealth and freedom, with all of her dozens of royal and unroyal friends, weekly parties, literary salons, vacations, travelling.

By accepting to come to New Orleans to hide away, Evangeline had given up so many aspects of her life, and she would be lying if every day she did not itch to go back.

"It seems to me that To The Lighthouse has had a profound aspect on Evange," A high pitched but rounded voice intruded on Evangeline's thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

"I, for one, found it inexplicably boring."

Evangeline Milford looked at Charlotte La Bouff, the girl's glossed short blonde hair in perfect swoops at her ears, a ribboned hat—matching the color of her dress—covering the top of her head as the girl examined her perfectly manicured nails, her blue gaze nonchalant.

Out of all of Evangeline's new friends in the Crescent City, and even in this book club gathering, it was Charlotte who Evange had more-and at times even less—in common with. Both of them were heiresses in their own right and had no official professions like most of their working friends, though Charlotte—like everyone else—did not know Evangeline to be a Princess, only an heiress like her.

La Bouff did not particularly qualify as an adamant reader, and the only reason she was present in every book club meeting was that she had happened to be at St Dauphine's that August afternoon on account of her father's insistence she expand her knowledge on a particular subject. Charlotte had been quite a fun acquaintance to make and Evange had hit it off with the bold girl instantly—amused by her slightly unorthodox extravagance, while Evange's own extravagance was a feat carefully cultivated and upkept with calculation and her intimidation. There was a contrast, and Evangeline liked contrasts in her friends.

Then one day Tiana and Naveen had chanced upon Charlotte La Bouff and Evangeline grabbing a bite to eat together at a café in the city, and it was then that the girls' acquaintance had deepened, for La Bouff had been already friends with Tiana and Naveen as well, and while she now knew that Evange was a friend to the couple as well, there was no familial relation in the girl's mind, and Naveen and Tiana were careful not to speak of it.

"Did you even read it Lottie?" Evangeline narrowed her glittering brown eyes playfully. "Because while not profound, I did actually find it quite refreshing."

"Of course I read it, sugar," Charlotte lied, pouting slightly. "I read the first page. That counts, does it not?"

"And why did you not go past the first page?" Babette Laurent asked, a brow raised teasingly. "Do not tell me there was an appointment."

"Of course there was!" Charlotte cried. "Big Daddy has been limiting me to a single spa appointment every two weeks, and I read that page while I was waiting. When else is one supposed to read? I simply had no waiting times for any appointments after, so if you want to, blame Big Daddy."

"Perhaps your Big Daddy needs a spa treatment himself," Babette mused cheekily, sucking in her cheek as she sipped her champagne and batted her eyelashes. "And perhaps some company during it as well."

La Bouff blinked as Laurent's statement registered in the blonde girl's slightly less than what was considered sharp intelligence. 

"Oh please, Babette," Charlotte huffed then, forcing herself to maintain her composure as annoyance rattled through the girl. "Perhaps your dreams of becoming my stepmother should've been laid to rest as soon as they became part of your various obsessions. Big Daddy does not entirely prefer gossip writers you see, and none of the love spells that you might ask Evange to perform shall work on him."

"No offense to you, boo," La Bouff broke off to blow a kiss to Evangeline, who giggled slightly. 

Laurent scoffed, but kept her mouth shut as she gulped down her remaining drink. 

"If you ask me," Rita Maxwell uttered in next, sleek eyes pointedly surveying Babette in disapproval before settling into neutrality. "Someone who definitely needs a spa treatment is Virginia Woolf. To The Lighthouse was doing too much."

"And what, pray, makes you say that?" Dorothy Carlton twisted her lips. "You ladies are being biased, I thought Woolf was spectacular. There's such emotion and sensibility in her authorial voice!"

"Oh, honey, please," Evangeline broke in then, rolling her eyes playfully. "We don't make shrines out of authors."

"Exactly," Rita let out smartly. "We critique them, and Woolf though nice, is far from what actually qualifies as spectacular."

"Let us have a show of hands first, shall we?" Babette raised her brows then, leaning forwards to place her glass away on the table in the drawing room. "Because I am struggling to understand what all of us conclusively thought of the book, and maybe then we can discuss the whys of our opinions further?" 

Evangeline raised a shoulder, smiling curiously. As the book club host, it was her duty to moderate the conversations, and she had done exactly that for the previous four meetings the girls had had to discuss four different books each. This was the fifth meeting now, and Evange had taken to loosen her moderation, letting the rest of girls take the reins if they wanted to as well. 

"Brilliant idea," She agreed with Laurent, straightening up and sitting a bit taller on where she was perched on the arm of the sofa, her elegant form like that of a intimidating but stunning black swan's—or female leads that authors like Scott Fitzgerald write so sultrily about. 

"First, a show of hands for everyone who thought the book was actually good?" Evangeline asked the question, raising a brow as all of the girls surveyed each other and paused, before Dorothy Carlton huffed and raised up her hand, annoyed at the fact that she was the only person to do so. 

"Alright," Babette grinned. "Now a show of hands for everyone who thought it was plain bad?" 

At that, Rita Maxwell raised her hand with pride, blinking in irritation when she realized she was the only one with that solid opinion. 

Evangeline shrugged. "Finally, a show of hands of all who have mixed opinions?" 

At that the remaining party, Evange herself, Babette Laurent and Charlotte La Bouff raised their hands. 

Babette narrowed her eyes at Charlotte. "Remind me why someone who only read the first page had mixed opinions?" 

Charlotte held up her nose. "Well, silly, I did not get to read enough to find out what was actually happening, did I?"

"You said that first page was boring." 

"Boring can be a mixed opinion, can it not Evange?" Charlotte looked at Evangeline for support.

"Sure it can, honey," Evangeline got off the sofa and walked over to a gorgeous crystal jug she had settled on top of a low book shelf in the drawing room of the her house for no other reason than the fact that it continued cranberry juice and not champagne, which was why she was certain none of the girls would like its presence on the drawing room table along with the crystal jug of the champagne. But the cranberry juice was still present for an added enjoyment, for those who had the taste for it—which constituted of only Evange at present. She adored cranberry juice, and apparently nobody in her life back at Maldonia and now in New Orleans did not much care for it. 

"As long as you can explain it," Evange spun of her heels to face the seated girls, her empty crystal glass now full of crimson cranberry juice as she angled her hourglass form at her gathered intellectuals with pride. 

"Things become quite mixed when one explains them, don't they?" 

Dorothy Carlton giggled, pouring another glass of champagne for herself. "I think that is the silliest thing I've ever heard." 

"What?" Evange laughed, mocking offense. "I'm being honest. I don't much like explanations, I like to see things how they are, not how they want to be seen. For if you want to manipulate me such so, why not do a better job at it?" 

"Oh sugar," Charlotte crooned in with a pretense concern on her face. "You do realize you are the host of this book club and a certified witch, don't you? Interpretation is a thing, last I heard." 

"Well," Evange sipped her drink, folding one slender golden tanned arm across her chest. "I like books to appear to me as they are, I do not much care for what the literature was trying to do. I mean, just do it, you know? Is not that a simple concept? Same with my spells, they are all for my energy and life, and I do them just as I want them to work." 

"Makes sense to me," Rita Maxwell shrugged nonchalantly, pouring herself another glass of champagne as well. 

"See?" Evange mused teasingly, as she eyed Dorothy before sipping her cranberry juice with pride. 

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

The book club meeting came to a close at about 6pm, and Evangeline had finished bidding her friends and fellow intellectuals—though the dolls had a.. different quality to the intellectual friends Evange had in Maldonia and the standard of the literary salons she was used to frequenting, but regardless she had realized in her time in the Crescent city that not every conversation need be so deep and often confusing to the point that it has her tossing and turning in bed questioning her own opinions and views.

As she tidied up the drawing room, the newly released record Keep Sweeping The Cobwebs Off The Moon by the Ted Lewis Band played on Evangeline's record player in the background and a freshly lit fire crackled in the hearth in the drawing room, she swayed and moved her hips to the melody as she worked, mouthing the words to the song that she had by now learned by heart even though the record was released three days ago. 

"Your highness!" A shocked voice tore through the air and Evange turned to look at the form of her butler—Herbert, a thin and tall man with a bald shining head who dressed always in his alarmingly pressed and firm uniform, with his coat tails flapping about at his back whilst his polished shoes reflected every light in the room—standing with his eyes wide at the door of the drawing room. 

"Oh, your highness," He swiftly glided in. "You mustn't! Where in the world is that maid—"

Evangeline shook her head playfully. "I sent Teresa to the market for some herbs I need for my bath tonight, Herbert, and do not fret. I am perfectly capable of tidying up a drawing room."

"That doesn't mean you should, your highness!" The butler spoke, his voice grave as he instantly resorted to the task himself, taking the vase Evangeline was holding in her hand from her. 

"Herbert," Evange exhaled. "My lady, Herbert. What if Teresa hears you someday? And women in New Orleans can arrange their drawing rooms themselves. I am not cleaning it, merely rearranging after the book club meeting."

"Y-yes, my lady," The butler corrected himself, and Evangeline felt pity for him struck her again. He had been butler to her and her father when she was in Maldonia and was still a Princess and the sister of the Queen of Maldonia, as well as aunt to the two Princes of Maldonia. And whilst Evange was still some of those things, she doubted she could even qualify as a Princess in New Orleans, for though she had set the title away for a while, she was scared it wouldn't fit her again like it once had. 

Herbert on the other hand, had remained a butler and had followed her to the Crescent city, except, he had been reduced as a royal butler to just a butler to a rich heiress in New Orleans. He no longer had command over a dozen of servants, and no control over a bigger management. His status had been reduced like her own and for a man like him, that wouldn't feel so nice.  

"But still, my lady," Herbert uttered then. "I can't see you doing these tasks. Please sit, my lady, let me do them while Teresa is away. Once she comes, I will set about preparing dinner for you and have it done in an hour."

Reduced to being a butler and a cook, as well as footmen duties. Yes, Evangeline decided, it wouldn't feel so nice. 

It wasn't that she could not get him a staff to manage, and ultimately make things easier for both herself, him and Teresa. It was just that she needed to be discreet with how many people she let in. For her own safety, she had been told by The Director General of the New Orleans Police Department—Mr Armand Landry—when the man had escorted her from Maldonia and to the Crescent city three and a half months ago, that she needed to have minimal staff. Aside from Herbert, who had knowledge of everything and was almost family to the Princess, Teresa had undergone a hefty inspection by the NOPD when Evange had hired her, and though the poor maid—originally a Venetian—had been none the wiser and assumed this was just protocol in New Orleans, Evangeline felt much pity for her ordeals. 

"I will help you," Evange spoke up then. "I saw this absolutely scrumptious looking recipe amongst the ones Tiana mailed to me two days ago. I desperately want to try it." 

Herbert's face constricted. "My lady," He began hesitantly, not quite approving of Evangeline's culinary interests. 

Evange was not a pro chef like Tiana was, but she had always dabbled in baking back in Maldonia even if she wasn't allowed most of the times. Since coming to New Orleans, she had found that there was much time on her hands and only a few people to tell her no. And besides, if she could bake a good cake once in a while, how much harder can cooking meals be?

"I believe I've already said my final word on the matter, Herbert, and I do not want to have this discussion with you again. As long as I am in New Orleans, I shall do what I want." 

Herbert bit back his disagreement, engaging himself in setting the drawing room before he jumped up as he remembered something. 

"Oh, my lady!" He let out. "Tomorrow the new chief of Police is scheduled to come to the house with the director general, Mr Armand Landry. They sent word earlier today to ask of your availability." 

"Availability," Evange bit back an urge to scoff. "Where shall I go in the aftermath of them limiting my activity such so? Teresa told me how Mr Landry spoke to her about discouraging me from going out on weekends. How dare he talk about me at my back? He acts as though I drink around at speakeasies and clubs whenever I go out. Has he heard of silent reading parties or night museums? Or even spiritual seances, nightly meditation and yoga classes? The insolent man." 

"Let him come," She let out. "I shall let him know exactly what I think of him."

Evangeline had heard the director general mention the new chief of police to her about a dozen times. Apparently, the man had been the previous chief of police of New Orleans but was repositioned elsewhere because of something that had happened involving him. 

"But he is the best we have ever had, your highness, and I realize that I need him back in Crescent city now, what with your protection at stake." 

Mr Landry's words had been prideful when he spoke of the man in question, though Evangeline couldn't figure why then had he repositioned the man. She wasn't quite fond of the idea of the DGP bringing back repositioned men in the police department for the sake of her own safety, but there was nothing she could do to discourage any of this fuss, for it was her sister who had started it. The Queen of Maldonia's sanction to protect her sister in New Orleans had gotten the city's police department on their toes, and nobody wanted to fall short of the task. 

If only Evangeline's father were here too, if only he had made it out unhurt, she wouldn't have minded all this fuss around both of them. But what was the use, when the only important life had been lost? What did her own life compare to that of her father's? or even that of her sister, The Queen's? 

Evange doubted that her father's killer even knew that she existed. People knew that the Queen of Maldonia had a father and a family of her own, but rarely did they know that the Queen had a sister as well. So how would that killer know that she existed? He had done the job and left their house in Maldonia, while Evangeline had only been awoken after the deed had been done with a discomfort in her heart. 

Her life wasn't as important as her family's, and surely no killer wanted it. So there was no use in her hiding out like this, in compromising the way she loved to live her life for the fear that everyone else but her seemed to be feeling for her. 

Evangeline swallowed thickly, feeling her heart go heavy in her chest. Instantly she got up.

"I shall be at my altar, Herbert," She spoke faintly, before making her way out of the drawing room and into the foyer to climb the staircase that led upstairs, her mind fixed on the herbs she so desperately needed Teresa to come back with.

***

A/N:
my fourth favorite disney movie has also been turned into an AU now, i hope you guys like this one as i start to give it some shape and we settle properly into the story chapter by chapter<3