But if Harrison was trying to warn her... Then who was planning to destroy her?
---Blackwood Mansion – The Next MorningSunlight had cut the lace on Leya's bed like glass scattered with pale. Far. Away.Leya hadn't slept.Not quite.Her body had slept, spread out over a half-finished blanket, but her mind had walked dark halls, locked inside her eyes, whispering all the things they'd screamed at her yesterday.> "Beggar.""Leech.""Embarrassment.""Get out.".Each word is constructed of wet, dead sounds, obstinately will. But Leya didn't bleed. Not that they could see.And that scared them.DoneDoneDoneDoneDoneDoneDoneDoneDoneServants' Corridor – 8:00 A.M.Standing in the doorway to the scullery, folding napkins in creased and mechanical hands."Juliet says Nathaniel's inquiring," Clara panted. "Inquires about the necklace. Inquires about the night in question."Leya did not lift her eyes. "Let him.""He's inquiring."This time Leya's hands shook over the cloth.She looked down at the linen — white, clean, folded."I cried," she breathed. "It did not ma
--- Blackwood Mansion – Main Parlor, Late Afternoon Parlor etiquette. Velvet drapes softened golden light to skewered light. Crystal glasses on the bar tray. Orchids in new, unblinking stillness on the windowsill. And Leya had no suspicion. She held, clinching the center of the room like a mourner at an unfriendly funeral. Vivian sat in the center of the circle as usual in her throne-like chair. Eleanor lounged beside her, a leg thrown over the other, an affectation of casualness but radiating tension as Nathaniel leaned against the window his arms folded. Observing. Harrison didn't even move his head when Leya walked in. She had been summoned. Again. But today something was different inside her. Today, she didn't look away. Vivian sipped from her glass. "So," she said icily, "have you finally decided to speak. Or stay in the background?" Leya gasped. Then, I moved forward. "I married Harrison on the grounds of love, not money," she said softly but firmly. "And I came int
--- Blackwood House – Second Night It had fallen outside, clouded grayed over to—the kind that stuck to windows and made the world in/out a water-supplied world, still, heavy, weightless in air. Lying down the corridor, business wear over slept-in bed wear, not paper thinking but the sketch in her book. That one she'd sold out. Cash letter and privilege, signed under charade. She'd seen it in two places the night before. Not to be surprised. That had been present. But to remember. She was chosen not because she was, but because she could so easily be let go. But she hadn't. Or at least, not yet anyway. And she wasn't going to be. --- Drawing Room – Just Before Dinner Vivian and Eleanor sat in front of the fire, wine glasses on the table between them, tension between them stretched tight across the surface but yelling with hurtfulness. When Leya entered with the tea tray, Eleanor’s eyes flicked to her like she was a stain on the wall, “You’re still here” she
--- Blackwood Mansion – Just Before Midnight The house wrapped its silence in silk—silence, velvet-covered and concealing something even though it was rotting in decay. Leya glided down the east corridor with a dusty elegance and fibers of frayed glory. She didn't bother to go out of her way to avoid tread. She was tracking it. Eleanor had a ritual, too. A clockwork evening ritual. Ten minutes in front of the mirror. And then her nightly "self-care"—alien wine in bottles, lavender oil, and moans only the wallpaper heard. Tonight, though, Eleanor was not alone. Clara next door, cloth in hand, was doing as she dusted the shelf above the armoire. Eyes once in the direction of Leya, now on the floor. Message received. Leya stood before Eleanor's door. Knocked once. Hard. Not polite. A pause. Then footsteps. The door creaked open. Eleanor's shadow began to emerge in the light of her vanity. She glared at Leya as if she'd slammed the door in her face—until something in Leya's
--- Blackwood Mansion – The Day After The storm had passed. But Leya understood that it's falling apart would be constant. No broken glass, no creaking foundations—but Leya understood. The silent storms were the most dangerous because they destroyed things inside the human body. Inside her. She woke up early, sooner than she was used to, before the sun could start pouring its radiance in through the big windows. The house was asleep halfway, its walls serious and silent like a theatre on the night before a tragedy that would be played. She got dressed in her own style—gray again. The "ghost thread" dress, they had named it, because it turned her into a ghost when she dressed in it. She complained not. Not going unnoticed today was handy. --- East Wing Library – 7:45 A.M. Leya entered the library by way of the side hallway. No one ventured into the east wing before ten. That left her two hours. She wasn't there to purchase books. She made a beeline for the shelf she had me
--- Blackwood Mansion – Two Days after the Necklace Incident Storms had brewed all morning. Not the thundershowers. The hot ones—the thick, gray-clouded suffocation that drained color and air and made the entire mansion feel older than it was. Leya wandered like a ghost in its halls. Not because she had a secret to hide. But because nobody wished to look at her. Even silence, eventually, is exile. Ironed sheets. Emptied breakfast trays. She did the sidestep along the lower wing when she took the additional step, simply so she wouldn't have to encounter Harrison in the upper wing. Not that she was afraid of him. But because there was still this idiot, pain spot in her that… hoped. Hoped he'd listen to her. Or ask what actually happened. Or remember, for a moment, she hadn't come into this world to bring him down. She hadn't signed up to join the family. Or the house. Or the battle. But she had persisted. Every. Single. Day. And now, not being wasn't enough. --- Outside Ha