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Morning, Softly
Last Updated:
2025-06-08 11:39:14
Latest chapter
The Crimson Letter The Ones Who Remember
The light seemed to turn brittle. Like it had passed through too many windows and picked up every secret on its way in.Sloane stood barefoot in the center of her room, staring down at the sketchpad. The image of Lenore remained as it had been, drawn in clean graphite lines, precise and haunted. But it was the writing that held her still.‘She remembered too much.’The words didn’t feel like hers.They felt like a sentence.She’d stared at the phrase for nearly ten minutes, trying to decide if the message was from Lenore… or about her. Either answer was a threat.She needed to move, do something tangible, before the stillness turned to unraveling.She showered slowly, letting the hot water chase the chill from her spine, but it did little to loosen the weight in her chest. The mirror fogged, and when she wiped it clean, her reflection looked paler than she remembered. Like something had been drained in the night and hadn’t yet returned. She dressed without thinking. A soft long-sleev
The Crimson Letter What Remains in the Quiet
The night still pressed against the windows, but inside the drawing room, the air had turned warmer, softer, crackling faintly from the fire Theo had reignited, more for comfort than heat.Sloane sat curled in one of the high-backed chairs, her robe wrapped tightly around her, hair falling loose over one shoulder. She hadn’t spoken much since the handprint. Her eyes kept drifting back to the glass door, though Theo had long since drawn the curtains.He poured a small glass of brandy and brought it to her. Not with a flourish, but with a quiet familiarity that said he didn’t expect thanks. Just that she drink.She took it, fingers brushing his. They lingered for half a breath too long.“You’re shaking,” he said.“I know.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s passing.”He pulled the other chair closer, not beside her but angled, as if unwilling to crowd her, even though everything in his posture screamed protectiveness. It was a restraint she hadn’t noticed before, or maybe just hadn’t wanted to
The Crimson Letter Beneath the Skin of the House
They didn’t speak much after the box.Theo carried it upstairs while Sloane kept the locket and note cradled carefully in her hands, as if the wrong jolt might shake the memory loose again.They returned to the drawing room out of habit, though the fire had burned low. Shadows stretched long across the floor. Neither of them sat.Theo paced once, then set the box on the mantle. “You should try to rest,” he said gently, but the crease between his brows didn’t ease.Sloane nodded. She didn’t say she wouldn’t sleep. She wasn’t sure if she could with her wandering mind taking its toll.He offered to walk her back to her room, but she declined. “I need a moment alone,” she said, and he accepted it, reluctantly, but without protest.The house was quiet as she made her way through it. Not the usual quiet, felt less peaceful. Listening was no longer the right word for it either.It felt… reactive. Like someone standing just behind her shoulder, waiting to be acknowledged.In her room, she sh
The Crimson Letter The Box That Opened
Neither of them moved for a long time after the photo was set down. The quiet between them held, not awkward, but fragile. Like stepping onto a frozen lake, not sure where the cracks would form. The kind of stillness that follows not comfort, but recognition.Sloane’s fingers rested lightly on the edge of the table. She felt it there. The steady pulse of something old waking up inside her. Not memory exactly. Something older.Theo finally spoke, voice quiet but firm. “There’s an old storage corridor just off the east wing. My father used to keep things there he didn’t want catalogued.”Sloane’s gaze lifted. “What kind of things?”He stood, brushing dust from his palms. “Things he couldn’t explain. Or didn’t want to.”They moved together through the corridor, their footsteps muffled against worn runners and ancient wood. The lights along the walls had long gone dim, casting the hallway in a hushed amber glow. The portraits seemed to lean in slightly, watching with the stillness of thos
The Crimson Letter The Summer She Forgot
She found Theo in the drawing room again, leaning against the fireplace mantle, sleeves rolled and collar undone, as if the house refused to let him rest.He looked up when she entered. No pretense. No guarded silence. Just eyes that saw her and didn’t look away.Sloane stepped inside, the old drawing clutched in her hand. She hadn’t planned on showing him yet. But her fingers betrayed her, offering it like something too heavy to carry alone.He took it gently. Studied it.His brow furrowed. “You drew this?”“I don’t remember doing it,” she said quietly. “But it’s mine. My mother sent it today… said I visited here when I was six. Said I used to talk about a girl in the mirror.”Theo looked up slowly.“You never told me,” she added, voice tighter now. “You said the first time I came here was with you.”“It was,” he said. “Or… I thought it was.”He crossed the room to sit on the low sofa and motioned for her to join him. She did, carefully, curling one leg beneath her. He held the drawi
The Crimson Letter The One It Listens To
The walk back to the house was slower than the one that brought her out. The garden behind her felt like a wound the earth hadn’t decided whether to close or keep open. Sloane moved in silence, boots sinking into soft moss, the air thick with the scent of wet bark and rust. Branches scraped across her sleeves as she passed beneath them, and somewhere in the trees, something followed, not seen, not heard, just felt. When she reached the broken path that led up to the mansion, she paused once, looking back. The greenhouse was gone. Or hidden again. Either way, it didn’t surprise her. She didn’t need to see it to know it would remember her.The air shifted the moment she stepped back into the house.Not colder, not louder. Just… closer. As if the walls had leaned in, listening now with more intent.She moved slowly, brushing dried leaves from her coat as she passed through the side corridor. The door she’d entered through, half-wrapped in rotted vines and ruin just moments ago, was gone.
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