The House of Ash and Guilt
A mass grave meant nothing left to bury—scavengers, bones scattered, flesh devoured.
But Matthew wouldn't let it go.
"Eli suffered so much—I have to find him," he insisted, tearful and relentless.
So my father, against his better judgment, sent a group of servants to the reeking pit of corpses to search for my remains.
I followed them, watching as they prodded through the mountain of rotting bodies with long iron hooks. The stench was so foul that several young servants doubled over and vomited.
In the end, it was George who found my corpse. He remembered the coarse cloth I'd been wearing when they sold me off—and the tiny, clumsy ink orchid I'd embroidered on the hem with my own hands.