Elodie
I stared at the cover, my fingers resting against the edge as if the story might reach through the leather and pull me back in. It was nonsense, of course. Meant to scare children into obedience. To keep them away from things adults didn’t want them finding.
Still.
A shiver crawled down my spine. Not fear…something colder and sharper. The kind of sensation you feel when someone says your name in a room you thought was empty.
I sat the book aside and stood. The air in the room felt heavy, like it had been holding its breath with me.
I needed space. Something real beneath my feet.
My fingers were numb at the memory of falling from a place I had never been before, to the unfamiliar mausoleum’s stone floor disappearing from beneath me.
The story was just ink. But my dream hadn’t been.
I pushed myself out of bed, dressed, and snuck out into the garden. My dreams were leading me to one place. Somewhere I hadn’t dared to venture yet: the woods. So why not give them a chance? Why not go and see what lay at the edge of the grounds.
I crossed the garden, the morning gloom wrapping around me like a blanket too heavy to shake off.
Each step through the mud felt like the earth was pulling me deeper, thick and sticky as it clung to my boots.
The closer I came to the trees, the thicker the mist became, swallowing the pale grass beneath my feet.
A crow’s cry cut through the fog, a lone, eerie sound that seemed to stretch on forever.
“Elodie.”
I froze mid-step, my name slicing the cold winter air. Turning, I found Lilian not far off, standing beside a half-done sculpture.
“You woke early,” she said, waving me closer.
I walked back to where she was working on the statue under the drapes of an old tree with tangled roots.
The shorter the distance became, the more I could see the form of a woman drawn out of the white stone.
Hair carved into long locks, and fingers so delicate and life-like it seemed they would move at any moment…
“Where were you heading?” Lilian asked, glancing pointedly at the dark trees in the forest behind me.
“I was just wandering around,” I lied. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She nodded, then smiled. The chilly fingers of the wind clawed at my skin.
There was something off putting about the way she looked, as if her features weren’t made for such expression.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing at one of the benches close-by. I cast one last glance at the shadowed forest, then sat down beside her. The iron bit into my bottom even over the many layers I had on.
“I heard you met Declan Marzouq yesterday.”
My brows furrowed instinctively at the mention of the short meeting.
“He’s a fine young man, isn’t he?”
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. “I suppose,” I said, careful to keep my voice neutral. “He seemed…polite.”
Lilian hummed, brushing a few specks of stone dust from her coat. “Polite is something many strive for.” She smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gloved fingers trailed over the statue’s arm. “Do you know who this is?” she asked.
I glanced up at the marble woman, her expression serene and unknowable. There was something about her posture—elegant, but not passive, like she was listening.
I shook my head.
“A woman who used to live here.” Lilian’s voice was soft and oddly reverent. “Before the war. Some say, one day, she walked into the woods and never came back.” She paused, her fingers now tracing the statue’s hair. “They say the forest grew thicker after that. Hungrier.”
A beat passed between us. I watched the curve of Lilian’s jaw as she studied the sculpture, the way her shadow pooled at her feet like a second self.
“I was only going for a walk,” I repeated, not sure who I was trying to convince.
Lilian looked at me then, really looked, her eyes dark. “You should be careful where your feet wander, pet. Some paths don’t like being walked twice.”
My brows furrowed, but I nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I promised, knowing I would go anyway.
She hummed. “You most likely know that your mum was the same age as you when she got pregnant.”
My palms dampened at the sudden change of subject, and I felt the urge to shift further away from Lilian. Of course I knew my mum’s age. I was born just before her twentieth birthday, and I would be nineteen in just a few weeks.
“If you would like, you could spend more time with Declan. His father and I are good friends.”
The air froze in my lungs. That was not what I expected to hear. “I would rather not,” I admitted.
At the same time Lilian added, “While you’re here at least.”
I swallowed. There was no chance I could turn it down now. It was clear what she wanted, and I’d have to play along if I wanted to stay here. If I wanted that inheritance.
“Alright.” I nodded, keeping in a sigh. I can survive meeting with Declan Marzouq again. He didn’t seem that bad after all.
“Marvelous.” Her smile sharpened. “I’ll talk with Vincent, then.” She pet my hand, her touch light on mine, but it felt like a stone had been placed there. I didn’t move until she did.
“I’ll leave you to your wandering now. I’m glad to see Thornhill has caught your interest,” she said, already turning back to her sculpture.
I stood, ready to walk away, when—
“One more thing,” Lilian’s hand brushed my shoulder and I flinched, facing her again. “From now on, you may call me Grandmother.”
My muscles tensed, but I nodded slowly. I could do that.
It was only one more small price to pay for a greater future.
I walked away under the weight of her gaze.
The mist still clung to the grass when I reached the edge of the garden again, but I no longer had the urge to press into the forest. Not with Lilian’s voice still echoing in my head like it was following me.
Instead, my steps took me toward the twisting maze, then to the stables.
Mud clung to my boots as I halted in front of Lilith’s stall, offering her a bucket of carrots.
I haven’t been here since Myra’s accident almost a week ago.
I watched as her warm breath curled into the cold air, while I tried to make sense of Lilian’s words.
She didn’t just hint at wanting me to get married, did she?
That would be absurd, wouldn’t it? Even for someone as wealthy as she is.
She wanted me to go to college, like we talked about when I first arrived.
But the fractured weight of her words kept picking at my brain.
I inhaled the scent of damp hay and fur.
“It’s only a year,” I breathed into the air, trying to calm my nerves.
A year and I would have freedom I had never tasted before.
The carrots breaking under Lilith’s teeth filled the stillness of the stables.
My fingers traced the edge of the wooden door, splinters brushing my skin.
It was strange to think of my mum standing right here years ago, caring for this horse, loving it enough to keep her photo in her diary.
I sat on the ground—stone scattered with hay—listening to the soft snorts of the horses and the slow ticking of my watch as I rested my head against the stall door. My eyelids grew heavy with dreams...
My eyes opened wide, and I gasped for air.
The same nightmare as before had haunted my sleep.
I massaged my sore neck and stood to face Lilith’s watchful, almost knowing gaze.
I pet her soft muzzle and glanced at my watch, my eyes rounding.
Eight forty. I tapped on the glass. Surely it was mistaken.
But when I cracked the door open it was dark outside.
The sun had already dipped off the clouded sky, the air thick with the promise of rain.
How did I manage to sleep through the whole day?
I adjusted my clothes, my legs aching from stillness as I left the stables and the unexpected comfort of the horses behind.
I made my way back toward the manor. Only a few of the windows watched with warmth behind their glasses, the rest were asleep, dark, probably covered with drapes.
My boots dragged through the mud once more, but instead of taking me closer to the house, it was the distance between me and the dark trees that grew shorter. And this time, I didn’t stop.
Not even when a chill bit into my neck like a tearing warning.