Her breathing is irregular and shallow with spurts of gasps, but this is normal for what she was going through... for what her body was going through. By the looks of things, it’s only going to get harder from here on out. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything... and I hope she decides to stay. Upon leaving her room, I linger for a tick outside her door.
I fear that I won’t be enough.
Although that is all I long for.
I want to be enough.
Please let me beenough.
I raise my fist, so close to slamming it against the oak, but the image of my sleeping beauty stops me. Not having the intent of waking her, I place my palm on the wood instead, then I make my way to the library to speak with Niven.
As I walk through the empty manor, my attention is drawn to the mouth of the West Wing. My chest expands as I take in a deep breath, then head to Niven. My plans for late-night escapades end abruptly before they even have a chance to start, the instant I make it to her side. “Mam, what happened? What’s wrong?” Strands of her hair are popping out from the tight braid she always has neatly kept. At first glance, I notice it was loosely hugging the left side of her face.
The sound of her breathing is jagged, as though she has gone for a run. “He fought me. I fought back.” I reach up, wiping a bloody tear from her cheek. She straightens beneath my touch.
“There is no need for you to pretend in front of me, Mam. All will be taken care of soon. Have you gotten any word from Mr. Selby?” That seems to be the straw that broke the horse’s back, for in thatmoment she relinquishes whatever strength is holding her and falls to her knees.
Once I took care of Niven, providing her with a hot cup of tea and tending to her injuries, I stormed off in the direction of the west wing. Rage was building with every strike my feet made on the pavement.
Trying to simmer down as I push open the door at the end of the hall, my heart stops, and all my efforts go to hell in a handbag when I found Emory snooping around. After dragging her away from that door, a bunch of questions barrage my mind. The halls seem darker as I lead her back to her room—more than likely, due to my anger and frustration. I am in disbelief that I found her so close to opening that door. I remember, as I was dragging her out, I noticed the dresser—the dust had been disturbed, and finger smudges lay present on the silver. I said nothing as she stares at me the entire way back to her chambers.
As we step through the threshold, a small disagreement breaks out, and I say some harsh things—although most of them were necessary. She stands before me—spewing lies to my face. Beating around the bush, while she only gives me the bare minimum of the information I seek. Honestly, I can’t blame her. I can only imagine what must be running through her mind. Not to mention, I have been withholding information, just the same, which might as well be a form of lying. Now I lie in wait for the questions she may spring on me. Working on the many ways I could answer them—weighing my options.
How my heart longs to tell her that Evelyn was here, but I don't. Instead, my brain convinces me it was a better idea to leave her standing there in the middle of the room, after I told her I knew where her sister was. The fact that I knew she had laid eyes on that portrait was only part of my hesitation to walk away. However, my mindoutweighs my heart, and I choose to give her the time to make her assumptions before the truth comes out tomorrow. Before this world, as she knows it, crumbles, and all that she saw as normal becomes nothing but a distant memory.
Now I sit in my study, knowing that the answers she seeks will soon be revealed. The weight of the night's events presses heavily on my mind, and I can't shake the feeling that an unseen force is guiding us toward an inevitable confrontation. When I saw the door was secure, I never ventured back to the room in the west wing. I saw no purpose. The manor sat silent, save for the occasional creak of the old wooden floors and the shadows that seemed to creep—moving along the walls with a life of their own. Dust swirls in the night air as though dancing, and I can’t help but hear the Moonlight Sonata in my head as I watch the specks waltz in front of me.
Resting my shoes atop the desk, my thoughts drift to the promise I made to her—one that I intend to keep, no matter the cost.
I promise it will all be over soon.
The clock ticks relentlessly, and I know that dawn will bring a new set of challenges. For now, all I can do is wait and prepare for the storm that is surely brewing on the horizon. I drift into a daydream of a past that once belonged to me:
A friend of the Shadow Raven, forever shall he slumber:
Wherefore dost thou—even on thine deathbed thy lie—extend thine, heart, out for me? Wherefore must it be that an angel such as thee be forsaken with a life as fleeting as a brook? I beseech upon thy skin of snow, thine hair now bereft of its chestnut hue—I pledge to cherish what doth remain of thee, as thou departests, leaving a fresh bride and a progeny to be.
As the stars dost twinkle bright in the dark and hallowed night, I muse upon a thought most fair. Eternally shall I be a thorn upon the stem of thy Rose—her steadfast defender, bounteous provider, a shoulder for her weeping—a brother evermore in her thoughts.
The illusion of what once existed fades into shadows—one of the many miserable moments in my past life I am doomed to endure. Observing my clock, I watch as the hands tick and tock. The silence is finally driving me crazy, and I can take it no longer. I am most positive she is racking her brain all the same. I did leave her with some very unsettling news. Not to mention, I am aware she saw the photo, and that is a story for another day. The only question now is ‘How am I going to explain it to her?’ I sink into my chair before I stand, pushing it backward. One, then the other, I roll my shoulders and adjust my posture, preparing to make my way back to her room.
As my hands fall upon her door, I shove the solid oak open. I am astonished to see her standing on the balcony. Slowly and with light footsteps, I sneak up behind her, wrapping her in my arms. Still, the rain falls like crystals from the onyx sky, as little beads cling to the overhang above her. To their luck, they have no eyes, for if they did, I would gouge them out with a spoon for stealing glances at my dove.
I can only imagine the glow in my eyes… as the radiance from the lightning in the distance pirouettes through the droplets that cling to her ivory skin. Her breath hitches as she feels my arms envelop her, and I sense a slight resistance from her before she yields to my embrace—a quiet reassurance in the storm.
"You need to rest, Emory," I whisper—my voice is barely audible above the precipitation. She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine for answers. The truth hangs heavy between us, a silent promise of revelations to come.
Running my hand from her cheek down her arm, and stopping at her wrist, I lead her back inside—away from the tempest. I know that tonight is just the beginning of a journey that will test the limits of our resilience and trust. “There is something I need to tell you.”
“Oliver.” She looks up at me, catching me off guard, as tears from the sky sit like diamonds nestled in her lashes. “May I go first?”
I nod. She lifts her hands to rest on my shoulders as I hold her elbows.
I am ready to listen.
“I didn't tell you everything. I did hear screaming, that part was true… but...” She delays a moment, long enough to release a slow breath. “There were photos… old ones, and because I never got to know this side of the family, I got curious.”
“And?”
