Blood that I wasn’t even sure was my own.
“Are you happy here, Lucy?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.
I blinked, startled by the question.
He didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you happywithme?”
His tone wasn’t cold, just unbearably fragile, like something breaking beneath the weight of its own fear.
My lips parted, confusion giving way to understanding. He thought I’d…
“You think I wanted to hurt myself,” I exhaled quietly.
Sylum’s eyes lifted to mine, dark and searching. “I think you’ve been through a great deal,” he said carefully. “And that perhaps you haven’t been sleeping well for some time.”
A tremor ran through me—of anger, of heartbreak.
“You think I’m mad,” I whispered, the words breaking on a sob as they left me. “Like my mother.”
He didn’t deny it and that hurt most.
“Lucy,” he began, reaching for me, but I pulled back as if burned.
“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t look at me that way. I’m not insane! You—someone is poisoning me!” The words spewed from my lips before I could reel them back.
“You think I’m poisoning you?”
The laugh that escaped me was half-sob. It was too late to hide the truth now. “I saw Elizabeth in the garden. She said you would kill me too…”
Tears welled hot behind my eyes, spilling before I could stop them. I wiped at them furiously, the salt stinging my raw skin.
“You think I killed Elizabeth?” he murmured, his own voice fraying.
“Stop! Stop repeating what I say as a question!” I cried, looking up at him through blurred vision.
He fell silent.
And it was worse than any accusation, worse than shouting, worse than disbelief. It was the kind of silence that swallowed the air, the kind that made the walls lean in to listen. A silence so heavy it felt as though the house itself waited for what might shatter next.
Poe croaked softly from his perch by the window, his voice low and strange, as if even he mourned the space between us.
“Nevermore,” he murmured, and the word fell into the quiet like a final judgment.
A soft knock broke the moment. The door cracked open and Nelly slipped inside, balancing a tray laden with bandages and tea. Her eyes darted from Sylum to me, understanding more than she dared to ask.
Sylum rose slowly, his features carved from exhaustion and something perilously close to despair. Helooked at me for a long moment—a long, searching, helpless moment—before stepping back.
“I’ll return,” he promised quietly, “once the doctor arrives.”
He turned and left the room.
Nelly looked from me to the door, her face taut with concern, but she didn’t dare ask.
I stared after him, left alone with the questions echoing louder than any scream. What if I was wrong? What if I wasn’t?
What if I would never know the difference again?
Chapter 18
