“There’s no cut,” he muttered, voice cracking. “There’s no… Lucy, where does it hurt?”
I collapsed against him, clutching at his robe, screaming incoherently as terror consumed all thought.
Footsteps thundered in the corridor.
“What is the meaning of this?” Isolde’s sharp voice cut through the air.
She rushed into the room, candle held aloft, her face blanching as she took in the scene.
“Good heavens!”
Mrs. Ashby followed close behind, her composure shattering the instant she saw the blood. The candle trembled in her hand.
“Sweet mercy,” she said with a sharp exhale. “Your Grace…”
The room erupted in voices—Sylum calling my name, his aunt demanding explanations, and Mrs. Ashby issuing sharp commands for linens and water.
But then, another scream, that wasn’t my own, echoed through the halls.
It rose from somewhere deep within the manor, piercing and unmistakably human. A scream of pure terror that sliced through the chaos like a blade.
Every voice in the room died at once.
Sylum went rigid beneath my hands.
Mrs. Ashby’s eyes widened in horror as she cast her gaze up and down the hallway.
Isolde’s mouth fell open, her face paling.
The scream echoed again, closer this time, reverberating through the bones of the house itself.
Poe took flight, wings beating wildly as he shrieked from above. “Nevermore! Nevermore!”
And in that moment, I knew that I had never been dreaming at all.
Chapter 20
Heavy footsteps, followed by raised voices, moved closer to my room.
Mrs. Ashby stepped aside as Sylum’s valet appeared, followed closely by a footman and Nelly. Their faces were pale, strained, their breaths too quick. Before they could take in the sight of me, Sylum seized my robe and wrapped it securely around my body, concealing the blood.
His voice cut through the stunned silence, low and sharp.
“What is it?” He demanded before any of them could speak.
No one answered at first. The only sound was the hiss of wind at the window, the whisper of curtains stirring. Then, the footman swallowed, his face twisting.
“There’s… there’s been an accident, Your Grace,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “In the east wing.”
Sylum’s brow furrowed. “An accident?”
Mrs. Ashby pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her composure slipping.
Isolde stared at me with cold suspicion.
“One of the maids, Your Grace.” Nelly added, eyes glistening as she blinked back tears that never quite materialized. “She was found this morning. At the bottom of the staircase.”
My throat tightened.
