Once alone in her chamber,and the door locked, Cordelia threw herself on the bed and cried. Deep, aching sobs poured forth as if her body was trying to expel all the pain and release the pressure of holding so much in for so long.
She could have cried for hours, for all she knew, but time had ceased to exist.
She felt so robbed and cheated.
She’d been manipulated, her past stolen from her. A past that could have changed everything about her.
She could have been a better sister instead of an authority figure to be resented by her siblings.
Maybe she and Adriana could have been close, like they were before that dreadful day.
Maybe Edward wouldn’t hate her so?
Maybe she could have grown to be a different person. Just because there was nothing remarkable about her when she was ten didn’t mean she couldn’t have developed into something more. Maybe she would have seen pixies.
The maybes kept coming, but it really didn’t matter because she would never know. That had been taken from her.
She was still sensible, as she’d always been, and intelligent, she supposed. But it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t as pretty as her sisters, and she was boring.
But how did one change who they were? Was it possible? Cordelia didn’t know how to be anyone else, except she didn’t want to be a mother to Edward anymore. He had a mother who had abandoned them and only managed to visit twice a year, if that much. When in London and with her daughters, even then she hadn’t attempted to have a mothering relationship, but a friendship as if she were still a debutante, though a rather soiled one, given the number of lovers that she’d taken to her bed.
Her mother was an embarrassment, which made Cordelia strive all the more to be respectable and never do anything to draw attention to herself. She didn’t ever want anyone to think that she was anything like her mother.
That woman was vivacious, and everyone knew her or of her. The best way to avoid such an association was to distance herself and remain respectable and quiet.
It’s no wonder nobody ever noticed Cordelia, or why she didn’t have a close friend like Adriana, or why she was rarely asked to dance.
Cordelia had kept her distance because deep down she believed herself unworthy and without a personality so why would anyone like her.
At one point, after darkness fell, Cordelia decided she’d had enough.
There was nothing she could do to change the past. However, she could decide her own future.
As much as she wished to be with Damon, she would free him.
He hadn’t chosen her. A vine had.
Until she knew the reason why she had been chosen, it was unfair to hold him to a belief.
It was likely the vine had grown because she was connected to the family and not because a goddess had chosen her. But, at least Cordelia was confident in knowing that Lady Chandos hadn’t made it grow because that woman didn’t want Cordelia marrying her son. She should be pleased with Cordelia’s decision.
Though exhausted and her mind settled, Cordelia couldn’t sleep. At the chime of midnight, she finally rose from her bed. A soothing tea would help her sleep, but she didn’t wish to leave her chamber and be forced to speak with anyone in her family just yet. She was certain they wished to offer comforting words, but there was nothing they could say. Not really. Because she’d been changed, their view of her had been altered as well. They’d all been cheated, and nothing could be done about that now.
However, it was likely they were all asleep and a simple cup of tea would help her sleep.
She slowly opened her chamber door and stepped out into the hall, but nearly tripped over Edward who was curled up outside of her door.
Goodness! He should not be sleeping on the floor.
Cordelia leaned down to shake his shoulder and send him to bed, where he should be, but stopped herself. She wasnothis mother. Further, Adam was his guardian, and he could decide what Edward could and couldn’t do in the future. If he wanted to sleep on the floor, then so be it.
Lifting her nightshift and wrap, Cordelia carefully stepped over her brother and made her way to the kitchen. A maid was asleep on a stool, her head rested in the crook of her arms on the counter.
Was there always a maid in the kitchens at night?
She’d need to ask, but in the morning.
Quietly she retrieved the kettle and added water, but it was impossible to be quiet.
