“Oh. Hi, Archie,” I greet the old man, swiping at my tears in a futile attempt to hide the fact that I’ve been crying. Judging by the heat I feel in my cheeks, I can tell without a doubt they’re pink and blotchy.
He observes me for a moment, his worry for me swirling behind his whiskey eyes. His demeanour seems off tonight, reserved, less himself. I expect him to pry for answers. Why I’m here, if I’m okay, why my white shirt is stained with coffee. But he doesn’t. Archie moseys past me and runs his long fingers across my grandfather’s headstone, seemingly lost in memories. He crouches low, wiping away a layer of dirt that coats a cursive quote etched into the lower half of the stone. I hadn’t noticed it earlier.
“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death,” he reads. His voice is low and comforting. Archie huffs a laugh. “Your grandfather loved poetry, specifically anything by Oscar Wilde.”
“What does it mean?” I ask after a long, quiet moment.
“It means you may grieve the dead, but do not let grief rule your heart, don’t let it smother the love that resides there,” he explains, twisting his head towards me, and I swallow the burn forming in my throat. “Love is the true mystery, far greater than death itself, and it’s what your mother would want you to cling to, Miss Ren.” His eyes soften, and I nod my head.
I sit in silence for a moment, mulling over the words that hold such truth. Archie says nothing, giving me a moment to simply be.
“Hey, Archie?”
“Yes, Miss Ren?”
“Why didn’t Ambrose ever reach out to me?”
He looks at me with sympathetic eyes. “He wanted to, believe me, he did. But his wishes to keep you safe were far greater than his desire to know you, potentially putting you in harm’s way.”
I nod, accepting his words, even though I’m unsure of what harm he’s speaking of.
“I wish things were different.”
“Me too,” Archie says, his gaze returning to Ambrose’s headstone. “Me too.”
The crack in his voice has my heart twisting painfully in my chest, and I push up from the ground on shaky legs.
“Come on, Arch, let’s get you back to the manor and get you out of those ridiculous boots,” I tell him, stifling a laugh, and he squares his shoulders.
“Hey!” He gives me a sidelong glance. “I’ve grown quite a liking for these boots.” Archie kicks one leg up, hiking his foot up to offer me a better view, and there’s no stopping the laugh that escapes me.
As we exit the mausoleum, I spot a familiar tall figure leaning up against the billowing willow tree, watching us. My throat tightens as Loxen takes a long drag from his cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke into the night air. My legs andheart ache to walk over to him, but I know better, and if I’m not good enough for Reed, I’m sure as hell not good enough for Loxen either. I don’t know what my strange fixation for him is, but it ends tonight. I reluctantly break my gaze away from him and follow Archie back to the manor. I don’t need to look back to know he’s still watching me.
SIXTEEN
VERENA GRAVENHURST
There have been several moments in my life where I’ve longed to become invisible. To fade away into nothingness, where I’m untouchable from the cruelty of other human beings. There are many creatures that would have you convinced they are the scariest monsters in the world. But I, for one, think that humans are by far the most terrifying. An animal hunts its prey to satisfy its hunger. But humans, they hunt one another for power. They tear each other down purely for sport, for the satisfaction of making themselves feel superior. To me, that is the scariest thing of all.
Dipping my head below the water, I submerge myself beneath the curling steam of my clawfoot tub, letting the warmth seep into my tense shoulders. I woke up this morning feeling a lot better, though Madison’s words still weigh heavy on me. Her opinions shouldn’t affect me as much as they do. They shouldn’t cut so deep into my skin that they leave fresh wounds on the surface of my already scarred heart—but they do. She all but called me a charity case, comparing me to a stray mutt, and I think the reason why it hurts somuch is because maybe she isn’t entirely wrong. This life, it was never my calling. I grew up fighting for any semblance of normalcy I could find, searching for a place in this unforgiving world to call my own. Never did I think that Hollowcrest would be that place. But here I am. This inheritance may not have been something I’ve earned, but I feel more at home here within the manor walls than I have anywhere, so why am I allowing the opinions of others to affect me so deeply?
I rise from the water with a gasp, inhaling the air like it may be my very last breath. Wiping the water from my eyes, I pull my knees to my chest and give myself a moment to feel.
The icy marble floors bite at the soles of my feet as I step out of the tub. Droplets of water cascade over my skin, pooling around my feet as I wrap the towel around myself and tiptoe my way to the bedroom. I notice a shift in the air as soon as I enter my bedroom chambers. Someone has been in here. On my comforter, I see a purple envelope similar to the one my grandfather had left me on the first day I arrived at the manor. It sits at the end of my bed, placed neatly on an antique silver tray, beside it a small glass vase holding a single black Iris from the garden. My fingers brush the delicate petals as I admire its unique beauty. Plucking the envelope from the tray, I lift the wax seal and slide the letter out.
Come find me where the irises bloom, I’ll be waiting in our spot.
– L
A traitorous smile tugs at the corner of my lips, but I do my best to suppress it. I’m still angry with Loxen, despite his very compelling note. I told myself I was done with whatever feelings were brewing for him, and I intend to keep that promise.Clothing myself in a long, flowy black dress with a split that ends at the top of my thigh, I pin half of my long hair back, leaving a few strands loose to frame my face.
I’m curious as to what Loxen would have to say to me after the way our last conversation ended. Does he want to apologize for being an ass with how he practically dismissed me? Does he just want someone to banter with in his never-ending boredom? As curious as I may be, I’m choosing to ignore his invitation and go about my day. If he would like to talk at any point, he should come seek me out. I no longer wish to play games with the man who gives me emotional whiplash. Beginning my descent to the main floor, I’m halted by a voice that has come to be one of my favourite sounds.
“Hello, Miss Ren, are you feeling any better?”
My smile grows wide. “Hi, Archie, yes, I am, thank you.”
He nods, pleased by my answer. “Miss Mauve has given you a ring on the telephone. I informed her that you were indisposed. The way that girl can yap about anything that pops into her noggin is astounding. Twenty minutes later, and she had forgotten why she called in the first place.” He stifles a laugh.
