His face was beautiful and terrible—ageless, with eyes like black diamonds. He smiled, and it was not a kind smile.
The man turned.
And from inside, very faintly, someone new was learning to hum.
When the servants found Lady-Sonia the next morning, she was sitting in the breakfast nook, humming a low, melodic tune. She smiled at Aunt Marguerite and said, “The moon is full in two nights now, isn’t it?” Lady-Sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His Aunt...
Sonia crept closer, her bare feet silent on the runner. She pressed her eye to the crack.
Her own face.
Sonia stumbled backward, but the floor had become a mirror, reflecting not her terrified face, but the face of a woman in a crimson gown holding a glowing book. His face was beautiful and terrible—ageless, with eyes
Tonight, Sonia decided to become a cat.
At 11:47 PM, she slipped from her guest room. She wore a dark velvet dress that blended with the shadows. Her heart hammered against her ribs—not from fear, but from the thrill of discovery. She was no longer a girl; she was a spy.
The west wing corridor was colder. The wallpaper was a faded pattern of peacocks. At the end stood a heavy oak door, slightly ajar. Golden candlelight bled through the gap. And from inside, very faintly, someone new was
Sonia gasped. Too loud.
But the door to the west wing was locked once more.
“Well, well,” he whispered. “Lady-Sonia. Seventeen years, ten months, twenty-seven days. Right on time.”
Sonia’s blood turned to ice. The girl. She meant her.
The room was a sanctuary of oddities. Canvases leaned against every wall—portraits of people Sonia did not recognize, landscapes of places that did not exist. In the center stood a gilded chair, and upon it sat Aunt Marguerite, but transformed.