Lady-sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His Aunt... -

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.

Aunt Marguerite closed the glowing book. “She is curious. I see her shadow under the door.”

Aunt Marguerite was the family’s black sheep. A former stage actress who had married a reclusive art collector, she now lived in a crumbling manor called Thornwick, filled with dusty mirrors, ticking clocks, and secrets.

But the door to the west wing was locked once more. Lady-Sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His Aunt...

Her own face.

“The moon is full in three nights, Marguerite. The veil will thin. We must decide—does the girl stay, or does she go?”

Her silver-streaked hair was unbound, cascading past her waist. She wore a gown of liquid crimson, embroidered with constellations. In her lap lay a leather-bound book, its pages glowing faintly, and her lips moved in a language that sounded like rain falling on glass. The west wing corridor was colder

A man stood at the window, his back to the door. He was tall, dressed in a coat the color of midnight, and he did not cast a reflection in the mirror beside him. When he spoke, his voice was like distant thunder.

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.

The candlelight went out.

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?”