Eleanor Valquinn paced the length of her drawing room, the silk hem of her gown whispering against the floor like a serpent in the grass. The heavy tapestries that lined the walls—depictions of long-forgotten Valquinn victories—seemed to glower down at her, their woven heroes frozen in judgment, as if they too disapproved of her restlessness.

  Her fingers twitched, ceaselessly plucking at the embroidered cuffs of her sleeves, betraying the calm facade she wore like a mask.

  Elnora hadn’t vanished for so long, but it felt like months had passed since then. They called it an accident, a tragedy even, but Eleanor knew better. Or at least, she wanted to believe she did.

  "Elnora..." The name slipped from her lips, bitter as it touched the air, quickly swallowed by the suffocating silence of the room. She didn’t care what happened to her sister, not really. Elnora had always been inconsequential—a pale, fragile thing who hovered at the edges of life.

  It wasn’t her problem if the timid little ghost had finally faded away for good. And yet, the household had grown intolerable since her disappearance, with her father locked away in his study, brooding, and her mother lighting candles and muttering prayers to gods Eleanor had never believed in.

  All because of Elnora. Always because of Elnora.

  “Useless,” Eleanor muttered, jaw tightening as her sister’s image—meek, soft-spoken, eyes always downcast—flashed unbidden in her mind. Useless, and now gone. Why should that bother her?

  Before the thought could fester, the door creaked open behind her, and the scent of lavender and dust drifted in. Eleanor didn’t bother turning around, irritation already prickling beneath her skin.

  “What is it?” she snapped, her voice a blade of impatience.

  The maid lingered at the threshold, silent for a moment longer than necessary. “My lady, I—”

  Eleanor whirled, her eyes sharp and cold as flint. “Did I ask for an explanation?” Her words struck the air like a whip, and the maid flinched, her hands fumbling with the silver tray she carried. The teapot rattled dangerously against the china.

  “I-I brought tea, as you requested, Lady Valquinn,” the maid stammered, her voice a faint tremor.

  Eleanor’s eyes narrowed, her irritation curling into something sharper. “Tea?” Her voice was low, dripping disdain.

  She stepped closer, her gaze sweeping over the maid with slow, deliberate contempt. The girl stood too rigidly for a servant, her dark eyes too alert, too calculating. The teapot rattled again, but the maid’s hands were steady, betraying nothing as she placed the tray on the table with care.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Why are you still here?” Eleanor’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, her breath brushing the maid’s ear as she leaned in, every syllable a threat. “Get. Out. Of. My. Sight.”

  The maid stiffened, eyes lowering obediently, though Eleanor could see a flash of something beneath the surface. Insolence, perhaps. Eleanor didn’t care. She turned her back, already dismissing the girl from her mind.

  As the maid reached the door, Eleanor called after her, the words laced with a casual cruelty. “And do try not to kill anyone with that tea set. Though it might be the most interesting thing you’ve ever done.”

  She expected no reply, but the maid paused, her lips curving ever so slightly into the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, my lady,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, before disappearing through the doorway.

  Eleanor barely noticed. Her thoughts had already drifted, pulled back into the dark corners of her mind where her irritation festered. The insufferable boredom of the estate gnawed at her, as did the hollow way the household had collapsed into gloom after Elnora's disappearance. And though she’d never admit it, there was something else—something she hadn’t allowed herself to name yet.

  She didn’t care about her sister. She didn’t. But a traveling merchant had passed through the estate only days ago with an interesting bit of gossip, something Eleanor couldn’t shake from her mind.

  She remembered the encounter vividly.

  “You’re sure of it?” Eleanor had asked, her voice cool, detached, but laced with faint disdain.

  “Yes, my lady,” the man had replied, twisting his hat nervously in his hands. “I saw her. I swear I did. In Greymire—just last week.”

  “And how,” Eleanor had said, tilting her head slightly, her gaze sharp as a blade, “did you know it was her?”

  “Well, she... she looked just as you’d described her,” he stammered, his face reddening slightly. “Fair-haired, delicate features, moved like she didn’t belong.”

  Eleanor’s lips twitched faintly, the barest flicker of amusement. “Delicate features,” she repeated. “Did you speak to her?”

  “No, my lady. But I—”

  “So you didn’t speak to her,” Eleanor cut in, her tone like ice, “and you brought this tale to me based on a passing resemblance.”

  The merchant hesitated, his hands tightening on the brim of his hat. “I... I thought it important to tell you, my lady,” he mumbled, his words faltering.

  Eleanor regarded him in silence for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she plucked a single coin from her pouch and tossed it to the floor at his feet.

  “For your trouble,” she said, her voice laced with cold dismissal. “Now leave.”

  The merchant scrambled to pick up the coin, bowing quickly as he backed toward the door.

  Now, standing alone in her drawing room, Eleanor’s fingers twitched faintly at her sides. A girl, pale-haired and unfamiliar, spotted in Greymire. Coincidence?

  It didn’t matter. Eleanor would go. She had nothing better to do anyway.

  A sharp knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see the same maid standing there, eyes lowered, lips twitching in that same irritating almost-smile.

  “My lady... the horses are ready.”

  “Good.” Eleanor brushed past her without a glance, her gown sweeping behind her like a shadow. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone,” she added, her voice cutting. “I won’t be here to pick up the pieces.”

  The maid’s lips quirked, barely hiding the smirk that threatened to bloom. “Of course, my lady.”

  As Eleanor swept down the hall, a simmering anger pulsed through her veins. If this was Elnora’s pathetic attempt at rebellion, it would end soon enough. Eleanor would make sure of that.

  And she’d find her. Because someone had to remind Elnora exactly who she was.