The next morning arrived with the muted grey of an overcast sky, as if the heavens themselves anticipated the storm brewing within the Blackthorne estate. Liora awoke to the faint clinking of porcelain, the subtle aroma of tea seeping through her chamber. She sat up, the silken sheets sliding from her shoulders, and found a tray already placed upon the small table near the window, bread still warm, honey glistening in a small dish, and a pot of dark, fragrant brew. Edgar's efficiency never failed to surprise her.
She dressed without a maid's assistance, preferring the quiet moments to collect herself. The gown she chose was modest but finely made, soft green with understated embroidery along the cuffs. Today, she told herself, she would not simply drift through the corridors like a shadow. She had questions. And she would begin seeking answers.
