The sitting room's fire flickered low, casting long shadows across the deep red walls of the White Manor. The heavy winter night pressed outside the tall windows, the snow drifting silently to cloak the city in white.
Eira sat close to the fire, her fingers still tingling from the moment she had opened the crimson-wrapped box earlier that day. Emma and Isabella entered together, their footsteps soft on the thick carpet. Isabella's veil was lifted now, but her eyes remained sharp, clouded with something darker.
Eira glanced up and met their gazes. The weight of what she was about to say settled on her chest like a stone.
"I received a gift today," Eira began, her voice calm but low, "From Alina Trévér."
Isabella's eyes narrowed immediately, her lips pressing into a thin, tight line.
Eira continued, "It was… dangerous. A dark object, warded with curses. I managed to neutralize it, but there was more. A message." She drew a deep breath and repeated the cruel words that had come floating in that shimmering green script:
"'Your grandmother's screams were exquisite. Merry Christmas, darling.'"
Isabella's fist slammed against the arm of her chair, the fabric bunching under the force.
"That wretched woman," Isabella spat. "How dare she taunt us so openly? She mocks the blood spilled and the pain she caused." Her voice trembled with fury, eyes blazing.
Emma reached out gently and took Isabella's hand, her touch steady and soothing. "Isabella, please. Anger is understandable. But now is the time for control. We must be precise."
Isabella's breath hitched, but the tremor in her hand softened under Emma's calming grip.
"We can't act hastily," Emma said quietly, her tone measured, eyes scanning Isabella with careful concern. "Rushing in without knowing the full picture will only play into their hands. Any misstep could destroy what we've built—and give them the chance to strike back before we even begin."
She paused, her fingers brushing the edge of the armrest. "I'm going to gather more information. I'll investigate, pull what intelligence we can, and then we can proceed with a plan that actually works."
Isabella's jaw tightened, her hands clenching in her lap. "I can't wait any longer," she said, her voice cold and unyielding. "Every moment we delay, Alina Trévér moves, plots, and survives. I have to finish this—now."
The room fell into tense silence, the fire crackling between them, shadows dancing on the walls. Outside, Paris lay muted beneath a fragile blanket of snow, the winter night pressing against the windows. Eira and Emma exchanged a glance—both knowing that Isabella's resolve was a storm that could not easily be contained.
Eira's thoughts turned inward, weighing the danger and the timing. Together, they would move, but they would need cunning to temper Isabella's fury.