Anne sat at the ornate vanity in the beautiful, sunlit room but she did not see her own reflection. Instead, her mind was a chaotic collection of voices, a torment of conflicting truths that had been echoing in her head since the day her mother was arrested. She stared at the pale, haunted face in the mirror, pondering the words that had torn her world apart.
Henry's voice, weak but certain: "Anne is not my daughter."
Fredrick Garrison's voice, smug and unsettling: "You know, you look a lot like me."
Her grandfather Edgar's voice, full of a sad, weary truth: "Your mother was with him before she was arranged to marry my Henry."
And Delia's voice, calm and cutting: "You should know by now, all your mother knows how to do is lie. She told me all my life that I'm fake and you're real."
