The day passed in a haze. Nerine drifted through the corridors of Blackthorn House as though her body were moving without her mind inside it. Her thoughts were still tangled in the dream — that haunting vision of her mother's blood, the faceless crowd pressing in, the echo of her own helpless scream. No matter how many times she blinked, the image lingered, like a stubborn shadow on the edges of her sight.
Late that afternoon, the stillness of the west wing broke with the sound of movement — soft footsteps, the muted clink of porcelain, and the rustle of folded linens. Nerine had not realized how quiet that part of the mansion had been until now. From the window at the end of the hall, she glimpsed Penelope stepping through the arched side entrance, her pale skirts swaying lightly as two maids followed behind, each carrying a small trunk.
Penelope was not being brought from some distant estate ....her rooms had been only a short walk from the main hall ....yet Kael had insisted she move into the east wing, into the chamber directly beside Nerine's. The west wing, he had told the staff, was too drafty for her delicate health, and he wanted her nearer so she could be cared for more easily.
Nerine did not know why those words made her chest ache.
From her vantage point above, she could see Kael walking beside his sister, speaking to her with a low, attentive voice. His hand rested lightly at the small of Penelope's back, guiding her up the steps as though the mere incline might tire her. When Penelope paused to catch her breath, he slowed his own pace to match hers. That gentleness ... that quiet care .... Nerine had never seen from him directed toward her.
A pang went through her, sharp enough to startle her. It was not jealousy exactly, but something colder and more hollow. The realization that she had no one like that — no one whose affection was so simple and unquestioning — curled inside her. The people who had cared for her once were gone, or she had been forced to leave them behind. Every bond she had, she had been made to sever.
The ache stayed with her as she stepped away from the window and returned to her own room. The sound of activity outside her door came soon after — the shuffling of trunks, the clatter of a key in the lock next door, and the faint, musical laugh of Penelope as she spoke with the maids. Nerine sat at the edge of her bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, willing herself to stay composed.
It was only minutes later that a soft knock sounded against her door.
"Lady Sofia?" Penelope's voice was gentle, almost shy.
Nerine rose and opened the door. Penelope stood there with her hair swept loosely over one shoulder, the thin braid at her temple catching the light. Her smile was warm in a way that made Nerine feel instantly aware of her own guarded expression.
"I thought I should greet my new neighbor," Penelope said, leaning lightly on her cane. "Kael insisted I take the room beside yours. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not," Nerine replied, keeping her tone polite and even. "It will be… nice to have someone nearby."
Penelope's eyes lit faintly, as though she took the words at face value. "I hope we can spend more time together. The mansion can feel… rather lonely, don't you think?"
Nerine hesitated. "Yes," she said finally. "It can."
There was a small silence between them. Nerine felt the weight of her unease pressing at her ribs. She liked Penelope — or at least she wanted to — but the knowledge of her secret sat like a stone in her throat. Penelope did not know she was Nerine.
To Penelope, she was simply Lady Sofia, her brother's betrothed. That thought twisted uncomfortably in her chest.
"I should let you rest," Nerine said, forcing a small smile. "You must be tired from the move."
"Not too tired to visit," Penelope said warmly, but she seemed to sense Nerine's reserve and didn't press further. "Perhaps we'll talk later."
Nerine nodded, and they parted. As soon as the door closed, she exhaled slowly, the tightness in her shoulders only slightly loosening.
The call to dinner came sooner than she expected. Nerine smoothed her skirts, gathering herself before stepping into the corridor. Penelope was waiting there, and together they made their way to the dining hall. The air in the vast room felt cooler tonight, the flicker of candlelight reflected in the polished silver on the long table.
Kael was already seated at the head. When they entered, his expression softened at once — but not for her. His gaze went directly to Penelope.
"Sit here," he said, gesturing to the seat at his right. The warmth in his voice was something Nerine had never heard from him before. She took her place quietly opposite him, as she always did, the distance between them feeling wider than the breadth of the table.
Throughout the meal, Kael engaged Penelope in an easy, steady conversation — asking about her comfort in the new room, whether she had everything she needed, what she thought of the east wing's view of the gardens. His tone was almost light at times, his mouth curving faintly in ways Nerine had thought impossible for him.
Penelope, gracious as ever, tried to draw Nerine into the exchange. "Lady Sofia, you must tell me if the gardens are worth walking through in the mornings," she said with a smile. "Kael insists they are better in spring."
"They're… pleasant," Nerine said. She tried to smile, but it felt thin on her lips. "The roses are still in bloom."
"I'll have to see them soon," Penelope replied brightly.
But the more the conversation circled around her, the more Nerine felt the air tightening in her lungs. She was used to dinners where Kael barely spoke a word to her. Now, watching him speak so freely to his sister, she could not ignore the truth curling in her chest: she was not worth that kind of attention to him. Not then, not now. Whatever bound them together was duty, not warmth.
Her fingers tightened around her fork. She was seconds away from asking to excuse herself when Kael's voice cut across the table.
"There is something you should both know," he said, his tone shifting to a formal calm. "The annual council ball is in a week. We will attend together."
Nerine's gaze flicked to him, startled. His eyes were steady on her, unreadable, but the decision was final in his voice. Penelope clapped her hands softly in delight.
"Oh, that will be wonderful! I can help Lady Sofia choose a gown," she said, smiling between them.
Nerine forced her lips into another faint curve. "That would be kind of you," she murmured, though her thoughts were already spiraling elsewhere. A ball meant more eyes on her, more chances for someone to see through the name she wore like borrowed clothing.
The rest of the meal passed in a blur. When she rose from the table, Penelope walked with her back toward their rooms, chatting about music and the likelihood of fresh flowers in the ballroom. Nerine nodded and gave soft answers, but her mind was still split — one part haunted by her dream, the other bracing for the night ahead.
And somewhere deep inside, a quiet, aching truth settled like dust: she had never felt more out of place.