"Ashlyn, why are you in my bed chambers?" Marissa asked again, her voice a soft but firm whisper. She carefully closed the heavy door behind her, the latch clicking shut with a sound of finality.
In that moment, she wasn't thinking of trapping her sister in, but of preventing anyone else from seeing this unbelievable scene.
Ashlyn turned slowly on the vanity stool to face her. The coronation tiara glittered in her hair, catching the soft light from the oil lanterns in the room. A slow, strange smile spread across her lips, an expression that did not reach her dark, haunted eyes. She stood up and smoothed the front of the magnificent satin gown with her palms.
"Your outfit, dear sister, fits me perfectly," she said, her voice deceptively light.
Marissa took a few steps into the center of the room, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. The sight of Ashlyn, wearing the dress meant for her, felt like a deep violation. It was a costume of a life her sister had just lost, and seeing her in it was both pathetic and deeply unsettling.
"That is my coronation dress," Marissa stated, trying to keep her voice even and calm. She had to be the reasonable one. Ashlyn was clearly not well. "You are not supposed to be in this mansion, let alone in my room. If word gets out that you are here, wearing this, you will be severely punished. Please, Ashlyn. Take it off now."
Ashlyn let out a short, sharp laugh that held no humor. "Yours?" she scoffed, the pleasant mask falling away to reveal the raw bitterness beneath. "How is it yours?"
She began to walk towards Marissa, her steps slow and deliberate. The heavy dress rustled with each movement, a sound that should have been elegant but now sounded menacing. "We both married into the Thompson family. I was the Grand Duke's legal wife. I was married to the firstborn, the true heir. You," she paused, her eyes flashing, "you married a lowly bastard son. A second son with no claim to anything."
She was right in front of Marissa now, so close that Marissa could see the faint trembling of her chin and the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. The tears were not of sadness, but of pure rage.
"Yet your husband became the Grand Duke instead," Ashlyn's voice cracked. "You received his majesty's honors while I was discarded. Stripped of my name, my home, my husband. Thrown into the street like a dog. Tell me, sister. How is that fair?"
Marissa stood her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to back away. She looked her sister directly in the eye, her own expression hardening. The flicker of pity she had felt was extinguished by Ashlyn's poisonous self-deception.
"You want to speak of fairness?" Marissa replied, her voice dropping, growing colder with each word. "You abused your status as Grand Duchess to bully the weak and torment anyone you saw as beneath you. You spent the family's money so freely you nearly bankrupted the estate. And you defiled your matrimonial bed with countless affairs." She took a small step closer, forcing Ashlyn to hold her gaze. "Given all this, how is your downfall my fault? Why are you blaming me for the consequences of your own actions?"
A strange, distant look came over Ashlyn's face. She ignored Marissa's words as if she hadn't heard them at all. "Do you remember?" she whispered, beginning to circle Marissa slowly, like a wolf stalking its prey. The satin dress whispered around her ankles. "Years ago, when we were girls. Father consulted a soothsayer to read our fortunes."
Marissa's body tensed. She remembered that day. She had been hiding behind a curtain, listening, while Ashlyn and her mother sat with the old woman.
"He said we sisters were destined to clash," Ashlyn continued, her voice taking on a singsong, eerie quality. "He said one's gain brings the other's loss. Fate shifts between us." She stopped directly behind Marissa, her voice a hot breath near her ear. "With unpredictable rises and falls."
Marissa spun around to face her. "That's nonsense! It's the talk of a charlatan who wanted your father's coin!" The memory of her childhood, of being the overlooked daughter, rushed back to her. "As the legitimate daughter of the Austen family, you and your mother constantly tormented me. You treated me as less than a servant in my own home. And now you blame me for your downfall because of some foolish prophecy? How dare you?"
"BUT THE PROPHECY CAME TRUE!" Ashlyn shrieked, her face contorting with fury. The sudden shout made Marissa flinch. "I married the Grand Duke! I did everything right! I should have enjoyed a lifetime of luxury and power!"
Her eyes, wild and bloodshot, locked onto Marissa. The hatred in them was a physical force, so intense it seemed to suck the air from the room. "You… you stole my fortune. It was all meant for me. The title, the wealth, this dress!"
Before Marissa could react, Ashlyn lunged. Her hands, cold and surprisingly strong, wrapped around Marissa's neck.
"You stole my life!" Ashlyn screamed, her fingers digging into Marissa's skin. "Give me back my fortune! Give me back my fortune!"
Panic seized Marissa. She couldn't breathe. She clawed at Ashlyn's hands, trying to pull them away. "Ashlyn, let me go!" she gasped, her voice a strained croak.
They struggled, stumbling backwards in a desperate dance. Marissa's flailing arm knocked against a small table by the wall. An ornate oil lantern sitting on its edge wobbled precariously. For a horrifying second, it seemed to hang in mid-air before it tipped over and crashed to the floor.
Glass shattered. Lamp oil splashed across the wooden floorboards and soaked the hem of a thick, velvet curtain that hung by the window. A single, hungry flame from the broken lantern's wick touched the oil-soaked fabric.
WHOOSH!
The curtain erupted in a pillar of fire. The flames climbed with terrifying speed, licking at the ceiling.
For a moment, both women froze, their struggle forgotten. They stared in horror as the fire spread, its crackling roar growing louder. Black smoke began to pour across the ceiling.
The seriousness of the situation crashed down on Marissa. This was no longer just a fight; it was a death trap. The heat was already becoming intense.
"Ashlyn, we have to get out!" she cried, her survival instinct taking over. She shoved Ashlyn away with all her strength, breaking the grip on her neck. She turned and ran for the door, coughing as the smoke began to sting her lungs and eyes.
But Ashlyn was lost to reason. Her face, illuminated by the orange glow of the fire, was a mask of terrifying resolve. If she was going down, she would not go down alone.
As Marissa reached for the doorknob, she felt a violent tug. Ashlyn had grabbed a fistful of her long hair, yanking her backwards with a sharp cry of pain. Marissa stumbled and fell to the floor, dragged away from her only escape.
By the time she scrambled to her knees, it was too late. The small opening near the door that had been clear just seconds before was now engulfed in a wall of fire. The wooden door itself was beginning to char and smoke. They were trapped.
Outside in the hallway, a pair of guards on their nightly patrol saw a bright, flickering light from under the new Grand Duchess's door. A moment later, they smelled the unmistakable scent of burning wood.
"Fire!" one of them yelled, pounding his fist on the door. "Your Grace! Are you in there?"
He tried the handle, but it wouldn't budge. It was locked from the inside.
"The room is on fire! The Grand Duchess is inside!" his partner shouted, his voice filled with panic. "Get help!!! Get a battering ram!"
Inside, the room was turning into an inferno. The heat was unbearable. The air was a thick, black poison. Marissa crawled on the floor, trying to find breathable air, her vision blurry with tears and smoke. She could see Ashlyn standing amidst the flames, the beautiful coronation dress now singed and smoking at the hem. Her sister's face was eerily calm, her eyes reflecting the dancing fire that was consuming them both. This was her victory. A shared destruction.
The guards outside threw their full weight against the door, but the old, sturdy oak held fast. They could hear the roar of the fire inside, a sound like an enraged beast. They shouted for water, for axes, for anything to break through. But the fire was too fast, too hot. It had already won.
It was too late.