Lady-sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His — Aunt...

The west wing corridor was colder. The wallpaper was a faded pattern of peacocks. At the end stood a heavy oak door, slightly ajar. Golden candlelight bled through the gap.

Sonia stumbled backward, but the floor had become a mirror, reflecting not her terrified face, but the face of a woman in a crimson gown holding a glowing book.

Her own face.

The room was a sanctuary of oddities. Canvases leaned against every wall—portraits of people Sonia did not recognize, landscapes of places that did not exist. In the center stood a gilded chair, and upon it sat Aunt Marguerite, but transformed.

Tonight, Sonia decided to become a cat.

Aunt Marguerite’s voice floated through the door, soft as a lullaby: “Don’t run, darling. We were all seventeen once. And every family needs a new keeper of the west wing.”

“The moon is full in three nights, Marguerite. The veil will thin. We must decide—does the girl stay, or does she go?” Lady-Sonia 17 10 27 Secretly Spying On His Aunt...

Her silver-streaked hair was unbound, cascading past her waist. She wore a gown of liquid crimson, embroidered with constellations. In her lap lay a leather-bound book, its pages glowing faintly, and her lips moved in a language that sounded like rain falling on glass.