[Lavinia's Pov]
I stared.
I didn't blink. I couldn't.
My papa's hands—those warm, gentle hands that always lifted me high in the air, tucked me into bed, and brushed my hair—were red.
So, so red.
The color dripped from his fingers and splashed onto the cold white floor like spilled paint. Except this wasn't paint.
I knew that.
My breath hitched. My heart felt like it had slipped and fallen down a long, cold staircase inside my chest.
And before I could stop myself, my feet dashed forward on their own. "Papa…!" I cried out, voice shaking, tears clinging to the corners of my eyes.
His head turned sharply. Our eyes met.
And for a second—just a second—I saw something flicker across Papa's face. Shock? Fear?
…No, not fear. He never looked afraid.
He looked like… like he didn't know how I got there.
"Lavinia?" he said my name, but it didn't sound like him. It wasn't warm. It wasn't teasing. It was low. Heavy. Cold. Like a door creaking open in the dark.
