Morning at the Manor is Too Still
The sky is a pale bruise above the cracked glass dome.
Irlenne wakes to birdsong. Not eerie. Not enchanted.
Just… birds.
Her hands are stained with soil. Her nails chipped. Her lips dry.
She feels alive.
Not untouched.
Just undefeated.
She dresses in silence. Pulls her coat tight. Walks barefoot across the hall, as if the floor needs to know she isn't afraid of it anymore.
She doesn't stop until she's at the west wing door — the one that never quite opened right since the fire.
It opens easily now.
Of course it does.
The ghost no longer needs to haunt it.
---
A Letter on the Floor
There's no name on the envelope.
Just a wax seal: a thorn pressed into a rose.
Inside: three lines.
> She left the real apology in the attic.
It was meant for you.
He doesn't know it exists.
It's unsigned.
But the ink smells faintly of burnt herbs.
Theda.
Irlenne folds the note, tucks it into her coat, and starts climbing.
---
The Attic Is Not Dusty. It Is Preserved.
Time has not touched this place.
Mara's scent still clings to the velvet shawl hung over a broken mannequin.
Her boots are lined perfectly beside the trunk she never let anyone open.
But it's the mirror that draws Irlenne's eye.
Small. Oval. Set inside a gilded hand mirror. Cracked.
It doesn't show Irlenne's face.
It shows Mara.
Sitting in the attic, pen in hand.
Writing.
Over and over.
> "I'm sorry I didn't know how to love you without breaking you first."
---
Irlenne Reads the Real Apology
It's inside a leather journal, pages unnumbered.
Each entry is dated in Mara's looping script.
Some are smudged with tears.
Some scorched at the edges.
One has blood on the corner.
> Irlenne, I think I hated how much I needed you.
You made me feel real when no one else could. And then Lucien looked at you like that — like I used to — and I wanted to burn you out of him.
Out of me.
> But you were never mine to erase.
> I'm sorry. Not because I lost. But because I didn't deserve to win.
---
Footsteps Behind Her
She turns. Expects Theda. Or Elowen.
It's neither.
It's a man.
Dark coat. Sharp eyes. His smile is all shadow.
"I'm sorry to intrude," he says politely. "But I heard the manor finally quieted."
Irlenne doesn't speak.
He steps into the light.
And now she sees it.
The chin. The eyes. The mouth.
Mara's mouth.
"I'm Corven," he says, voice low. "Mara's brother."
---
The Brother No One Knew
"She never mentioned you," Irlenne says carefully, moving to block the journal with her body.
Corven laughs.
"She wouldn't. I was the family secret. The twin born second."
"She told us she had no siblings."
"She told a lot of lies. But the best ones," he says, eyes flaring strangely, "are the ones that protect the worst truths."
Irlenne doesn't lower her guard.
"What do you want?"
Corven tilts his head.
"She left me the manor. But you've bled on its floors. That makes you part of it now."
"I'm not giving it to you."
He smiles again.
"I didn't ask."
---
He Looks at the Mirror. Not Her.
"I came to say goodbye," he says. "To her. To the version of me who might've come back sooner."
Irlenne waits.
Corven runs a finger along the cracked mirror's edge.
"She was cruel," he whispers. "But no one ever asked why."
Irlenne softens. Just slightly.
"Do you know?"
"Yes," he says. "And if I tell you, it'll ruin her myth."
"She already broke it herself."
That makes him pause.
"You're not afraid of her anymore."
"No," Irlenne replies. "I grieved her long before she died."
---
He Hands Her a Folded Photograph
"I found this the night she died," he says. "It was under her pillow."
The photo is faded.
A snapshot of three girls in the garden.
Irlenne. Theda. Mara.
All laughing. All unknowing.
Behind them: a boy watching.
Lucien? No.
Too tall. Too angular.
Corven.
"She watched you even when she claimed she hated you," he murmurs.
Irlenne hands the photo back.
"She didn't hate me. She hated that I survived loving her."
---
Corven Leaves Without Taking Anything
Not a key. Not a claim.
Only the cracked mirror in his coat.
As he goes, he says only:
"She would have envied the girl you are now."
And Irlenne, for the first time in years, lets that truth warm her.
Not haunt her.
---
Downstairs: Elowen Packs a Bag
She's leaving.
Not forever.
But for herself.
"I need to see if I exist outside of her shadow," she says. "Outside of all of yours."
Irlenne nods.
And hugs her.
No bitterness. No goodbye laced with old wounds.
Just hope.
Elowen smiles through tears.
"I'll write," she promises.
"Only if you want to."
Elowen touches her heart.
And walks out into a world she's never known without glass around her.
---
That Night, Lucien Waits
He's outside, by the greenhouse.
"I saw you went to the attic," he says.
"She left me a letter," Irlenne replies.
Lucien's face darkens. "Do you still… miss her?"
"I miss what she could've been. But not what she was."
Lucien steps closer.
"You're not her ghost, Irlenne."
"I know."
They stand close.
No mirrors between them.
Then Lucien, voice soft:
"Do I still get to love you, now that no one else is telling me who to be?"
Irlenne answers by kissing him.
Not like it's the end of a war.
Like it's the beginning of something that might finally be real.
---