A trance

Blackwood wasn't at all what Danae had imagined. Cold and intimidating, the sprawling mansion seemed more like a fortress designed for isolation rather than a home. The walls, tall and stark, towered over her, casting long shadows that swallowed the light.

The people moved like ghosts, their footsteps barely audible, their eyes always watching her.

Her.

The woman who shouldn't have survived the accident. Or maybe it was something else, something they could sense — something wrong with her. Something different.

The master of Blackwood, distant and cold, commanded the estate like a figure carved from ice. He barely looked at her, and when he did, it was with a strange detachment, as though she were a problem to be solved, not a person to be welcomed.

The last time he had really acknowledged her was the night she'd arrived, battered and confused. Since then, their encounters had been brief, filled with awkward silence and tension so thick she could feel it in the air whenever he passed her in the grand hallways.

It was as if he was waiting for her to make a mistake, to give him a reason to send her away.

But Danae had her own plans. She wasn't here by choice, but now that she was, she needed power. She needed control over her situation, and in a place like Blackwood, that meant getting closer to him. The man who held all the cards. The man whose name she still wasn't sure of, because no one here ever said it.

To survive, she had to play her part — the obedient guest, the fragile woman who didn't ask too many questions. She had already charmed a few of the older staff, learned bits and pieces about the mansion and its strange history. Everything here felt so different, so out of sync with the world she knew. Even the way the staff deferred to him was unsettling, like his word was law.

At home, her father had always valued advice, even welcomed challenges to his authority. He encouraged debate, conversation, and collaboration. Here, there was none of that. At Blackwood, the women especially were expected to be quiet, submissive, and invisible.

That wasn't Danae.

Every forced smile was like a splinter under her skin, but she endured it. She had no other choice. She couldn't risk exposing herself. Whatever had happened to her the night of the accident — whatever had landed her in this strange place, this strange time — she couldn't let them know.

And yet, he knew something. She saw it in his eyes. Whenever he looked at her, it was like he was peeling away the layers of her disguise, seeing the truth she was desperate to hide. It was as if he knew she was faking it all, but he said nothing. He just watched, waiting, like a predator circling its prey.

After another meal filled with unbearable silence, one of the staff came to her with a message. He had summoned her to his office.

Her heart raced as she made her way through the dimly lit halls, the tension in the air thickening with each step. When she entered the room, he was seated behind an imposing desk, his sharp features highlighted by the flickering firelight. His presence filled the space, commanding and unreadable.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice deep and controlled. There was something in his tone, something that sent a shiver down her spine.

His silver hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and even in his apparent casualness, there was something striking about him. The way he sat, his arms crossed over his chest, revealed a confidence that bordered on arrogance. He was in control. Always.

"Tell me the truth," he said, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with something dark and probing. "Who are you?"

Danae's throat tightened. She had been preparing for this moment, but now that it was here, the fear she had been keeping at bay began to creep in. He was testing her, pushing her. And somehow, he knew she wasn't who she said she was.

"I—I don't know what you mean," she stammered, trying to keep her voice calm, small. It was the role she had been playing ever since she'd arrived — fragile, lost, compliant.

"Don't lie to me." His voice was sharp now, cutting through her pretense like a blade. "You think I don't know? You don't belong here."

Danae's blood ran cold. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Her pulse quickened, and for the first time since she had stumbled into this place, real fear took hold of her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

His silence was deafening, more unsettling than any outburst she had imagined. He watched her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

"So, you're going to keep pretending?" His voice was calm again, almost casual, but the edge was still there. "You're not fit to stay here."

His words hit harder than they should have. Not fit. Not worthy. She had heard those words before, but now, in this strange place, they felt heavier, more final.

"I didn't lie," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I just... I survived. Isn't that enough?"

He stood, walking slowly around the desk until he was standing right in front of her. He looked down at her, his gaze cold and assessing.

"You don't belong here," he said again, his voice low but firm. "And I won't tolerate someone in my home who refuses to tell the truth."

She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but the words wouldn't come. He had already made up his mind.

"You'll leave in the morning," he said, turning away from her. "I'll make arrangements."

Danae stood there, frozen, as he dismissed her. Numb, she made her way back to her room, her thoughts racing. If he sent her away, she would have nothing. Nowhere to go. And worse, no way to figure out how to get back. Back to her own time. Back to her own life.

As she lay in bed that night, sleep eluding her, a single thought took hold.

If he thought she didn't belong here, she'd have to prove him wrong.