Chapter 3

The following morning, Violet woke to the muted sound of rain tapping against her window. The skies were a pale, overcast gray, casting a dim light over the estate. The air in her room was cold, prompting her to pull her shawl tightly around her shoulders as she sat up.

She had hardly slept. Her conversation with Theodore the previous afternoon had lingered in her mind, unsettling her more than she cared to admit. There was something in the way he spoke about Lysandra—something carefully measured, almost rehearsed. And yet, beneath that veneer of detachment, Violet had caught the barest flicker of emotion. Was it resentment? Regret? She wasn't sure.

Deciding that there was no use dwelling on it, she rose from her bed and dressed, preparing herself for another day in the Halloway mansion.

Breakfast was a subdued affair. The long dining table was sparsely populated—only Felix, Everett, and Augustus were present. Clara and Theodore were nowhere to be seen, and Ophelia, unsurprisingly, had yet to emerge. Violet ate in relative silence, responding politely when spoken to but otherwise keeping to herself.

After breakfast, she made her way to the library. The room had quickly become one of her favorite places in the estate, offering a quiet refuge from the ever-present tension that seemed to permeate the house. The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with volumes both new and old, their spines worn from years of use. She found solace in the scent of aged parchment and ink, in the way the dust motes danced in the morning light filtering through the tall windows.

As she ran her fingers along the spines, searching for a book to occupy her thoughts, she heard the door creak open behind her. Turning, she found Clara standing in the doorway, hesitating as if uncertain whether she should enter.

"Good morning," Violet greeted gently.

Clara shifted on her feet. "Good morning."

Violet gestured toward the shelves. "Do you enjoy reading?"

Clara nodded slowly. "Sometimes. Mostly stories about places far from here."

Violet smiled. "I can understand that."

A beat of silence passed before Clara took a few tentative steps into the room, her fingers brushing against the polished wood of a nearby table. "Did Theodore talk to you? About Lysandra?"

Violet paused. "Yes. He told me a little about her."

Clara lowered her gaze. "She wasn't very kind to me."

There was something fragile in her voice, something that made Violet's heart ache. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "That must have been difficult."

Clara nodded, hesitating before adding, "Theodore used to protect me from her. He always made sure she didn't hurt me too much."

Violet frowned. "Hurt you?"

Clara's fingers tightened against the table's edge. "Not physically. But she… she liked to make me feel small. Like I didn't belong here. She'd say awful things, make me afraid to speak. Theodore would always step in. He never let her get too far."

Something cold curled in Violet's stomach. She had assumed that Lysandra had simply been distant from her siblings, but this… this was different.

"I can't imagine how that must have felt," Violet said carefully. "You didn't deserve that, Clara."

Clara gave her a hesitant look, almost as if she wanted to say more. But then, she pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I should go. I just… wanted to know if Theodore told you. He and I are leaving for school soon."

With that, she turned and hurried out of the library, leaving Violet alone with her thoughts. The way Clara spoke about Lysandra left an unsettling weight in Violet's chest. It was as if the entire family had scrubbed away any grief, leaving only hushed mentions and sidelong glances. The absence of sorrow was almost more disturbing than the idea of Lysandra's cruelty.

Violet thought back to the dinner the night before, to Ophelia's cold dismissal of the past, to Felix and Everett's distant expressions. Had they all truly moved on so easily? Even Augustus, who had lost a daughter—and a wife—spoke of them both with no emotion. Could a person truly be so terrible that even their own family felt nothing at their passing? Shouldn't there be something? Regret, nostalgia, even anger? Instead, it was as if Lysandra had been wiped away, like ink smudged off a page, and Eleanor their mother, had simply faded into nothingness, her absence acknowledged but never grieved. It was unsettling, this family's silence, their willingness to let the past disappear without a trace. Maybe she should take heed of Augustus' words about this family being particular.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze. Violet busied herself with reading, but her mind kept circling back to her conversation with Clara. If Lysandra had truly been cruel, what had pushed her to behave that way? And why did Theodore seem so… careful when speaking of her?

She decided to take a walk through the halls, hoping that movement would help clear her thoughts. The corridors of the mansion were as quiet as ever, the portraits of ancestors watching her as she passed. The storm outside had lessened to a steady drizzle, the windows streaked with tiny rivulets of rain.

As she turned a corner, she nearly collided with Everett, who seemed just as surprised to see her.

"Miss Rowe," he greeted, stepping back. "I didn't expect to see you wandering about."

"I needed to stretch my legs," she admitted. "It's easy to feel restless in a house this large."

He chuckled. "You're not wrong about that. This place has a way of making one feel trapped."

Violet hesitated before asking, "May I ask you something?"

Everett arched an eyebrow. "Of course."

She took a steadying breath. "Lysandra… what was she really like?"

Everett's smile faded, his expression turning unreadable. "Ah. So you've been hearing stories, then."

"I want to understand."

Everett studied her for a moment before sighing. "Lysandra was… complicated. She wasn't easy to love, I suppose. Always challenging things, always demanding more. But she wasn't all bad. She had a sharp mind, and when she wanted to, she could be incredibly charming. Just… not to everyone."

"Not to Clara," Violet murmured.

Everett exhaled slowly. "No. Not to Clara. Lysandra could be cruel. She had a way of cutting people down with nothing more than words. And Augustus… well, he didn't exactly discourage that behavior."

Violet frowned. "Why would he encourage it?"

Everett shook his head. "Not encourage, exactly. But he didn't stop it either. Augustus values strength, and in his eyes, Lysandra's sharpness was a kind of strength. He thought she would grow into it. That she would learn to wield it properly. But instead, it only made her enemies."

Violet absorbed his words carefully. "And Theodore? What was their relationship like?"

Everett's lips pressed into a thin line. "Strained. Theodore had patience for her, more than most. But even he had his limits. She was particularly unkind to Clara, and Theodore couldn't stand to see her tormented. He always stepped in when things got too cruel."

Violet hesitated, then asked, "What do you mean? How was she unkind?"

Everett sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Lysandra never considered Clara to be truly part of the family. She made sure Clara knew that, in every way she could. And since Theodore and Clara had the same mother, she often reminded them that they weren't truly Halloways the way she was. Eleanor was their mother, while the rest of us lost our mother many, many years ago. Lysandra never let them forget that."

Violet frowned, a deep unease settling in her chest. "That must have been difficult for them."

"It was," Everett admitted. "Theodore especially. He always tried to shield Clara, but there's only so much you can do when cruelty comes from within your own home."

A distant bell then rang through the halls, signaling lunch.

Everett smiled faintly. "You should get something to eat, Miss Rowe. Best not to dwell too much on ghosts."

As he walked away, Violet found herself staring after him, her unease growing with each passing second.