I declared, sealing my fate as permanent houseguest.
The tipping point came weeks after meeting Lumina—a morning where Styras' facade cracked.
I'd grown accustomed to stealing sips of his magic-laced blood, maintaining human size to scrub floors and chop vegetables. Today he'd dressed like a storybook prince, anticipating visitors.
Upstairs, Lumina nibbled apple slices shaped like rabbits. "Storytime?" Her lisp squeezed my undead heart.
"Risotto again?" I teased.
"Yesterday was cream!"
Her giggles died as raised voices seeped through floorboards.
"—can't raise a child alone!"
"I've managed this long."
The bureaucrat's pitying tone made my teeth grind. Take the genius, ditch the sickly sister—typical noble logic.
I stormed downstairs.
"Housekeeper Eleanor," I announced, throwing open parlor doors. "At your service."
The gray-suited man blinked. Styras' eyes flashed warning.
"I'll handle chores. Lumina's care. Everything." My lie crystallized mid-sentence. "Let the master focus on work."
————————————
Cracks in the Crown
Nightfall found Styras curled in shadows, pride dissolved to saltwater.
"Should've let them take me," he mumbled into my blouse.
I crushed him closer—this child playing king. "Facilities smell like disinfectant and despair."
His laugh hitched. "Three years old when a lord tried to—"
I stilled.
"Magic erupted." His fingers sparked violet. "Burned his hands off."
The confession hung rancid. I carded through silver strands, feeling centuries older than my stolen teenage form.
"Weakness disgusts them," he whispered. "Even you'll leave when—"
"Try me."
Our shadows merged on the wall—a girl clutching a broken prodigy.