Everleigh

"I recommend you stop meddling with the Strachan," Alexander said.

"You're still mad at me," I replied.

"We've all relapsed, Everleigh."

"Not me."

No lapse to relapse.

More like him,

less like them

I concealed the portrait of my father when I had visitors.

A prop in the frame, but I knew what lay underneath.

Alexander shook his head. "You should have come to me."

"What would you have said. That relapses are normal, and we should forget about the dead people in their wake."

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"Your hands aren't exactly clean, Everleigh."

"You can't compare what I do to what she did."

Not long after I played my final note in Delphia, I arrived in Amalia with one goal: I, Everleigh Gloom, would change the world. One incurable illness at a time, and once upon a time, I sang a song of sleep to Alexander's friend.

She was fifty-seven years without an incident,

and one night,

a slaying,

a slaughter,

a scene from a nightmare.

The quiet holds, the quiet keeps the rot until the rot is thee.

I cried because I was sorry.

And then I didn't because I wasn't.

"What are you planning? Alexander asked.

"Why would I tell you that. I trusted you with my secrets once, and nine years later you're still holding them against me."

My office smelled like mildew, roses, and pipe tobacco.

I wished he'd leave,

but I didn't wish to end him.

The confusion of it all.

"They're going to figure it out eventually, Everleigh. I've heard rumours my sister is asking around about a missing couple. Your doing, I suppose?"

A single, a couple.

It was me,

you know it was.

But we must protect the fox.

At all costs.

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