Page 45 of The Tyranny of our Longing

—- — —— —— —- - — the ache of the wait almost maddening, and I could barely stand to be near Mother, to sit quietly in her presence as if everything were as before. For nothing could ever be as was before.

- —— —- — —— — - ——- but as afternoon turned to evening, even the walls of the drawing room seemed to reverberate with my unease, and I found I could not bear it any longer. I rushed to my chamber, unable to stay, terrified that she would follow —- — ——— —— — ——- —

The door to the wing opened as if by my own frantic thoughts, and I hurried through the halls, the beauty around me urging me on, pulsing as if with my very own thundering heart, and I do not know if it was but my frightened fancy that conjured the heavy steps echoing behind me, but I could not chance to turn around. —— - - ——— stumbled through the door of my chamber, I collided —— - ——- ——- clamping down on my trembling limbs.

He had come. Not to the library, as we had agreed, but here. And as his eyes took in the disheveled state of my entire being, his hold on me shifted, and suddenly I was falling, tumbling down into an abyss I myself had carved.

I did not know the extent of it, of what it meant to ——- - —— —- —— as the force of his own desire finally conquered the last vestiges of his restraint, for a breathless moment I could not help but wonder what he would have done had I not been under the same spell. Yet the haze of ecstasy blurred all lines, the almost cruel vehemence of his movements, of his desperate hunger easing into the softness of a fulfilled dream. For this was what I had always wanted, was it not? His attention. His unrestricted, consummate devotion. So as he delivered it, I knew I should be nothing less than utterly grateful. Just as I had always claimed Mother should be.

I now understand —- ——- — — ——- —- —- it was held back by the shroud of bliss forced upon my eyes. The awakening came later, after he had gone, long after Mother herself had burst into the room, standing above my bed, staring at my still heaving chest like a martyr on an altar.

And when she tore the tattered dress from my body, the pain of parting burned through my skin like so many needles, and I felt I could cry from the cruelty of it. I shook as she —— — took in the sight of me without its radiant covering, and it almost felt like ——- pooling at the base of my spine, smearing my skin, the bruises of this ———- painting my limbs in turbulent midnight, and I sobbed.

Sobbed for the pain she had caused me. Sobbed for the thing she had taken that was mine. But she had no pity for me. Only raging fury in the eyes that could have been my own.

— This was all my fault.

Her words were so soft, that at first I did not hear her through the wails still clawing through my throat. She stroked a cold hand over my feverish brow, with the mocking smile of the conqueror over the defeated.

— But I will make it right. I will make him answer for what he has done. For this, he shall burn.

With that she left, the door banging closed with a finality that brought new tears spilling from my eyes —- - —— ——— - ——— ———- —- —— - ——-

- — —- ——- —- —— ——- —- ——- but now as I sit here, memories of bliss evaporating like so much smoke, as if they were but fantasies of a desolate heart - ——— —— —— —- ——— —— all hope falls lost to violent delusions — —— —— —- ———- —— ——- — —— — — ———- - ——— — ——— —- —— - —— — and all that we did—all I have brought about—burning through me like fire clawing at my back, and I pray for the flames to somehow cleanse us of this stain, for what divine act would be powerful enough to purify us from this shade of disgrace?

CHAPTER 36

Phaedra jerked in her seat as Nathaniel snapped the journal shut. Her breath trembled in her chest, her mind racing to put together the things she was still unwilling to understand.

“Well?” he demanded, his tone so cold that she was seized by a sudden sense of disorientation. Had he not seen the paintings? Even if he could not picture the words he had just spoken, could he not remember what had been depicted in those dreadful frames? Could he not see the horrified look in her eyes to know that they had indeed been accurate?

Had he not recognized the man with the green ribbon looped through the buttonhole of his rumpled jacket, or the young woman arching beneath him, her radiant dress in tatters, her skin exposed to the grip of his passion? Or the skeletal figure standing in the doorway with a face so eerily similar to the one amid the sheets, the flame of her candle as if surging from her own fingertips, lighting up her horrified features before biting into the very frame around her? And behind her, instead of the vibrant green hallway, a blazing inferno.

Phaedra’s voice felt shredded to nothing as she said in a hoarse whisper, “She wanted to save her. The daughter that was only hers. The daughter she knew he would hurt. Just as he had hurt her over the years, all under the contrived guise of ardent love.”

“So it was her fault then.” Nathaniel tossed the journal onto the desk. “My dear sister. Funny that my mother would see it so.” He tilted his head as he looked at the fragile remains, a half smile pulling his lips into a sight of pitiless mockery. “Because from what I could see, she was not at all against his affections.”

Phaedra did not know if he had meant his mother or sister, but it did not matter. The disdain dripping from his voice, the cruelty cutting through every word made it difficult to look at him anymore. Unshed tears clung to her lashes, as she dropped her eyes to her hands balled into her skirt, desperately trying to pry some sense out of the change that had befallen him. It almost felt as if she had lost him to the horror of this revelation, and the more they spoke of it, the more he would fade, with little chance to return to the way he had been before.

If it had ever been real in the first place.

“I think,” she formed the words slowly, as if one wrong turn of phrase could be the end of her, “it is not that simple.”

“Oh really? Because it seems fairly straightforward to me.”

Phaedra reined in her flinch at the last moment, twisting her skirt to hide the trembling in her hands. “I believe there is more to it, to the driving force behind all that happened. There is…” She pulled in a breath. The time for truth had come. “There is something I need to tell you. Many things, in fact. But the most important thing, the thing I myself have only recently discovered… I think there is something very wrong here. In this house. In the green⁠—”

Her words were cut off by the obscurity of a shadow falling over her. She had not noticed—had not heard—Nathaniel move from his desk, and a jolt of fear ran through her as he bent forward, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair. She pulled back instinctively, her frantic words battling with the loss of air from her lungs.

“I know how this sounds, but please, you must believe me! The green… It lives. It wants. And I do not believe we are safe here.” A teardrop broke free, drawing a hot line down her trembling cheek. “Please, we need to leave! We need to get out of this house.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile that was anything but kind, and the realization of what it meant shot a chill down her spine. Because she had been more than right. Something was indeed very, very wrong. And Nathaniel had fallen to it.

“Oh no,” he murmured in a way that could have been a caress if not for the ice blooming between the words. “We are not going anywhere. Not until we finish what we started.”

Phaedra could barely blink before she was thrust down, his body crowding hers, his hand clenching around her throat. The loss of breath was sudden and overwhelming, and her mind burst with flashing light, her limbs electrified with one single thought. Survive.

“Nathaniel, stop!” she croaked, her legs flailing against his frenzied movements tearing to find skin under the folds of her dress. Her hands grasped his, desperate to pry him away from her throat. But he was too strong, his grip too tight, crushing even the hope of escape from her body.