The door was not closed. She saw them coming like the mother saw the children coming. Except, unlike the mother, she was expecting them. She was waiting for this moment.
"I knew you would come back."
Lucille Sharpe rarely smiled. She was smiling now, smiling freely with full teeth, as her head slowly turned to face them.
There was something unnerving in her stare. It was too wide, too off. It was a stare that ate Edith whole.
"I admit, I was wrong. You and I, we are not so different after all. Keeping what is ours, taking what is theirs." Her spine arched. "We even fuck the same men."
Slowly Lucille rose, her hair pulled from the water, contouring the slopes of her bare shoulders and breasts, waist and hips. Red ore coated her skin, painting her as slick as a newborn baby. Over her heart was a scab of spider-web black.
Silhouetted against the window, she looked indistinguishable from the other ghosts that haunted the halls. There was only one difference. She could kill.
Her hand rose, and with it, a cleaver. It hung heavy and old and dull, red water dripped from the edge. There was no stealth here. Only a scream for savagery, for ugliness and deformity and a brutal end.
Edith recognized it as the same cleaver that split Lady Beatrice's skull in half. It took all her willpower to keep her courage.
"Drop the weapon, Lucille," she whispered.
Lucille's smile only widened, as if Edith had just said the most darling thing.
"Lucille, please." It was Thomas, released prematurely from his leash. He was begging her again, as he had every night. Whatever he could do to get her to listen, even if the most his pleas resulted was another punishing blow onto him.
When was her poor brother going to understand? Playtime was over. He had behaved badly, so his toys were going to be taken away. Whatever Lucille bought for him, she could also take away.
Chitin cracked under her bare feet. Before she could advance another step, the room echoed with a heavy click.
"I said, drop the weapon."
Edith had regained her nerve, positioned firmly in front of Thomas. Lucille was not the only one who had prepared for this confrontation. Edith had as well, and she knew better than to trust in words alone to protect her this time.
No more prayers. No more pleading and waiting on the mercy of others. From this moment forth, she was setting her own laws.
Lucille stared into the barrel of the gun, then at the holder. Edith's face betrayed nothing, no break in her emotions, no weakness in her stance. While Lucille stood bare, Edith had redressed herself in civilization and brought all the power that came with it.
It was difficult to believe how a few months could bring about such a drastic change. How much little Edith would grow.
Lucille stared at the subtle shake, despite the double grip.
But had she really? Or was this simply a case of playing pretend. Of a girl acting out as a pirate.
"Lucille," Edith warned.
More chitin cracked, tiny scales sticking to the bottom of Lucille's feet.
To Edith's dismay, not even a pistol could keep her at bay. The other woman had called her bluff, advancing step by step without fear.
Poised as a viper, Lucille feigned an attack to unnerve Edith more, to shake away the last of her confidence. She laughed. It didn't matter what shiny contraptions Edith brought from the outside. It would change nothing in their story.
Left without a choice, Edith took a swift two-step retreat to reestablish their distance. She pulled Thomas with her into her arm. Her strategy had not worked.
A click.
So it was time to switch tactics, as her pistol leveled once more.
Now this.
This did work.
Edith did not miss the cold halt in Lucille's movements, the rigid fright, the first honest reaction throughout Lucille's careful presentation. It confirmed Edith's suspicions.
Lucille was lucid.
The village may have put her in an asylum, but mad she was not. Not then. Not now. Madness did not keep someone like her alive all these years. It did not keep the house from sinking.
Meticulous planning did. Schemes and traps, adapting to change, preying on weaknesses. Everything she did, she did with intent, she did with mind of the consequences and the costs.
Lucille was lucid, and her fear for her brother was enough to hold onto her weapon, as long as Edith's was directed towards Thomas.
The consequences and the costs. Edith had just raised both, beyond what Lucille may be able to accept.
Not that Edith can ever know. Her weight rebalanced, Lucille forcibly sewed together any openings in her composure. It was her turn to resort to a bluff.
"Nothing will change by hurting him."
"Except make us even."
Lucille's smile wiped clean. Her eyes darted back to Thomas, her last hope.
He did not resist, only closing his eyes. He had already surrendered, bracing himself for when Edith spilled his brains, the way Lucille did her father's. In his twisted mind, he probably believed he deserved it.
The sight struck into Lucille's deepest fears, created a tumult of emotions that cracked her from the inside.
She loved Thomas. It was the raw truth. The horrible truth, the beautiful truth. She always loved him more, with the frightening depth of an abyss. Suffered for him. Suffered with him. Even when she punished him, she never left anything permanent, never did anything that would tarnish his beauty.
The idea of holding him for ransom would have been unimaginable. The idea of him giving in, even worse.
Her poor brother, willing to give up his life for this woman.
Willing to die at the hands of this woman.
This other woman… despite having Lucille. Despite all the love Lucille had fed him, despite all she had done to complete him. He had even lost his smile, that real, genuine smile she adored so much. The smile she had fought so painfully to protect.
Not once had he smiled, not once since Edith took her leave, and with her, anything remaining of value in the house. The one precious thing they had left in this damned family. Her brother's heart.
Lucille stood, the cleaver trembling in her hand. Her mask fractured more and more, the colors underneath it threatening to burst.
"For the last time, drop the weapon."
Everything, just needing to burst.
And burst they did, the weapon leaving her hand. Only it did not fall to the ground, but slice through the air, spinning right towards the culprits of her heartbreak.
There was no more laughter.
Only screams.
Only rage.
The purest rage, and the sound of two shots fired.