Hello everyone! This chapter should clear up any questions some of you have been asking! If any remain, however, please feel free to PM me and ask! I have notes on a lot (probably more than I should need, haha), though I won't spoil any plot of course. I hope you all enjoy, and remember to Shine On, You Crazy Diamonds!

-Cat

I woke, by some grace, at quarter past six. It gave me plenty of time to bathe, get ready for the day, and even study. I feared the reparations I could face if I didn't heed to my grandmother's whim. I gazed over the passage, murmuring the words to myself, quizzing from time to time. The passage felt as if it were taunting me. A rebellious child must be punished. Killed. It was my mother, no doubt, that Grandmother was not-so-subtly using against me, and warning me against sin.

Breakfast was brief. Eggs, toast, marmalade. Once it was over, a maid ushered me into the kitchen. It seemed much too big for the people it was feeding - on a normal day, without us, it would just be two people plus perhaps two dozen workers. I was immediately greeted by the man I assumed to be the head chef; a short, thin man of about fifty, with a wispy grey receding hairline. His face could only be described as nondescript, as it had no features that stuck out. In fact, as I made note of each servant, it appeared as though all of them had the similar quality of blandness. I wondered if it was a requirement for hiring. They could all blend into the background and be completely unnoticeable.

The chef shook my hand politely, and I curtsied.

"You must be Miss Winfield." He said plainly. "The lady of the house told me you'd be working here. You can address me as Chef Deegan. Allow me to show you around…"

I was briefly shown around the kitchen. Everything was as organized and rigid as an army camp. I was given an apron, jobs for each day, and an idea of what everything would typically entail. I was unpaid help. My wage was room and board, and I would work five days a week, Saturday reserved for leisure, Sunday for worship. As it were, Friday morning was upon us. All meals had been planned, and lunch and dinner were to be even simpler than the food I had sampled previously. My chores began with washing up from breakfast, a small pile of dishes that went away quickly. I then was instructed to wipe down countertops, sweep, mop, and generally keep things clean. It wasn't gruelling work, though I had begun to sweat. It was, after all, midsummer, and the oven was going at full heat to bake the bread for the week. Yes, despite it being my only working day thus far, Friday was bread day.

The day passed by with nothing surprising. I had had a small lunch, and continued to recite the scripture in my head, checking if I had made any mistakes from time to time. By my luck and persistence, I fully memorized it by five forty-five. I had fifteen minutes to spare before dinner, and, to be sure, I murmured it under my breath as I set places out for dinner. Grandfather, due to his health, would not be joining us, though I was tasked to bring him his meal before I could eat mine.

The clock struck six p.m. with long, drawn out chimes, and on the dot, entered Grandmother and Momma. They took their places, and I stood rigid, waiting for my cue. We said grace, and Grandmother looked to me.

"Lucille." She spoke. "You were tasked with a biblical verse. Recite it."

I curtsied, and with my allowance to speak, began.

"Deuteronomy, Chapter twenty-one, verses eighteen through twenty-one." I paused. "If someone has a stubborn and rebellious son…"

The words blurred, but I finished. For a moment, Grandmother was silent, and I feared that I had slipped up and not noticed. However, she nodded slowly.

"You've recited perfectly." She said, no inflection showing if she was pleased, surprised, or otherwise. "Deliver Malcolm's meal to his study, then return."

"Yes, ma'am." I responded, and obediently excused myself, pushing the cart along the halls to where I remembered his study to be. The room was silent, but I knocked.

There was no response for a few seconds, but then the voice of my grandfather croaked permission to enter, and I opened the door slowly, wheeling the cart, laden with stew and a roll to his bedside. I awaited instruction or permission to leave. I was walking on incredibly thin ice, for I was left totally alone with the one force that could destroy me.

His lips formed into a thin line that could be defined as the ghost of a smile, though it was cold and held no real affection.

"Do you know," He asked slowly. "Why my daughter, your cousin, was disowned?"

I nodded, then answered. "She was pregnant before marriage, sir."

He tutted softly. "But that's not the whole story, you know."

I awaited his answer with bated breath, both from morbid curiosity and horror."

"One," He began. "the man she conceived the abomination with was her half-uncle. My half-brother."

I nodded. He had burned the knowledge into my brain.

"Two," He continued. "the infant was killed. Infanticide, even of a child born of incest and sin, is one of the worst sins one can commit. I admit, I had demanded that she remove the creature from herself. I wanted it gone. But it was by her hand, and those hands will forever be coated with blood."

I could only continue my nodding. I was supposed to be dead. He kept telling me these things, and an icy shard in me feared that he knew that I wasn't. That I was the abomination, the creature that didn't die. Curiosity got the best of me. I had to know. "How did she kill it?" I asked. "Do you know?"

He immediately chided. "Your prying will get you into trouble, young lady… but, if you insist… She drowned it. Right from birth, submerged it in the tub. The death certificate she sent was proof enough.

"Now child." He looked me directly in the eye. "Let it be known that unnecessary curiosity cannot be tolerated. Let Corinne's fate be reminder if nothing else. Sin will always be found out, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Remember." He sat up a little straighter, and took the tray onto his lap. "Even if you are forgiven on Earth, the Heavenly Father will not be light handed on His punishment. Be holy, or fear the flames of Hell. You are dismissed."

I curtsied, and left. I had to take a breath just outside his door before going to dinner. Everything was muddled in my head, from his information on my mother's sins to his warning of divine punishment. I was certain he knew I wasn't my dead. My parents had forged a lot of things, most likely, especially their own birth certificates. Surely they could have forged a death certificate for me. That's why I could go to school and such, I knew I had one. I had watched Momma pack it with our belongings, and it was probably hidden away somewhere. At least, I hoped.

I had dinner. I cleaned afterwards. It was uneventful. I was assigned another passage, Hebrews 13:17. With this, I already knew my passages were carefully being chosen. Grandmother was a sort of manipulative that was obvious, but one could never call out directly. She knew what she was doing, it was a skill she had honed into a piercing blade.

Once dinner and my duties were over, it was seven thirty. I had the rest of the night, plus all of Saturday to myself. As I couldn't visit my siblings, I wasn't sure what to do with my newfound time. Normally, at our home, I would spend time with them, or my friends, or go on walks, but none of those were viable. I decided to write. After asking Grandmother for some paper and writing materials, she allowed me into a secondary study, which I quickly raided and returned to my room.

However, the crisp, blank paper in front of me felt daunting. No ideas flowed, the pen in my hand felt like a weight. I pressed it to the top corner of the page, and dated it. It was a start.

Friday, June 23, 1957

I had a date. I decided to write a letter from my new persona. I had to get a grasp of being me. To whom the letter would be to, I didn't know.

Hello there,

I am Lucille Winfield. I'm sixteen years old. My parents are dead. I was born in Greenville, South Carolina, but I was sent to live with my distant cousins, Olivia and Malcolm Foxworth in Virginia. Their daugher was a sinner, and lives with us also. She was in a relationship with her half-uncle and had a child, which she killed. I have a room on the second floor, and I work in the kitchen for room and board.

I paused. Everything felt too simple. I crumbled the paper, though scribbled things out for good measure, just in case. One could never be too careful. I started anew, again with the date.

To whomever it may concern,

That, too was scrapped. I had a dozen false starts. Nothing felt right. I was in an actress in a role miscast. I wasn't supposed to be here. I wasn't even supposed to be alive. The room suddenly felt constricting, and I had to open the window. The cool summer air didn't help. stared into the woods. Fireflies were beginning to flicker, bats flapping through the trees. It was such a beautiful place around us. The austerity felt like a tragedy. There should been parties and love here, I decided, not hidden children, false identities, and fierce penance for sins.

It was there, deep in thought, bitter regard for my grandparents, that I decided I didn't believe in God. The nagging part of me still wanted to, but I wanted my seed of rebellion. It was right there, sitting on the floor, arms crossed on the dark windowsill, searching the stars, that I turned my back. Of course, I would read the Bible each night, but that was only to please my Grandparents. I would pray at meals for the same reason. It felt like I was indulging in Satan, but I didn't care.

I was forging my own destiny, now.