Hello everyone! Welcome to another chapter! It's a little on the shorter end, but things are revving towards a climax, I promise! There's going to be, at most, seven or eight more chapters. Plus, I'll be getting a laptop very soon, so hopefully updates will be a little more frequent.

An additional note, on my profile, I've decided to release a copy of the notes for the first 10 chapters, nothing full of spoilers, of course, but it includes my sources for timelining and such. Click the link in my profile if you'd like!

Hope you're all well!

-Cat

I didn't stay in the attic much longer than that. Cathy refused to listen to me, bitterly refusing the candies I'd brought. Deep down, I understood her rage. Who wouldn't? She hadn't spoken to a single soul besides Chris, the twins, Momma, or Grandmother in years. She'd been confined to a tiny room and attic, she hadn't seen the sun as far as I knew. Anyone would have that cabin fever. I snuck back down to my room around two in the morning, heart heavy and pockets no lighter than before. As I lay in bed, hot tears ran down my cheeks in the realization that my siblings, however much I had missed them, didn't miss me the same. Cathy hated me, Chris was indifferent, and the twins barely remembered me. I had to remind them of the things we had done, of who I was.

I turned to face the window. The key had been stuffed back into the hole in the chair. I would be able to pick up my letters on Friday afternoon once I arrived back on the train from school. The chauffeur that was to pick me up had a nasty habit of being late most of the time, so it was a regular thing, actually. I always told him I didn't mind, and with my approval, he took his sweet time.

The clock read three fifteen a.m., give or take a few minutes. My vision was a little blurry from the crying, of course. Though my eyelids were heavy, sleep wasn't coming easily. My thoughts swum in my mind like a frenzy of fish. I rolled over and stared at the door. It was an odd thing, but I contemplated the dark wood, read the grain from afar. This manor was old, at least a hundred years old. It was probably built by slaves. How many people had lived here? Within these four walls? How many people were born somewhere in this house, how many died? They were all family, or servants, or slaves. They either owned the place or were tied to it by law or petty wages. Where did I lie? Momma could own the manor, especially now she had grandfather's favor. Although, I doubted she'd want to. Bart had money to spend, he was a damned lawyer. He could probably have his own manor house built. Legally, I didn't really exist. I wasn't a servant though. My siblings weren't either, but they weren't free. We existed in a limbo.

The house creaked in it's habitual settling with a sigh. The wood was as weary as I. I rolled over again to stare out at the window. A whip-poor-will cried out it's song in the distance. I closed my eyes. If only I could leave, grow wings like that bird. It felt cliche to think that. Maybe it was, but that was how my mind decided to spin my seemingly hopeless situation.

I must have fallen asleep after that, as when I reopened my eyes, birds were chirping and bands of light streamed through the window. Turning to face the clock, it was almost eight in the morning, I'd barely slept five hours and my body felt it. My muscles were sore, my eyes felt like they'd been coated in sandpaper. However, it was a church morning. Even if Grandfather couldn't come, the rest of us; Grandmother, myself, and the servants, all went.

I didn't have a lot of time to spare, however, and made quick work of getting dressed and bathed before running down to breakfast just as the large clock in the main hall chimed eight thirty. Exactly on time, even if I was a little rushed. Sitting at my place at the breakfast table, Grandmother looked at me for a long moment, some emotion hidden behind her eyes I couldn't quite place. Did she know what I'd done? My blood chilled. If she found out, I was likely not the only person who'd get punished.

"Lucille." She began, pausing after my name. "Will you lead us in our morning prayer? It's been some time since you have."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. We all bowed our heads over our plates which would soon be laden with ham, biscuits, and grits.

"Dear Father in Heaven," I peeked just a little. Everyone was silent, even the kitchen had gone quiet. "We praise you for the nourishment You have provided this Sunday morning, an act which we do not often appreciate, and we ask You for forgiveness of that fact." I licked my lips. This could be a light, indirect jab. "Forgive us for not realizing the magnitude of Your people who go hungry every day, please relieve their starved stomachs and hearts, and forgive those that hurt them. In Jesus' name, Amen."

I looked up as I finished. It was just Grandmother and I, plus a few servants. Momma and Bart were on their honeymoon. The servants were none the wiser, Grandmother let on nothing. With the formalities finished, we ate.

The ride to church and the service of were as normal as could be. We sat in our pews, stood for each hymn and song, prayed for the needy, and donated money. I slipped a few dollars in under the watchful eye of my grandmother. I'd neglected to do so a few times and gotten lectured once she'd found out. Once the service was over, we'd normally stay and chat a while before going home for our biblically mandated day of rest. This morning was no different. Grandmother made her way to some of her acquaintances with me in tow. It was a stretch to say friends - I had my doubts that she was able to understand the very concept of friendship. Naturally she was a very cold person, even at parties and galas and weddings. It was always formal. Never once did I hear hear her utter any greeting other than a "good day" or "hello". Never a "how are you?". She jumped right to matters. If she'd been born at a different time, I'd place her to be a diplomat of sorts.

Today, she decided to greet someone I'd never met before. He was an older gentleman, maybe a little younger than she, with combed chestnut color hair over a balding top. Tall, slim to an almost unhealthy level, and dressed in his Sunday best, I noticed the similarities between himself and my grandmother. Not to relation, but the air about them was the same.

"Lucille." She addressed me. I stood a little straighter. "This is Mister Ernest Clark."

I curtsied out of habit.

Grandmother continued. "Our families have known each other for generations, we have been traced back to before the Revolutionary War, our families fought alongside one another." She paused. "We have not, however, had an intermarriage."

At that, I shivered in fear, and I dreaded what she would say next. However, she didn't speak to me.

"Ernest, this is the girl I'd written to you about. She's been under my care for two years now and will be turning eighteen in February of next year."

He looked me over with a thin smile. "A proper young lady. Stunning resemblance to yourself, I'd almost place her to be a granddaughter."

Grandmother did not falter. In fact, she returned his smile. "So I've been told. Is your Arthur in attendance today?"

"Indeed, I believe he's gone to speak with the other young gentlemen however. Nothing some healthy competition won't sort out. Will you have her meet them now?"

"Not today." Grandmother answered, terse. "Not here, anyway. We've set our date already. You and I both know Malcolm wants to be present at the meeting. Although he couldn't be here today, he is set to be well in the next two weeks."

Ernest nodded, chuckling. "Well, of course, Olivia. He's always been the businessman. Do wish him good health for me?"

At that point, I'd tuned the whole conversation out. I knew what was happening, but not why. By some hellish tradition, I was going to be married off to some stranger by my next birthday, against what I'd been promised. I had to swallow back hot tears. There would be questions, and by the grace of anyone, I was making Grandmother answer them.

Eventually, I was led back to the car, I refused to speak until we were well down the road and the thick curtains were pulled back. I turned to Grandmother, but before I could speak, she did.

"I know you're not an idiot, Lucille."

She knew I hated that name.

"I know that you're fully aware of what is happening. Unfortunately for you, legally, you're not quite an adult until you're twenty one. You know this, correct?"

I nodded. I'd always assumed, however, I would be much more free at eighteen like she'd told me.

"There is, fortunately, a loophole in the law for you. Anyone who is married before twenty one to someone of age can be considered an adult. There's some paperwork to manage, but it's fully, completely manageable through the law."

I licked my lips. "So you're marrying me off to Mister Clark's son."

"Not quite." She replied, raising her hand. We hit a bump in the road that left us silent for a few seconds. "He's one of four men that your Grandfather and I have picked for you to choose from. Neither of us want a repeat of what happened to Corinne."

"And if I refuse to pick any of them? You can't force me to get married." I pointed out. "I won't do it. I won't marry a complete stranger just so you can have me leave."

She gave me an icy look. This time, I didn't cower.

"In the will it says I'm free to do as I wish at adulthood. Isn't that making it easier for me to tell the world what you've done?"

"Oh, I've made sure you can't."

I paused.

"All of your original documentation of being Camilla Dollanganger is destroyed. In the records, you're dead. Again." She almost looked pleased. "I had Corinne destroy everything related to you. I watched her do it, too. There isn't a single copy in her possession, and we made sure to send a new death certificate to the courthouse. Car accident, it says."

I was dead.

"And?" I asked.

"And I promise you here, on the holy day of the week, if you so dare utter one word about your siblings, I'll kill them." She finished as we pulled up the drive to the manor. "So please, Lucille dear. Don't make things difficult. You meet your suitors on the thirteenth. I expect you to be on your best behavior."

Oh. I would be.