The two often spent time together in the house's library. That was Cora's favorite part, being able to read almost any book at her disposal. One thing she never mentioned to Mill was the old, fading letters she found hidden between book pages in certain books. There were dozens, all addressed to Mill and all from a guy named Jared. Cora never felt guilty about reading them, mostly because they weren't romantic in nature and never revealed anything shocking. Not from what she could tell. And the letters were close to a decade old, the last one ending with a date only three years ago. Cora never found any beyond that. Sometimes if she thought about it hard enough she felt like she was in the middle of a giant mystery. Her parents' tragic death, how her cousin who seemed to be the ultimate outcast took her in, the old letters, and everyone else in this town that seemed to hold their own secrets. The locals whispered, kept to themselves, looking haunted. The missing child posters around town that seem faded with time wasn't pleasing either. Beyond all that Cora was just glad to have a place to go, to be able to grieve but not alone. She of course was too young to have her own place yet but didn't plan on staying in this creepy old town for the rest of her life.
Mill awoke in a cold sweat hours later. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness of her room as she could make the outline of the furniture with the help of a lone stream of moonlight cutting through the thick trees. She lay there trying to control her breathing and was grateful her room was on the other side from Cora's. For a moment she mistook her frantic heartbeat for the sound of running feet. Eventually it slowed and she crawled out of bed, her feet setting down on the cool wooden floors. She felt her way over to the window and pushed it up, the night breeze flooding her room. She stood as if in a trance for about an hour, gazing into the darkness. When she finally blinked she nearly jumped through the ceiling. There for a brief moment she had seen it. The tall, black shadow, unmoving, a white face with no facial features yet somehow it pierced her soul and she could feel death radiating from it. Then the thing was gone. The pain in her scar flared up. Mill clutched her face and stumbled back to her bed, dropping in it like dead weight. She didn't know when she fell back to sleep.
Cora awoke to a tear-stained pillow. She cried herself to sleep almost every night. Sometimes, even with her cousin there, she felt truly alone in dealing with her grief. They never talked about the plane crash. Perhaps her cousin was just giving her distance and respect. Eventually she was going to talk about it, about everything. But the two felt like strangers towards each other.
The house was quiet that morning. Cora was use to that too by now. Mill was never around in the mornings; usually in her garden or on a long morning walk. Breakfast was always ready though. So when the kitchen looked completely untouched from the night before Cora felt a twinge of worry. Still in her nightgown she made her way up the stairs slowly, bare feet knowing where not to step as to not make a creak. It was never set as a rule, Mill didn't have rules, but Cora knew to not go in her room. She tip-toed down the candle-lit hallway and approached the door that appeared to be shut. Upon arrival she could see the door was slightly ajar and felt the early morning wind seeping through the crack. Blue eyes peered through the crack. The bed was un-made, the window open, and Mill's bed clothes tossed on the floor. After searching the whole house and backyard, Cora concluded her cousin was not anywhere around. Something didn't feel right.