Claire woke with a start.
Her breath was uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly as the remnants of the dream clung to her mind like an eerie fog.
The diary.
The realization struck hard.
Without hesitation, she threw off the covers and hurried toward the small wooden chest near her bedside. Dropping to her knees, she flung it open, hands trembling as she sifted through old fabrics, trinkets, and letters.
Nothing.
She turned to the shelves, pulling out books, papers—anything that might be concealing the small, leather-bound diary. Her movements grew frantic as she tossed parchment and quills aside, frustration mounting with every empty space uncovered.
Her mother's diary—it was supposed to be here.
It had always been here. Untouched for years, forgotten amidst the haze of grief and time.
Yet now, it was gone.
The door creaked open.
"My lady?"
Claire's head snapped up.
Elise stood at the threshold carrying a tray of tea and breakfast, concern etched into her features. Sunlight streamed in behind her, casting a warm glow against the morning chill.
"You're already awake?" Elise stepped closer, eyes scanning the mess of books and papers scattered across the floor.
"What happened? Are you looking for something?"
Claire pushed herself up, barely containing the unease creeping through her veins.
"Elise, did someone come in here? Did anyone move my things while cleaning?"
Elise hesitated, then shook her head.
"No, my lady. Your chambers are cleaned as usual, but no one would dare change the arrangement of your belongings without your permission. What is it you're looking for?"
Claire exhaled sharply, trying to steady her thoughts.
"A diary. My mother's diary. She gave it to me when I was a child, before she..." Her voice faltered, but she swallowed the emotion quickly. "I never read it. It stayed here, untouched, for years. But now... it's gone."
Elise's gaze softened. She had been with Claire since childhood—always by her side, witnessing the grief Claire never spoke of.
"Are you certain it was here?" Elise asked gently as she set the tray down carefully.
"Yes." Claire ran a hand through her hair, frustration lacing her tone. "I know it was. I just... forgot about it for a long time. I never had the heart to open it. But now, when I finally remember, it's missing."
Elise glanced around, as if hoping the diary might somehow reveal itself. "Perhaps it was placed somewhere else? Maybe among your old belongings when things were packed away?"
That was possible.
Claire had spent years avoiding anything that reminded her of the loss she had never fully confronted. When her room had been reorganized as she grew older, it could have been tucked away, forgotten.
"I need to find it, Elise." Claire's voice was quieter now, but resolute.
Elise nodded. "Then we'll search. If it's here, we'll find it."
Claire inhaled deeply, grounding herself.
There was no other choice but to look. She had to find that diary. She had to know what was inside.
Elise sharp eyes—always observant—caught sight of the dried blood on Claire's palm.
"You're hurt."
Claire blinked, momentarily confused. Then she followed Elise's gaze.
The cut.
She had almost forgotten—the mirror. The night before, in the dim candlelight, the glass had shattered at her feet, a reflection fractured beyond recognition.
"It's nothing." Claire closed her fingers over the wound, as if willing it to disappear.
Elise was not convinced. She knelt beside Claire, taking her hand with the same quiet care she always had. Without a word, she unwrapped a cloth from her wrist—clean, soft—and began tending to the wound.
"You don't have to do that," Claire murmured.
Elise didn't look up. "Then who will?"
Silence stretched between them. The faint rustling of fabric, the soft sting of disinfectant—everything was unspoken, yet understood.
"You've been like this since last night," Elise finally said. "I saw you slip away after the celebration. I wanted to follow, but…" She hesitated. "I thought you needed space."
Claire's throat tightened. Elise saw.
But Claire couldn't explain. Not the broken mirror. Not the whispers in her mind. Not the presence she felt but could not name.
So she only said, "I appreciate that."
Elise tied the cloth gently around Claire's palm.
"You don't always have to pretend, you know."
Claire looked at her, startled.
Elise met her gaze, unwavering. "Not with me."
The words lingered in the air, heavier than they should have been. Claire wanted to say something—anything—but no words came.
Elise stood.
"Drink your tea before it gets cold."
She hesitated briefly before adding, "Your father asked for you after dine. It seems important."
And with that, she left, leaving behind warmth. Claire wasn't sure how to hold.
Claire exhaled slowly, staring at the cup before her. The aroma was comforting, familiar.
And yet, as she lifted it to her lips, the taste felt distant—like something meant for someone else.
She turned toward the window, gaze drifting to the estate grounds. The world outside was the same, untouched.
Yet inside her, something had already begun to shift.
And for the first time, Claire wondered—
Had it already begun long before she noticed?