Mara POV
It’s been months of walking through rooms that echo with emptiness. Months of touching nothing because everything looks like it belongs in a gallery, not a life.
Then I snap.
It starts with packing my things back to my room since no one has checked in for any weird inspection; then I got flowers.
I bring home peonies from the farmer’s market—fat pink blooms that smell really sweet and make me think of Mom’s garden before we lost the house. I arrange them in a crystal vase I find in the butler’s pantry and set them on the dining room table.
They last four hours.
I come back from visiting Diana to find them gone. The vase returned to its cabinet, washed and dried. The table is pristine again, reflecting overhead lights like a mirror.
“Mrs. Dahlia?” I found her in the kitchen.
