Silas remained rooted to the spot, his mouth agape, the silence of the courtyard echoing his sudden impotence. Aurora didn't offer a final threat or a dramatic flourish; she simply reached out, patted his shoulder with a chillingly casual familiarity, and sauntered into the house. She didn't spare him a backward glance, leaving him standing among the monsters that no longer recognized his voice.
By the following morning, Silas had meticulously reconstructed his mask. He believed he had found the perfect leverage to put her back in her place. He approached her chamber, his face smoothed into a facade of paternal sweetness, and knocked softly.
"I’ve brought your breakfast, my dear child," he called out, stubbornly refusing to call her by her real name.
This was a calculated performance,
