Moonfall
1607 Words
Dinner wasn’t supposed to happen.
Margaret had said so.
So when the knock came, quiet and deliberate, I hesitated.
It wasn’t loud. Not demanding. Just… there.
I stared at the door for a second before finally pulling it open.
A maid stood before me. She was young, maybe my age or slightly older with striking features and an expression so carefully blank that it felt unnatural.
“Dinner is served.”
Not You are expected or Madam has requested your presence. Just those three words, spoken in a voice so even it made the hairs on my arms rise.
I frowned. “I was told there wouldn’t be dinner.”
She didn’t react. Didn’t blink.
Just stepped back, waiting for me to follow.
I hesitated. “Who told you to get me?”
Silence.
Her face remained unreadable.
“Dinner is served,” she repeated, tone identical to before.
Something inside me coiled tight.
It wasn’t a request.
After a pause, I stepped into the hallway. The maid turned and began walking without another word. I followed.
The dining room was vast, with a high ceiling and an antique chandelier casting dim, uneven lighting.
Two places were set.
One at the head of the long table. The other to its right.
I stopped at the doorway.
The table was too large for just two people. The space felt… wrong.
I glanced at the chair beside the head seat. The maid gestured for me to sit.
Slowly, I lowered myself onto the chair, my hands pressing against the polished wood of the armrests. The food was already plated seared meat, warm bread, and something delicate with butter.
And there were two glasses of wine.
I stared at the untouched setting across from me.
Should I wait?
It felt like I should wait.
Whoever was meant to sit at the head of the table… I had no idea who they were. But someone had gone through the effort of setting their place.
I hesitated, chewing my bottom lip.
Then, after a long moment, I reached for my fork.
I wouldn’t wait.
The food was still warm, and I had no idea if or when the other person would arrive.
I had just taken my third bite when a deep voice interrupted the silence.
“You didn’t wait.”
I startled, my fork clattering against the plate.
I looked up sharply and my breath caught.
I knew him.
Not personally, but by name. By reputation.
George Warner.
The Warner family was well known. Everyone in town knew of them, even if no one really knew them.
It was common knowledge that there were only four people in this house. The father, the mother, and the two sons. There had never been mention of a daughter. Not once.
That was how people spoke of them. The four of them. A tightly sealed unit, untouchable and silent.
And yet, no one had ever mentioned his name to me.
Not my parents. Not Margaret. Not Oliver. Not anyone.
But now, here he was.
And I could tell it was him.
His skin was pale, eerily similar to Margaret’s, almost too light under the chandelier’s glow. He looked older than I’d imagined, fifties, maybe but his presence was sharp, cutting through the space like a blade.
He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he studied me, his gaze unreadable.
I straightened in my chair, forcing my expression to remain neutral. “I wasn’t sure if I should.”
His lips curled slightly. Not a smile. Something else.
“And yet you didn’t.”
The weight of his stare pressed against my skin. I swallowed.
Then, after a beat, he exhaled through his nose.
"You're not what I expected."
I blinked. "What did you expect?"
He finally moved, pulling out his chair. The wood scraped softly against the floor as he sat, his movements controlled.
“I expected someone more entitled.” He picked up his knife, turning it between his fingers. “Not so calm.”
I didn’t react. “Would you prefer that?”
His lips twitched at that, but he said nothing.
Instead, he cut into his food with slow precision.
Then...
“They said you were sold.”
I froze.
My stomach twisted painfully.
I set my fork down carefully. “I wasn’t sold.”
George Warner hummed, as if considering. “No?”
“No,” I said firmly.
His knife scraped against the plate. The sound made my teeth clench.
He looked at me then, gaze steady. “And yet you’re here.”
My fingers curled against my lap. “Being here doesn’t mean I was sold.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just watched me, as if weighing my words.
“So,” he said, “what do you think of my daughter?”
I froze.
The direction of it, how easily he switched lanes caught me off guard.
For a moment, I just stared at him, unsure if I had misheard.
My daughter.
Then, finally, I spoke.
The words didn’t make sense.
I lifted my gaze slowly, searching his face. “What… daughter?”
My voice came out softer than I’d meant it to.
George Warner cut into his food as if he hadn’t just shattered reality. “You’ve met my sons, haven’t you?”
I barely nodded.
“And Margaret.”
Another nod.
“But not my daughter.”
A pit opened in my stomach.
There wasn’t a daughter.
There had never been a daughter.
The town would have known.
Everyone would have known.
I struggled to keep my expression still. “I...I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
His knife scraped against the plate again.
“Of course you didn’t,” he murmured.
Something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine.
I set my fork down carefully. “Why has no one ever mentioned her?”
He finally looked up, eyes sharp. “Would it have mattered?”
I blinked.
Would it have mattered?
I had no idea what he meant by that.
I exhaled slowly, choosing my next words carefully. “I just... I assumed it was only the four of you.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
Then, something shifted in his expression. A flicker of amusement, dark and fleeting.
“Curious,” he said.
Before I could ask what he meant, his entire demeanor changed.
His lips pressed into a tight line. His eyes darkened.
The air around him grew heavy, like a storm rolling in without warning.
I felt it before I saw it.
The shift.
One second, he was composed, perhaps even mildly entertained.
The next, his face had turned cold.
Something unseen cracked through the atmosphere.
The hairs on my arms rose.
I gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stared.
Like he had suddenly decided he didn’t like what he saw.
Like he had decided I wasn’t supposed to be here.
My breath caught.
I had to leave.
Slowly, I pushed my chair back. “Thank you for dinner.”
He didn’t stop me.
Didn’t say anything as I stood.
Didn’t look away as I turned and walked out.
The hallway felt suffocating.
My pulse pounded against my ribs.
I needed air.
I found the terrace without thinking, pushing through the doors into the night.
The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic.
From the terrace, I could see the far end of the house, where Oliver stood.
He wasn’t doing anything. Just standing there.
Still. Too still.
His posture was unnerving, rigid, yet somehow… expectant. His hands were at his sides, but his head was tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something.
Or someone.
The terrace lights were dim. I was tucked in the shadows, barely visible from where he was.
He shouldn’t have noticed me.
But he did.
The moment was so seamless, so unnatural, that it made my stomach drop.
One second, he was facing away. The next, his head turned, not searching, not looking around but directly at me.
Like he had known I was there all along.
I froze, every instinct telling me not to move, not to breathe.
How did he...?
I hadn’t made a sound. The terrace was too high up for him to have seen movement in his peripheral vision. And yet, his gaze locked onto mine with eerie precision.
He wasn’t startled. Wasn’t curious.
Just aware.
My fingers tightened against the railing. A slow chill crept down my spine.
Oliver held my gaze for a long moment, unreadable. Then, as if nothing about this was unusual, he moved.
My pulse jumped.
Was he listening to something? Or someone?
The way he had been standing before, the unnatural stillness, the way his head had been slightly inclined came rushing back to me.
Was he waiting for something?
Or had he been waiting for me?
He shifted slightly, his face still unreadable, and then—
He smiled.
Not wide. Not friendly.
Just enough to make my breath hitch.
The moment stretched too long, too unnatural. My heart was pounding now, and I didn’t know why.
I needed to leave.
Without thinking, I took a step back. Then another.
I turned and walked quickly, my footsteps light, deliberate.
The weight of his gaze stayed on me.
I didn’t dare look back.
By the time I reached the hallway, my breath was uneven, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I dove inside, shutting the door behind me, pressing my palm against the wood.
What the hell was that?
- Writer
