The Unravelling of Riannon Bailey

The Unravelling of Riannon Bailey

Chapter 1:

The Inheritance

The solicitor’s office smelled of old paper and lemon polish. Riannon sat stiffly in the leather chair, her hands folded in her lap, trying not to fidget. The man behind the desk—Mr. Halbrook—adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

“Miss Bailey, your great uncle, Mr. Alaric Thorne left explicit instructions. The house at 17 Blackmere Lane, its contents, and a financial package are to be transferred to you immediately.”

Riannon blinked. “All of it?”

“Yes. He was quite clear. You are the sole beneficiary.”

She felt the weight of it settle in her chest. Relief, disbelief, and a strange pang of guilt. Alaric had always been kind to her, eccentric and reclusive, yes—but kind. She’d visited him weekly, cooked for him, and helped him bathe when he could no longer manage. She’d sacrificed hours, days, even her own rent money to make sure he was cared for.

Now, he’d given her everything.

The house was a Victorian relic on the edge of town, surrounded by overgrown hedges and ivy-choked walls. It had always felt like a place out of time—quiet, brooding, and oddly comforting. Riannon remembered rainy afternoons spent in the drawing room, sipping tea while Alaric read aloud from dusty tomes about folklore and forgotten gods.

She moved in two weeks later. The financial package covered the bills, repairs, and even gave her enough to quit her supermarket job. For the first time in years, she could breathe.

She painted the walls soft shades of sage and cream. Replaced the heavy velvet curtains with light linen. She kept some of Alaric’s antique furniture—his writing desk, the grandfather clock—but added her own touches: framed prints, warm rugs, plants.

It became her dream home.

But dreams, she would soon learn, have shadows.