The silence in the dining room was heavy, so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.
At the head of the table, Nicholas ate his breakfast with such calm that my untouched food seemed like an offense.
The situation was unusual: a maid and her master sharing a table. I knew I shouldn't be there, but I hadn't dared to refuse his invitation either. Glenda hadn't said anything, so I assumed that, somehow, it was allowed.
The real weight, however, was not the silence. It was the question that kept repeating itself in my head, an incessant echo.
“I am your son's moon.”
The phrase resonated in my head, confusing and terrifying me in equal measure. What did it mean? Was it a title or some kind of strange nickname? Or did it refer to something else, something I couldn't even begin to compr
