The letter arrived in the middle of a storm.
Rain lashed against the cracked windowpanes of my tiny apartment, the thunder growling like some caged animal in the clouds. I had been curled up on my sagging couch, drowning in student debt and instant noodles, when I heard the mail slot rattle. Bills, maybe. More bad news. I almost didn’t get up.
But there it was: a thick cream envelope, wax-sealed in crimson, my name written in looping script that looked too extravagant for the likes of me.
“Miss Eveline Blackthorn.”
I froze at the sight of my last name. No one used it anymore. Not since Mother changed it after my aunt—her estranged sister—vanished from the family record like a scandal better forgotten.
I cracked the seal with trembling fingers.
“To Miss Eveline Blackthorn, the rightfu
