glare. She knew I was not bluffing. The thought of a public dispute over m

pped out, her voi

ere. My victory h

gaze sweeping over the room. "Every dress, every piece of jewelry, every book tha

weeping silently into a silk handkerchie

ough, Emily. It' s time you learned to s

have my maids pack my things," she stammered, unable to meet my ey

nearby table with a loud clatter. She glared at me one l

d. It felt strange to be back. The air smelled of sunlight and jasmine, just as I remember

Everything was just as I had left it, coated in a thin layer of dust. Emily had used the courtyard,

sed a small key I wore on a chain around my neck, a key my mother had never known abou

l drafting tools, far superior to the ones my mother had given to Emily. And at the bottom, wrapped in oilcloth, was

er cool in my hand, and the

plaining strategy and logistics. "A building and a battle are not so different, Sarah," he use

and to think for ourselves. Our family was happy then, filled with laughte

y mother' s grief twisted into a strange and bitter resentmen

o sacrifice. Emily' s needs always came first. My accomplishments were downplayed, my needs ignored. David, young and impressionable, s

s foundation. My mother' s favoritism was the rot

my father' s book. These were not just memories. They were weapons. They were my inherita

past and future, of grief and vengeance. I drifted into a restless doze, m

not by a nightmar

f my courtyard. It was followed by the sound of sp

be and burst ou

me sent a wave of pur

shattered remains of a wooden model, a miniature pavilion I had designed and built with m

had just smashe