Chapter 2 - The Red Silk of the Invader
Elena’s burgundy evening gown caught the warm amber glow of the wall sconces, shimmering like wet arterial blood against the dark wood.
Her drop diamond earrings swung with every micro-movement of her jaw, catching the light and throwing sharp, blinding needles across the wallpaper.
Her face was a mask of immaculate calculation.
There was no flush of exertion on her skin, no tremor in her manicured hands.
She tilted her head, her dark brunette waves cascading over one bare shoulder like heavy silk.
She applied another millimeter of pressure to the chain.
Beatrice’s hands—wrinkled, age-spotted, and trembling violently—clawed at the heavy links digging into her collarbone.
The old woman’s fingernails clicked uselessly against the silver, finding no purchase.
"You've sat in the draft long enough, Beatrice," Elena whispered, her voice carrying across the silent room with the crisp clarity of shattering glass.
The crowd shifted nervously.
Cufflinks clicked against crystal champagne flutes.
A young debutante in the second row turned her face into her partner's black tuxedo lapel, unable to watch the slow, agonizing dismantling of a dynasty's matriarch.
Elena did not blink.
May you like
Her eyes, dark and flat as polished obsidian, locked onto the grand double doors at the far end of the gallery.
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