Chapter 17
They were led up the grand spiral staircase,
passing rows of dark portraits of ancestors who looked down with cold eyes.
The air inside the mansion was chilling,
devoid of the warmth that filled their little cottage.
The lawyer guided them to the master bedroom,
where two heavy oak doors stood slightly ajar.
Inside,
the room was filled with the rhythmic,
mechanical sounds of medical monitors ticking away.
The grand canopy bed,
once a symbol of ultimate luxury,
now looked like a fragile island in a sea of shadow.
Lying in the center of the bed was the patriarch,
Arthur,
looking incredibly small,
frail,
and pale.
His breathing was shallow,
his fierce,
intimidating gaze replaced by a cloudy,
distant look.
As the door creaked open,
he turned his head slowly,
his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Sophie.
A faint,
almost imperceptible spark of recognition lit up his old,
tired face.
He reached out a trembling,
May you like
veiny hand toward her,
his lips moving silently as he tried to speak her name.
