Chapter Text
I have always been different.
“touched in the head,” mother would say, a phrase tossed at me as casually as one might comment on the weather. perhaps that was the price of being the youngest vandernacht sibling, or perhaps it was my punishment for being born a woman.
I was raised with careful manners and strict composure, everything expected of a daughter from a wealthy household. sit properly. speak softly. smile when spoken to. but no matter how hard I tried, I never truly followed along.
father always compared me to theo, my older brother, his pride and joy. when theo entered a room, it was as though the light followed him in. people admired him instantly. he was everything the vandernacht name stood for.
and I was merely there, lingering at the edges, pulled along when necessary, forgotten when not.
father’s solution was simple: marry me off. any suitor would do. my opinion never mattered; he only wanted me gone.
I believed that would be my fate.
I was wrong.
the tree changed everything.
I had gone riding alone, foolish and restless, unaware of how violently the storm would turn. thunder split the sky. my horse panicked, reared, and threw me against unforgiving stone before fleeing into the rain.
the world blurred.
when I came to, my head throbbed painfully. I reached up, disoriented, and froze.
blood. so much blood.
It soaked into my once-pristine white gloves, staining them beyond repair.
theo found me not long after. his face held disappointment, sharp and unmistakable. and that was the last thing he ever felt toward me.
lightning struck. a tree cracked and collapsed, crashing down upon us both.
I have never slept soundly since that night.
the man everyone loved died because of me.
because of my recklessness.
my foolishness.
my stupid. stupid. stupid decisions.
I was left broken — in body and mind. the doctors said my hip injury meant I would never walk again. perhaps they would have tried harder had I been a man. Instead, they diagnosed me with hysteria and washed their hands of me.
my parents did much the same.
to them, I was no daughter — only a madwoman. mother drank herself into a constant haze, mourning her son while pretending her daughter no longer existed. father buried himself in work, always finding reasons not to see me.
especially after the wallpaper incident.
I tore the floral wallpaper from the attic walls in a fit of rage. what need had I for cheerful blossoms when my life held nothing joyful? everything had fallen apart.
what was the point of staying at all?
present day — years after theo’s death
another day passed with me staring at the bare wall from my wheelchair, trapped in the narrow attic.
I was startled when one of the maids entered, far too cheerful, and began dressing me without explanation.
“what’s so important?” I muttered, wincing as she tightened my corset. “what’s the occasion?”
“lenore, calm yourself. you have a visitor,” she replied firmly, pulling a dress over my head. a visitor. for me?
the thought felt absurd.
“Is it my father?” I asked quietly. he hadn’t seen me since the wallpaper incident. mother refused to acknowledge my existence at all. everyone believed I should have died instead of theo.
sometimes… I agreed.
but dwelling on such thoughts only dragged me deeper, and I could feel myself beginning to spiral.
“lenore!” the maid snapped.
I must have drifted too far into my thoughts. she brought a cloth soaked in ether toward my face. I grabbed her wrist weakly, trying to push her away, but my strength failed me.
the world faded once again.
when I awoke, I was being wheeled out of the attic and into the sitting room. at the table sat a young woman. beautiful, elegant, composed.
she wore a colorful hat adorned with flowers and a fine dress that spoke of comfort and wealth. someone untouched by tragedy. someone who seemed to have everything I had lost.
resentment stirred within me.
she stood and extended a gloved hand.
“lenore vandernacht, correct?” she said, her voice marked by a polished british accent.
heat rushed to my face as we shook hands.
“ah- yes. and you?” I stammered. she knew who I was. the thought alone unsettled me.
“I’m annabel lee whitlock,” she replied with a knowing smirk. “daughter of Ira whitlock. my father is here on business with yours. I thought I might as well meet his daughter.”
devious. confident.
intriguing.
months passed, and annabel continued to visit. somewhere along the way, my suspicion and jealousy softened into something else entirely, something unfamiliar and dangerous.
a wanting.
a need.