A Witch's Game | ✓

14 | Honorifics

Priscilla sprinted to her house, stumbling as she wiped the trickling tears. She furrowed, they were disdain because she had no idea of why she was crying in the first place.

She decelerated her pace before her desired location and rapped her knuckle on the door and attempted to chime the ship bell, but then she eased her brows, realising that Marilyn was still in the palace and their home was locked securely.

She slapped the back of her head and inhaled when a sleek pin used to keep her hair in place came into contact with her skin. Priscilla held doorknob and stooped to her knees, hygiene wasn't the first priority on her list, at least for now.

She took the pin and inserted it into the small hole in the doorknob until she reached the internal locking mechanism and as soon as she did, she then turned it to the right side to unlock the lock.

She propelled the door, but her attempts were futile. It was still locked. Priscilla advanced to the backyard of her house, the kitchen window now one of her target.

She pushed up the shutters on either side of the window, which was made for the blockage of sun rays. Priscilla slipped her index finger inside through it and tried to open the lock, which happened as her plan in mere seconds.

Priscilla sighed and pushed the utensils aside, crushing the sides of her gown in her fist. She tossed a leg over the island, then the other one, and scurried to her room.

She hastily donned a brown skirt paired up with a white shirt tucked inside it and a corset coiling her waist. Priscilla left her house as she made her way to the outskirts, hopping into a carriage.

She pondered over her recent activities whilst on her way to the outskirts. She remembered how she had stolen Terry's picture from Gem and visited Damarus to confirm if her assumptions were correct, but then, she couldn't recall anything that Damarus said must have stated.

Why?

How she escaped from those goons then the look Hudson gave her tonight as if she was insane to now this strange reaction of the unknown person from the fifth floor, along with the fact that he seemed so familiar.

Priscilla knocked at the door, ready to face Damarus, but her hopes were crushed down when Harper attended her with her head hanging down in shame.

"Where's aunt Damarus?" Priscilla asked and Harper glossed her lips, lifting her face with eyes still gloomy.

"I apologise, but mother is not at home as of now." Harper spoke in a low voice, dropping her gaze to the ground every once in a while. Priscilla frowned as to why a fouled mouth lady such as Harper was displaying mannerisms.

Priscilla nodded, keeping her behaviour later to wonder over and questioned yet again. "Fine." Priscilla swallowed, respiring. "Do you remember the last time I came here, I had a picture?"

"Of course," Harper stitched her brows as to why she was asking that when her mother had already answered all of her questions. "It was of Terry, the famous author."

Priscilla fidgeted with her fingers for a minute. The expression on Harper's face revealed that they had already explained it all to her. She dropped her hands, shoulders slouching. "Well, I just wanted to ask if Damarus' aunt's uncle resembled Terry?"

Harper bottom lip rolled in. It was definitely suspicious how keen Priscilla was to know regarding the author, yet she responded. "He did look like her uncle and, in fact, mom almost mistook him as her uncle and said that Terry was literally his lookalike."

Priscilla registered everything in her mind, as she didn't wish to end up forgetting everything as usual. "Okay, have a good day." She twirled but halted halfway when she realised that Harper was present in her house instead of the palace. "Why aren't you and my dear aunt at the ball?" She faced her, eyes narrowing, then easing at her reply. "We do not have the attire required for it."