✔ Mrs Mandray

3. Visitors

Isabella

Nesta ended up coming to get me, having assumed I had fallen asleep by my son's side only to find me just staring down at him. It was hard to leave him for some reason. As if some instinct was telling me to keep him safe and wrapped up in my arms.

Nesta and I slowly walked through the halls keeping up an absent conversation about my plans to visit the village tomorrow. She wants to pay. I know she does. She won't say it outright because she doesn't want to upset me but her subtle hints are enough.

I almost say no, almost argue that Tomas and I can take care of our home and son, that we can put food on the table. But this is to buy Oliver some new shoes and a cloak if they have one. He's too big to be bundled up in blankets but he'll be growing out of cloaks fast at his age. To put it in Tomas' words it'll just be another money drain. I didn't miss his pointed look at me.

"It could be an early birthday present." Nesta states and I don't bother to mention that Oliver's birthday is months away. "And I can have it custom made ot be extra thick and have a long internal hem so that you can extend it."

Thoughtful, so caring of her no matter the cold front she presents to outsiders. She's also the only one who still acknowledges me as a person, someone who has struggles. Father no longer cares, I'm just married off goods. Elain believes me to be lost in a fairytale love. Feyre sees me in the village, living the life we used to lead and sees me as naive and foolish. Blinded by love.

She said as much the last time I saw her. When she came back from Prythian only to bond with Nesta through painting and snidely judge my life choices. Though I know it came from a place of love. She wanted me to see reality, to see where and how I was living with a young child and do something about it.

"Iz?" Nesta prompts and I force a tight smile, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "The cloak would be lovely Nesta."

She nods sharply, not forcing any more words from me nor saying any of my own. She knows how painful and embarrassing it is for me. Our footsteps are near silent as we descend down the stairs only to catch sight of Elain peering over Mrs Laurent's - the housekeeper - shoulder.

"Mrs. Laurent, draw up some tea and bring it to the drawing room." Nesta commands, chin raising as she takes in the hooded figure outside the door. Mr Laurent looks between all of us, eyes glazing over me and I fight the urge to stiffen at her intentional exclusion. She has always followed more traditional beliefs and I am under no illusions as to what the servants say about me and my husband.

As Mrs. Laurent leaves Elain turns slightly allowing the figure to enter and for me to see the tears shining on her face. I stride forward, that cursed maternal instinct of mine flaring up at the sight of my upset sister. Elain stares at me, shock clear in her eyes as I gently pull her away from the door and hold onto it myself.

I turn to the figure, ready to demand an answer for my sister's tears. Except- I freeze. Staring at the ghost of my youngest sister as she steps over the threshold of the manor.

For a moment all is silent and I feel my grip tighten on the door to my sister's home. Something's wrong. I want to hug her and cradle her in my arms like I did when she was a babe but- it's not right. There's something so quiet and still about her. As if she were no more than a statue.

Elain lunges forward, embracing Feyre in a tight hug. The two cling to each other like they were going to be ripped apart should they let go.

A cold breeze flickers through the door, the sound of rustling cloth following and my gaze snaps towards the empty entrance. The completely empty entrance way. I step forward, over the threshold as I peer out into the darkness and snow.