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❧ an internal battle is the worst kind of torture ❧
≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫
Amalie stretched lazily under the covers, her body sinking deeper into the soft bed as she propped herself up against the headboard. The morning sun streamed through the lace curtains, casting a warm glow across the room, filling it with a peaceful stillness. She took a slow bite of toast, savoring the rare sense of quiet that wrapped around her like a blanket. On her lap, a tray was perched, laden with breakfast—coffee, eggs, fresh fruit. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no chaos, no pressing danger, just this moment of calm.
Across the room, Katherine stood in front of the mirror, running a brush through her long, dark hair. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as if even this small act was part of her carefully constructed image. Katherine was always perfectly in control, never missing a beat, not even in the privacy of their shared space. Her beauty was sharp and effortless, and her presence filled the room with an unspoken tension—one Amalie had grown all too familiar with over the years.
Amalie sipped her coffee, her eyes drifting toward Katherine's reflection. She watched her for a moment before speaking, her voice casual but laced with curiosity. "So," she asked, breaking the silence, "what's the plan for today?"
Katherine paused mid-brush stroke, her dark eyes meeting Amalie's in the mirror. "We're going to the wake for Mayor Lockwood," she said smoothly, as though the answer were obvious.
Amalie raised an eyebrow, setting down her coffee cup. "A wake? For the mayor?" Her tone was less concerned, more bemused. Wakes weren't exactly her scene—too many overwrought emotions, too many people mourning the dead while she herself could see the dead. Death didn't mean much to her.
Katherine's lips curled into a sly, knowing smile. "Yes. Mason will be there too," she added, her eyes flicking toward Amalie with a pointed gleam. "But let me be clear: don't talk to him."
Amalie's expression darkened immediately, her scowl forming before she could even think to hide it. She leaned back against the pillows, arms crossing over her chest. "Mason?" She repeated, the disdain clear in her voice. "Why would I want to talk to that idiot? He doesn't know an ass from his elbow."
Katherine, still brushing her hair, smirked at the sudden shift in Amalie's mood. "Are you jealous?" She teased, her voice laced with amusement, knowing how to needle Amalie when she wanted to.
