The Price Of Gold

09. puppet master

ix.
OPHELIA ARCHIBALD

The light in the room wasn't harsh—never harsh. It fell in soft streams through the windows, lazy and warm, as though it too didn't want to disturb the calm before storm atmosphere settled in the house.

It reminded me of those mornings when I was small. Mornings when I would sit at the kitchen table, staring at the back of our nanny Greta's neck as she made breakfast, just somehow knowing she was thinking about something I would never understand. Something more. I would watch the light play on her skin, how it seemed to stay just out of reach—almost there, but always slipping away, as if I could never catch it.

I had always despised that feeling. That feeling of being on the edge of something but never knowing what it was. Waiting for that moment when everything would just change.

I can't say I knew it then, but I knew it now.

As if there is something— there has always been something that's waiting to change.

Now, someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

My voice was softer than I intended it to be. Then door opened, and the servant stepped inside. He didn't look into my eyes as he crossed the room, his chin lowered, his steps barely making a sound against the floor. He didn't have to say anything. He simply placed the USB on the table in front of me, his hands shaking ever so slightly, before turning to leave.

I stared at the little device. It was here. The answer to all my questions. The secrets that Julian had warned me about. Just a device but it felt like it could crush me if I touched it wrong.

This feeling that I felt right now— it reminded me of the time I had found the letter hidden beneath my grandfather's pillow when I was eleven. I hadn't meant to snoop. But there was something about the way he kept it tucked away—always just out of reach—that made me so curious. I remember the moment so clearly, that hesitation before I lifted the letter— just when grandfather has caught me and I was punished.

This moment felt just like that.

As if curiosity is going to get me killed yet again.

I reached for the USB slowly, my fingers shaking. The room felt smaller, the walls seemed to press in as I held it in my palm, feeling the coldness of the plastic sending a shiver up my spine as I slid the device into the laptop.

The screen flickered on, casting a faint, warm glow across my face. I couldn't look away. My heart thumped against my ribs, a pulse I could feel in my throat. My fingers hung over the trackpad wanting to see what exactly was in this USB. But every part of me screamed to stop, to run away, to pretend I'd never found this.

But I couldn't. Not anymore.

I clicked the play button.

The noise scraped at my nerves, tugging me tighter, but then, finally, there was a voice.

Grandfather's voice.

His voice was smooth—too smooth—like he was sitting right there beside me, whispering into my ear. I felt myself shaking, my hands fast forwarded the parts that I had already heard yesterday.

"Ophelia," he said, pulling out my name slowly, as if savoring each syllable in some manner that made my skin crawl. "I knew you would listen to this. You always were curious."

I closed my eyes, hoping to block out the noise but his voice was inside of me now, curling around my thoughts, settling in my bones. There was no turning back.