The Taste of Knowledge

Chapter 189

The vast, silent study seemed to swallow young Freya’s whispered question. “Sister Amelia?” she repeated, her voice a trembling thread in the oppressive stillness. She knelt by Amelia’s still form. Her small hand hovered, hesitant to touch the beautiful woman who lay like a fallen statue on the dark floor. “Sister Amelia, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Her crimson eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and urgent concern, scanned Amelia’s pale face, the cascade of golden hair fanned out like a halo. Amelia’s chest did not seem to rise or fall. The heavy scent of roses and old parchment, always so strong in this forbidden wing, felt cloying, suffocating.

Then, behind her, a sound. A soft, insidious creak, followed by a heavier, more definitive thud.

Freya’s head snapped around. The massive oak door, the one she had pushed open with such desperate urgency, was now shut. Completely, irrevocably shut.

A shiver, cold and sharp as an icicle, traced its way down her spine. She scrambled to her feet, the image of Amelia momentarily forgotten in a new surge of primal fear. “No,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.

She ran to the door, her small hands beating against the unyielding wood. “Let me out! Please, let me out!” She fumbled for a latch, a handle, anything, but the surface was smooth, impenetrable. It wouldn’t budge. 

Panic, raw and clawing, seized her. “Help!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “Mother! Father! Nanny! Somebody, help me!” But the sound was swallowed by the heavy oak, by the sheer, sound-dampening immensity of the West Wing’s ancient stones, emerging as little more than a muffled, desperate plea. She banged on the door with her fists, tears of terror now streaming down her face, each impact a futile, hollow thud in the consuming silence.

On the floor, unseen by the terrified child, Amelia’s lips curved into a slow, chilling smile, revealing just the very tips of her sharp, inhuman fangs. So, she thought, a cold amusement unfurling within the ancient labyrinth of her mind, the little mouse finally ventures into the lion’s den proper. Such persistence. What is it you truly seek, child, in these relentless offerings, these furtive visits to my door? Is it merely misplaced pity? Or something more… interesting?

A tiny, almost melodious cough, deliberately orchestrated, fragile as a bird’s trill, broke the silence.

Freya’s desperate banging ceased. Her head whipped around, her tear-filled eyes wide with renewed alarm. “Sister Amelia?”

She rushed back to where Amelia lay, her earlier fear for herself momentarily eclipsed by the sound. Amelia was stirring, a faint tremor passing through her slender frame. Freya knelt, her small hands reaching out. “Sister Amelia, you’re awake! Oh, are you terribly hurt?”

Amelia’s eyelids fluttered, then opened slowly, revealing those startlingly clear blue eyes, now clouded with a masterfully feigned confusion and a poignant vulnerability. She blinked, as if struggling to focus. 

“Oh…” she breathed, her voice a faint, ethereal whisper. “My dear child… Freya… is that you?” Her gaze drifted towards Freya’s tear-streaked face. “What… what happened? I felt so terribly faint… the room… it began to spin…” She tried to push herself up, her movements artfully weak. “Thank you… thank you for your concern. You are… surprisingly brave, little one, to have come in.”

“I saw you fall, Sister Amelia!” Freya explained, her voice still shaky but earnest, her small hands hovering, wanting to help but unsure how. “I was… I was just outside, and I saw you. I was so worried!” The door, the terrifying closed door, was a secondary concern now that Amelia seemed to be stirring. “Are you… are you very ill?”

Amelia managed a weak, tremulous smile, allowing Freya to help her sit up, leaning her back against the ornate leg of the massive desk. “Freya?” she murmured, her voice laced with a delicate bewilderment. “Why are you here, in my… my shadowed rooms? The darkness… it sometimes overwhelms me. You shouldn’t be in here, little one.” Her gaze, filled with a manufactured weariness, swept the dimly lit study. “It’s not safe for you here, especially not when I am… unwell.”

“But you fell!” Freya insisted, her crimson eyes wide with earnest sympathy. “I couldn’t just leave you! Do you need something? Water? Should I… should I try to call for Father?” The thought of the locked door sent a fresh wave of unease through her, but Amelia’s apparent frailty held her focus.

“No, no, child,” Amelia said, her voice a soft sigh. “Your father… he has his own burdens. And I… I just need… a drink, perhaps.” Her gaze flickered, a momentary intensity that Freya, in her concern, didn’t register. 

“Something to… to restore my strength.” Her tongue darted out, just for an instant, touching her lips. “Perhaps some… tea?” She coughed again, a delicate, almost musical sound, followed by an internal chuckle that resonated only within her own ancient mind. Tea. How… absurd.

“I can get you tea!” Freya offered eagerly, then her face fell as she remembered. “But… but the door… it’s closed. I tried to open it, but it’s stuck.”

Amelia’s expression softened into one of gentle regret. “Ah, the door. It has a… a temperamental latch, I fear. It often sticks. Do not trouble yourself with it for now, child.” She reached out, her cool fingers lightly touching Freya’s hand. 

The contact was brief, yet it sent an involuntary shiver through the girl. “Did I… did I frighten you, when I fainted? Forgive this old woman’s weakness. This solitude… it takes its toll, you see. It is… truly kind of you to have come to check on me.” She looked at Freya, her blue eyes imbued with a carefully crafted wistfulness.

“I… I was scared when you fell,” Freya admitted again, her voice small but steadier now that Amelia was speaking to her so gently.  She looked at Amelia with a child’s earnest confusion, emboldened by Amelia’s seemingly vulnerable state. “Sister Amelia… if your illness makes you faint… why do you stay here all alone? Why don’t you ever come to the East Wing, to be with Father and Mother? We… we are family, aren’t we? Families are supposed to help each other.”

Amelia’s gaze softened further, a mask of gentle sorrow settling over her features. “Family,” she echoed, the word a soft, melancholic whisper. “Yes, child. In a manner of speaking. But my… condition… it makes such interactions… difficult. Tiring.” She sighed. “What else have you heard about me, little one? What whispers reach your innocent ears in the sunlit parts of this house?”

Freya hesitated, then plunged ahead, driven by her desire to understand, to bridge the gap. “Nanny said… and Mother too… that you can’t go near the sun. That it hurts you.”

“Ah,” Amelia said, nodding slowly, her eyes distant. “That, at least, is true. The sun… it is a cruel master to some of us. Its light… it makes my skin burn, as if touched by fire.” She looked at her own pale hand, a gesture of profound, theatrical sadness. “So, I remain here, in the shadows, where I am… safe.”

“It must be so lonely,” Freya said, her voice filled with genuine compassion. The image of Amelia, trapped by her illness, unable to feel the sun’s warmth, resonated deeply with the sadness she had perceived in her eyes.

Amelia’s gaze met Freya’s, and for a moment, a flicker of something genuine – surprise, perhaps, at the depth of the child’s artless empathy – touched her ancient heart before being swiftly suppressed. 

“Lonely?” she mused, her voice soft. “Yes, child. It can be… profoundly so. Your presence now… it is unexpectedly… comforting.” She offered a small, fragile smile. “Those little… trinkets you used to leave at my door… the wildflowers, the folded paper, the scribbled notes… did you think I did not know they were from you?” Internally, she scoffed. Foolish, sentimental child. Such easily manipulated empathy. But her spoken words were honeyed. “They… they made me happy, Freya. To know someone was… thinking of me. Even in my isolation.”

Freya’s face lit up, a radiant, hopeful glow chasing away some of the fear in her eyes. “They did? You liked them?”

“Very much,” Amelia lied smoothly. “But you were told this wing is forbidden, were you not? I am quite sure your parents, particularly your rather… flustered father, would have made that abundantly clear. How is it you come here, all alone, against their wishes?”

Freya looked down at her hands, a blush rising on her cheeks. “I… I know I shouldn’t. But… but I thought you must be so lonely, Sister Amelia. And… and Mother always looks so sad. And Father is always so busy with his books and worries. It feels like… like our family is all scattered, not like it was at the lake house. I… I just hoped that maybe… maybe if I could make you feel a little better, then everyone could be happy. That we could all be a proper family again.” Her voice trembled with the earnestness of her childish desire.

Amelia listened, her expression one of deep, thoughtful consideration, though her mind was a whirl of cold calculation and that persistent, unwelcome flicker of confusion Freya’s unwavering sincerity always seemed to ignite. The child truly believed this. She truly believed in the power of her innocent gestures to mend the vast, ancient rifts of this cursed house.

A slow, almost predatory smile began to form on Amelia’s lips, a smile that did not reach her luminous, watchful eyes. “A proper family,” she echoed, her voice a silken caress. “All happy together. That is… a noble wish, little Freya.” 

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze pinning the child. “And do you… truly… want that? For your family… to be happy?” Each word was delivered with a soft, deliberate emphasis, a subtle, hypnotic cadence.

Freya looked up, her crimson eyes wide, hope blooming like a fragile desert flower in her small, earnest face. The memory of the lake house, of laughter and sunshine and easy affection, flashed through her mind. Could it be possible? Could this beautiful, sad sister actually help? “Oh, yes, Sister Amelia!” she breathed, her voice filled with a desperate yearning. “More than anything! Can… can we be?”

Amelia’s smile widened, the very tips of her fangs now glinting faintly in the dim candlelight that Freya hadn’t noticed had grown even dimmer as the door had latched. The air in the study seemed to grow colder, heavier, charged with an ancient, unseen power.

“Yes, little one,” Amelia purred, her voice a chilling whisper that promised everything and nothing. “Oh, yes. If that is your heart’s desire… I believe… I can help with that.”