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The old Lancaster estate was one of the largest and most striking landmarks in the area, and that was exactly why any shadow of awkwardness within its walls felt twice as loud. It was as if every wooden panel, every portrait on the walls, and every heavy curtain knew what was going on and only silently watched this performance, which had already been going on for the third month in a row.
Hannah, or rather, just yesterday, Edward, who still kept mentally slipping up from time to time, unable to accept the fact that the past could not be brought back, froze right on the threshold of the study that once had been hers. Her fingers, already almost professionally, adjusted the ribbon of her apron and her dress behind her back, while her eyes slid over the spilled coffee she was now supposed to clean up. In moments like these, for some reason, she cursed her youth, gained in such a way, more than anything else. Maybe it was influenced by memories of lost power, or maybe it was about how exactly this young body reacted to stress, making her feel helpless where she once controlled every person and every object in this study, and now was… nobody. The thought of that burned the most.
— Hannah. — a female but strict voice of Veronica Lancaster, the mistress of this house, rang out. A voice that once lit a fire in her heart, inspired her, him, Edward, to all those actions he committed, to that very inner steel with which he committed them, to how to be “Edward”, now made her flinch and shrink inside like a schoolgirl caught in the act of a wrongdoing.
She turned sharply and only then noticed how close Edward was already standing to her. He was literally looming over her, and she yelped. Quietly, but enough for his right eyebrow to lift with that same predatory curiosity that made everything inside her tighten. She hated herself for such feminine behavior now, but it was as if it was already part of her, part of her nature that she received along with this body and the youth she had dreamed of so much while being Edward and performing the ritual. The ritual that gave her youth but took away everything he had been so proud of and left him in this body.
— Careful, Hannah, — he said calmly, taking a barely noticeable step back, as if granting her that “freedom” which only made things more unsettling. — You flinch as if you’re hiding something.
— I… uh… forgive me, sir, — she breathed out and felt her back instantly grow damp with sweat under the fabric of the dress. The apron ribbon slipped down again, and a thin strip of fabric brushed against her skin, causing a strange sensation, as if her body itself was reminding her: you’re just a servant now. Don’t forget...Full story (16 500 characters - 3 parts + add. images) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon