//CLARA//
Aunt Cornelia's bedroom door remained silent. A countdown I wasn't prepared to finish.
"I need air, Hattie," I snapped, ignoring her worried look as she offered to brush my hair.
I didn't want to be pampered. Instead, I grabbed my shawl and steered clear of the sprawling woodland where we used to raced the horses.
That memory felt like it belonged to a different life—well, this is a different life, one where the rules were still a game I thought I could win.
Instead, I pushed past the manicured gardens until the wild undergrowth took over, leading me into a part of the woodlands that felt ancient. The trees grew thick here, their canopy swallowing the sky until the light was nothing but a bruised grey.
The undergrowth pulled at my hem and I let it, walking faster, deeper, until the sound of my own breathing matched the rhythm of my steps. I wasn't running toward anything. I was running away from a house that had started to feel like a cage.
