//CLARA//
The cream-colored parchment felt cold against my fingertips. The wax seal looked uncomfortably like dried blood.
My eyes traced the immaculate, sweeping cursive. It was a beautiful script, but the words themselves were pure, distilled venom.
Dearest Eleanor,
Now that you have seen fit to replace me as the mistress of that house, you must also learn to shoulder its burdens. True nobility is not merely a matter of occupying the role, it requires a performance before the peers who sustain us.
The Guggenheim Annual Spring Charity Ball has always been my domain, but its weight now falls entirely upon your fragile shoulders. I shall be watching from the gallery to see if you possess the grace to carry it, or if you will simply buckle under the scrutiny of New York's finest. Do try not to embarrass the family name before the final curtain falls.
Aunt Cornelia
