The morning light filtered through the curtains, but Élisa felt trapped in a chilling gloom. The memory of her swollen lips in the mirror and the fragmented vision of Adrien overwhelmed her. It was a dream, wasn't it? Or... had someone truly entered her room last night?
She slowly got up, her heart pounding. Clara's journal, resting on the bedside table, called to her. She grabbed it, hands trembling, searching for an answer, an explanation for the unease that consumed her. She turned the pages, past the last known entries, and suddenly discovered new sections, written in paler ink, almost faded in places.
These pages spoke... of Adrien.
Clara described Adrien with disconcerting intensity, words charged with raw emotion. Élisa read avidly, her breath short. Was he her friend? Her closest confidant? Or... her lover? Clara's writings were ambiguous, a mix of tenderness and torment. She evoked their complicity, their long conversations, and a bond she called "dangerous." Élisa felt an unexpected pang of jealousy mix with her curiosity. This bond... did she understand it better now, after last night?
As Élisa read, one entry in particular struck her, like a punch to the gut. Clara described a specific moment, a rainy evening in Casablanca. It was a troubled flashback from Clara's past:
"His gaze. That night, his gaze on me was a silent promise, heavy with everything we dared not name. We were alone, the world around us had fallen silent. He approached, slowly. His hand brushed my cheek, an ambiguous caress, full of a forbidden tenderness that burned my skin. 'I'll always be there for you, Clara,' he murmured, his voice hoarse, so close I felt his breath. It was more than just a promise, it was a silent pact, sealed by the intensity of our eyes lost in each other."
Élisa felt a wave of heat wash over her as she read those lines. She imagined the scene, not with Clara, but with herself in her place. The tension, the unspoken desire, Adrien's gaze... It was terrifying and strangely exciting. The journal almost slipped from her hands. The connection between Clara and Adrien was deeper, more intimate than anything she could have imagined. And the phrase from her own "night" resonated: "You already desired him. Even before death." A cold shiver ran through her. This "desire," was it the one she felt for Adrien, an inherited, cursed desire?