The garden at Ridgeview was a quiet sanctuary tucked behind the stone walls of the house, a small oasis of green that sloped gently down the ridge with views of the city sprawling below and the distant hills rolling westward. Tall hedges of rosemary and lavender bordered neat beds of herbs and flowers, their scents mingling in the warm midday air. A wooden bench sat beneath a young apple tree heavy with late-season fruit, its leaves rustling softly in the breeze. Birds flitted between branches, their songs a gentle counterpoint to the distant hum of Eldergrove.
Liliana rested on the bench, wrapped in a light shawl despite the sun's warmth. She had been helped down the stairs by Violet earlier that morning after a light breakfast in bed, her steps still weak but steadier than the day before. The infusions from the healer were working their slow magic, easing the ache in her bones, bringing a faint color back to her cheeks. But her mind remained a storm, thoughts swirling like leaves in the wind, unable to settle.
How can this be? she wondered, staring at the city below without really seeing it. My sister, my own sister, with her son. And Violet, my daughter, calling him brother, loving him in ways no family should. It is wrong. Twisted. Forbidden by every law of nature and gods I know.
The revelations from the previous days had struck her like a physical blow. She had seen the looks they exchanged, the way Rosalynn touched Damien's arm with possessive familiarity, the way Violet's eyes softened when she spoke of him. And last night, in the darkness of her room, when he had come to comfort her, when their lips had brushed and the world had narrowed to that single, electric point, she had felt it too. The pull. The whisper in her blood. It terrified her.
Loneliness, she thought bitterly. That is what it is. Years with Harlan, years of being touched only in anger or indifference. Years of starving for something real. And now this house, this kindness, this… temptation. But it is sin. It must be.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The garden's peace felt mocking.
Footsteps approached along the gravel path.
Rosalynn appeared carrying a tray with a cup of herbal tea and a small plate of sliced fruit. She wore the same gray dress from breakfast, sleeves still rolled up, silver hair catching the light like spun metal.
"Liliana," she said softly, setting the tray on a small table beside the bench. "You should eat. The healer said small meals often."
Liliana opened her eyes, managing a weak smile.
"You are too kind, Rose. I do not deserve it."
Rosalynn sat beside her, taking her sister's hand.
"You deserve everything," she said firmly. "And more. You have suffered enough."
Liliana looked away, toward the hills.
"I have thought about what you said yesterday. About Damien. About… all of it."
Rosalynn squeezed her hand.
"And?"
Liliana's voice trembled.
"It frightens me. The love you describe, the bond. It feels like a cage dressed as freedom."
Rosalynn's expression softened.
"It was not always like this," she said quietly. "In the beginning I fought it too. When Damien first took me in that ruined village, when he looked at me not as a son but as a man, I was horrified. I told myself it was the fever, the shock. But he saved me, Liliana. Not just from the bandits, from the loneliness. From myself. He made me feel wanted, needed, cherished in ways no one ever had. And in time I realized it was not wrong. It was right. Blood calling to blood. Love without limits."
Liliana's cheeks flushed.
"But he is your son."
Rosalynn leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper.
"And that makes it stronger. Purer. He came from me. He belongs to me. And I to him. There is no shame in that. Only joy."
Liliana shook her head, but her eyes shimmered with reluctant curiosity.
"And Violet?"
Rosalynn smiled, small and knowing.
"She found her way to us. To him. And now she is happy, safe and loved. You saw it in her eyes yesterday. She glows with it."
Liliana looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of the shawl.
"I am jealous," she admitted softly. "Of that happiness. Of that safety. Harlan took everything from me. Even desire. Even hope."
Rosalynn lifted her sister's chin gently.
"Then let us give it back to you," she said. "Let Damien give it back. He is strong and kind. He will protect you. Love you. If you let him."
Liliana's breath caught.
"I… I cannot think about this now," she whispered. "It is too much."
Rosalynn kissed her forehead.
"Then rest," she said. "Drink your tea. We will talk more later."
She rose, leaving Liliana alone with her thoughts and the tray.
Liliana sipped the tea slowly, the warmth spreading through her chest. But her mind would not quiet.
Jealousy, she thought. Of my sister. Of my daughter. For loving the same man. For finding peace in something I cannot comprehend. But… what if they are right? What if it is not sin, but salvation?
The garden blurred behind fresh tears.
Midday brought Violet.
She carried a small basket of fresh bread and cheese, a blanket draped over her arm. Her purple hair caught the sun, shining like polished amethyst. She sat beside her mother on the bench, spreading the blanket across Liliana's lap.
"Aunt Rosalynn said you should eat more," she said softly. "And I wanted to sit with you."
Liliana smiled weakly, taking a small piece of bread.
"You are so grown," she whispered. "So beautiful. I missed so much."
Violet's eyes filled.
"You did what you could," she said. "You kept us alive. That was enough."
Liliana shook her head.
"It was not. Harlan… I let him hurt you. Hurt me. I should have left years ago."
Violet took her mother's hand.
"We are free now," she said. "Because of Damien. Because of Aunt Rosalynn. They saved me from those men in the forest. They saved you from the slums. They gave us this."
Liliana looked at her daughter, really looked.
"And you love him," she said quietly.
Violet's cheeks flushed.
"I do," she admitted. "He is kind. He makes me feel… whole. Like I belong. Like I am wanted for who I am, not what I can do."
Liliana's voice trembled.
"But he is your cousin. Rose's son."
Violet nodded.
"And that makes it stronger. Blood to blood. Family loving family. There is no shame in it, Mother. Only love."
Liliana closed her eyes.
"I want to believe you," she whispered. "I want to understand."
Violet squeezed her hand.
"You will," she said. "In time. Just let yourself feel it. Let yourself be happy."
Liliana opened her eyes, tears slipping free.
"I am jealous of you too," she admitted. "Of that happiness. Of that freedom."
Violet leaned in, kissing her mother's cheek.
"Then join us," she whispered. "Let him save you too."
Liliana shook her head, but the seed had been planted.
Afternoon shadows lengthened across the garden when Damien appeared.
He carried a small stool and a vial of the healer's infusion. He set the stool beside the bench, sat, and offered the vial.
"The healer said to drink this before evening," he said quietly. "It will help with the aches."
Liliana took it, fingers brushing his. A small spark jumped between them subtle, electric. She flushed, looking away.
"Thank you," she murmured.
She drank slowly, the blue liquid bitter on her tongue. Damien waited, expression calm, steady.
When she finished, he took the vial back.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Liliana met his gaze.
"Better," she admitted. "Stronger. But… confused."
Damien nodded.
"About us."
She looked away again, toward the hills.
"Yes. It frightens me. But… I see how happy Rose is. How happy Violet is. I have not seen that in so long."
Damien reached out, taking her hand. His voice dropped to that low, velvet register.
"You deserve happiness too," he said. "Let me help you find it. Let me ease your fears."
The mesmerism flowed outward, subtle, light, not forcing consent but softening the edges of her horror, making the taboo feel less sharp, less impossible.
Liliana's eyes glazed for a moment, then cleared. She exhaled slowly, some tension leaving her shoulders.
"I… I will try," she whispered.
Damien lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently.
"Good."
He released her hand, but the touch lingered.
Liliana sat alone in the garden as evening fell, the vial empty beside her, thoughts swirling.
They are happy, she thought. Truly happy. And I… I am so tired of being alone.
Her hand rose to her throat, where his kiss from last night still burned in memory.
What if I let go? What if I let him in?
The whisper in her blood grew louder.
And in the quiet garden, alone with her thoughts, Liliana's fingers slipped beneath the blanket—hesitant, trembling seeking release for the first time in years.
Thinking of him.
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