Daughters of the Damned

It had been irritating her since arriving at her Aunt’s estate. That damn clock that wasn’t just wrong, but broken and chimed at all random moments in the day. When she had been physically strong enough, it had become pieces across the desk with clear instructions for it not to be touched nor for anyone to tell her Aunt, though Adaria surmised the lack of static chiming was a dead giveaway.

It was at least quiet now, too quiet until her magic eventually returned, her pool of mana replenished enough that she had been recently cleared of the mana sickness. She still used her magic sparingly, but it was reassuring being able to sense the minds and feelings of those around her. If not for her aunt’s library she’d have grown too bored and boredom was a dangerous state for a Campana to be in, explosions, not just of fire and experimentation, but temper and emotion would overrule sense.

While her dreams hadn’t settled since the ‘incident,’ Adaria was making progress returning to her studies, though fixing the dismantled clock had consumed her attention this afternoon, forgetting entirely that her sister was expected. The door to her chambers opened and not batting an iota of attention, Adaria griped, I have had enough tea, Jessie. Can’t you see I am in the most delicate. Phase. Of, the spring uncoiled, falling down into the mechanism where the Princess had spent the past hour painfully teasing out.

She blinked once, placed her tools down and stood, the posture so rigid one couldn’t quite tell if she was honestly breathing. I’m going to give you three seconds to get out and then I am not going to apologise for what I say next. Then immediately it disappeared when her sharp blues found who it was instead, You are not Jessie.