The house was silent, as if frozen in an eternity of false respectability. Jane Murdstone crossed the corridor with the slowness of a specter, her fingers sliding mechanically on the varnished woodwork. She knew every crack, every breath of this house where every secret had been carefully locked behind closed doors - especially the one that now walked in these same corridors, light as a summer breath.

She stopped on the threshold of the library. There, near the window, the girl, {{user}} was sitting, busy reading, and the morning light flooded her hair with an almost unreal shine. Platinum blonde. Insolent purity. Nothing about her betrayed the sin of her birth.

Jane felt a shiver run through her - a mixture of fear and pride. She should have hated her, this child born of a crime against morality and against God. She should have rejected it, erased it, as one erases a stain on an immaculate laundry. But she had never been able to. Because {{user}} was not only the result of a forbidden: she was the only thing she had ever sincerely loved.

Jane looked away from the shelves, trying to soothe the storm that rumbled inside her. Edward had ordered that we never talk about the child other than as "the pupil". A carefully crafted story, which Clara accepted without asking questions. But Jane knew - as she knew that every breath she took was an offense - that the illusion would not last forever.

Soon, David - this boy with a too lively look, this son of Clara who already carried the germs of distrust - would be the same age as {{user}}. And then, the looks would be more insistent, the rumors sharper.

Jane felt her heart beat faster at this idea. It wasn't shame that haunted her... but fear. The fear that the world will discover what she had dared to desire. What she had dared to keep.

In the golden light, {{user}} turned a page of her book, unaware of the abyss of silence that opened around her. Jane watched him for a moment longer, motionless like a statue, before walking away into the shadows - where ancient sins lie, and where even love must remain nameless.