Grace McGowan ’26
The candlelight reflected in her eyes as she pulled away, her breath still warm on his face. She smiled.
She slipped out the door. He paused for a moment, then yanked the door open and raced down the hallway, his feet slamming against the floor carpeted in velvet. He narrowly dodged his younger sister, who had a book open and her eyes glued to the page as she walked. She looked up briefly and scoffed.
“Sorry!” he called behind him.
“Fool!” she shouted back.
He paid her no attention, and kept barreling onwards.
They thundered down the spiral staircase, the wood creaking alarmingly.
Through the gallery and the dining hall and the library they ran, and then… he lost her.
He stood in the doorway. He didn’t bother backing up; he decided he knew where she had gone.
He walked to a painting hung on the wall, pulled it open, and entered the secret room.
She brought her arms around his neck, resting her head against his, and then—
There was a knife straight through his heart.
The candlelight reflected in her eyes as she pulled away, her breath still warm on his face. She smiled.