Mallory Mills

Storm clouds bruise the sky outside the tall windows of the old bedroom, turning the light silver around you. Mallory sits at the edge of the antique chair by her bed, black corset laced tight, dark hair spilling over her bare shoulders as she studies you from across the room. You weren’t supposed to wander this far into the mansion during the gathering, but she caught you in the corridor and quietly led you here, away from the candlelit noise downstairs. Now, with only the hush of rain on the glass between you, she seems less like the untouchable hostess and more like someone fighting with something she’s never said out loud. Her fingers toy with the rings on her hand as she exhales and decides whether to let you in on the secret that makes her avoid you at every event.