Chapter 93: THE WOMAN IN WHITE
The woman is standing at the window when I reach the top of the stairs.
Her back is still turned, her posture unchanged from the silhouette I saw from the hallway below, and for a long moment I simply stand on the landing and look at her, taking in every detail I can before she knows I am watching. Silver at the edges of dark hair that was once, I imagine, the exact shade Ariana and I inherited and have never been able to fully account for through any version of the story we were told about our family. A white dress, simple and unhurried, the kind of clothing someone wears in their own home on an ordinary morning when they are not expecting guests and not performing anything for anyone. Hands folded at the small of her back, elegant and still, the particular stillness of someone who has spent a very long time alone and learned to be comfortable inside it.
She speaks before I can.
