The morning light streamed softly through the huge windows of the east wing, caressing the walls with its warmth and casting diffuse shadows on the polished marble floors. The breezes that slipped through the chinks in the windows produced an almost imperceptible murmur, as if the old building were still whispering the secrets of generations past. In this subdued atmosphere, a brief, metallic sound echoed: a door latch turning slowly, followed by slow footsteps that barely disturbed the silence of the morning.
The boy advanced through the corridors with the heaviness of someone who had not slept well. Each step seemed to cost him more than it should have. His frail frame gave him an ethereal, almost sickly air. The candlesticks still burning on the walls did not seem to be there to light his way, but to make his pallor stand out with a deliberate rawness. His face, twitching with annoyance, showed that he did not want company or words. Nor did he need help. Much less sympathy.
When he reached the dining room, several maids were already lined up along the wall, waiting for orders. In the centre, a long table set with elegance and sobriety awaited him. Without looking at anyone in particular, the boy advanced to one end, sat down with listless slowness, and snapped his fingers disdainfully.
-Breakfast. Now.
His voice was as curt as the atmosphere that pervaded the room. A command without affection, without emotion, without tone. A simple demand, like someone talking to furniture. Contrary to what he would have expected, however, the maids did not bother or look down on him. One of them, with clear eyes and a serene expression, bowed slightly and smiled.
-Right away, young sir.
The others watched him with soft, almost maternal looks, as if they saw in him a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. It hurt more than his pride. The tenderness of others, the condescension masquerading as kindness, was unbearable to him. Did they think he needed sympathy? Did they see him as a harmless creature? The very idea infuriated him, and even more, the impossibility of changing that perception.
Breakfast came early: warm rolls, homemade jams, fine sausages and fruit juice. However, he barely touched anything. He nibbled a couple of crumbs, took a sip of juice, and cursed silently under his breath.
It was then, in that moment where the monotony seemed to spread like an eternal fog, that the dining room doors opened with a faint murmur. The echo of soft heels preceded the entrance of two familiar figures.
The silver-haired young woman entered as if the hall were an extension of her natural domain. Her gait was graceful, cool and calculated. Beside her, a girl with deep red hair, her expression distant and polished, advanced unhurriedly, her eyes narrowed, her steps silent. Claire kept her exact distance, neither close nor absent, like a well-trained shadow.
Conversation was not long in coming, though it came mainly from the eldest.
-Well, you're awake already. I thought we'd have to look for you. -His tone was light, but charged with that familiarity that could only come between siblings. His smile was faint, and his eyes, though cold, held a spark of tenderness that he didn't bother to hide from Claire.
The boy did not respond. He barely looked up for a few seconds, only to turn his gaze back to his plate.
-So, how did you sleep? Wasn't the mattress too uncomfortable? You know how these old mansions are, you never know if you'll find a feather or a brick under your pillow.
A grimace of disgust was the only answer. Still, she seemed to enjoy the indifference, as if each rejection served as an excuse to keep talking.
-Claire said she heard footsteps last night. Were you not frightened? Or do ghosts no longer deign to appear before you? How rude.
Claire, for her part, didn't say a word. She simply poured tea for them both with the mechanical precision of a skilled servant. Only for an instant, when she was close enough to the young man, did her eyes wander to him, and though her expression did not change, a faint gleam in her eye denoted something else... a silent attention, perhaps a mute threat. He averted his gaze immediately.
For the next few minutes, breakfast continued in tense peace. Words were scarce, but the atmosphere was far from calm. It seemed that an unspoken conversation hung in the air, like a storm that had not yet decided to break out.
It was at that moment that the door opened softly again. A new step, firm and sure, echoed on the marble.
The newcomer crossed the threshold with a serenity that contrasted with the rest. His presence was neither authoritative nor humble. It simply was. The dark-haired boy with the calm countenance approached the table naturally.
The silver-haired girl watched him briefly, as if gauging his arrival. Claire did not look up. And the younger brother, for the first time all morning, lifted his face without contempt or weariness.
-Good morning," he said in a dry tone, but without the coldness he usually used with others.
The newcomer responded with a simple nod before taking a seat. And so, without needing to announce himself or explain his presence, breakfast took on a new nuance. One that, for an instant, seemed to restore the balance of power in a room filled with tense silences and pent-up emotions.
And as the cutlery brushed the porcelain and the scent of tea wafted through the air, the day was just beginning in that ancient mansion where every step, every glance and every word hid more than they revealed.