Walking through the long-winded halls of Windsor Castle, October couldn't help but be awestruck by its sheer grandeur. The sunlight filtered through arched stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the ancient marble floor beneath her.
"Wow… it's like stepping into Kensington Palace," she thought, trying to hide her awe behind a calm, composed façade.
Gloria walked beside her silently, sensing her lady's nervous energy. They eventually reached a pair of grand dark mahogany doors, their frames carved with intricate, eccentric designs—dragons, roses, twisted vines. Just the door alone radiated power, wealth, and something else... something older, colder.
I guess this is it, October thought.
She exhaled softly, squared her shoulders, and pushed the doors open.
What awaited her took her breath away.
The dining hall looked like a scene out of an old myth. A long polished oak table stretched the length of the room, and beyond it—through wide crystal-paned windows—was a garden so impossibly lush, it could've shamed the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Flowers bloomed in every shape and hue imaginable, from the exotic birds-of-paradise to delicate local buttercups. Vines danced lazily up trellises, and fountains trickled like lullabies.
But the moment shattered the second her eyes landed on the root of her misery.
Anna-Marie Windsor.
October's third eldest half-sister. Twenty-two years old, the castle's queen bee, and the one who led the bullying against her like a general in a cruel war. Jealousy was her weapon of choice, and October, with her beauty, her presence, her very existence, had been the target since she stepped foot inside the castle. Anna Marie couldn't stand sharing space with her. Not when October turned heads without even trying.
"Why does this feel like déjà vu?" October muttered under her breath as they walked in.
"Sorry for keeping you waiting," she said, curtsying with grace. "I hope I haven't delayed breakfast."
Anna Marie scoffed, sipping her tea with exaggerated annoyance. "Can't believe we had to wait for you of all people."
October only smiled, unfazed. "Forgive me, sister. I overslept."
"You do—"
"Enough, Anna Marie," came a firm voice.
It was Lady Scheuer Windsor—"Sissy," the eldest daughter. Regal and poised, Scheuer gave October a nod of approval. "You're forgiven, October. Just don't let it happen again. A lady shouldn't keep others waiting."
"Thank you, sister," October replied sweetly, inclining her head.
The conversation died, and breakfast proceeded in silence, save for occasional idle chatter. But October's thoughts were anything but silent.
After the meal, she retreated to her chambers, locking the door behind her. She dismissed Gloria with a soft, "Take the rest of the morning for yourself."
Alone, she lay across her bed, hands folded on her stomach, her mind spinning with memories—hers and those newly returned to her.
Lady October's family. A tapestry woven in gold and rot.
There were six of them.
Scheuer Windsor, the eldest. A respected figure, engaged to a duke's son from the Northern Empire. She was the lady of the house in their mother's absence, admired for her business acumen and ability to maintain order. She was also the only one who ever defended October—though she did so from a diplomatic distance. Peace over passion.
Then there was Langris, the only son and heir to the Windsor name. A heavy introvert. Handsome, brilliant, emotionally unavailable. He either turned a blind eye to October's suffering—or chose indifference to avoid the mess entirely. Either way, he was a ghost in his own home.
Anna-Marie came next. The social butterfly. A woman worshiped by gossip columnists and loathed behind closed doors. A master manipulator, she ruled over high society with her teacup in one hand and a dagger in the other. October's very existence threatened her. And she made sure October never forgot it.
Then came Elina. The fourth child. A night owl, a soldier, a woman who lived for the thrill of battle. One of the only sisters who openly supported October. Fierce, funny, brave—Elina had a heart too large for the rigid royal world around her. October adored her.
And finally, May. Her twin. Her blood. Her mirror.
The only full-blooded sibling she had. And the sharpest sting of all.
May had followed Anna-Marie's lead, joining in the bullying and painting October as a traitor to her class. She saw her sister's choices—living with their commoner mother, refusing privilege—as foolish, embarrassing. May reveled in wealth and luxury. And she despised October for not doing the same.
"You chose to be a pauper," she once hissed at her. "Don't expect me to pretend you're worth more than dirt."
That had been the day October stopped expecting kindness.
Now, alone in the quiet of her chambers, her chest ached.
"I want to go home," she whispered, a lone tear slipping down her cheek.
But she didn't know where that was anymore.