Chaoter 15.

**Eleanor Thornton**

_I was young. I was rich. They say the rich don’t cry..._

But they lied.

When I was a little girl, I lived in a palace. A grand estate, with halls so vast, they seemed to
stretch into eternity. My dresses were fine, my shoes polished, and my every whim catered
to. I felt like a princess in my own kingdom, where the world outside seemed distant,
irrelevant. I believed it then, that I was special. That I was untouchable.

But it was a lie. That’s what they made me believe.

I can’t even remember their names now. The faces blur, the voices fade. My mother was
never around. She was always somewhere else, always absent, a shadow in my memory.
My father? Who was he? They said I was too young to wonder. I accepted that, too.

Instead, there were four of them. Four men who ran the house. Bad man 1, bad man 2, bad
man 3, and bad man 4. They owned an army, or so they said. They ruled the estate with an
iron grip, and they ruled over me, too.

Slaves, they called them. The things I would inherit from them someday, they told me.
Power, authority, control. I would inherit the estate, the riches, and the darkness. This
darkness, they said, was my birthright.

These memories… they haunt me. They break me. I was dismantled, piece by piece, word
by word. They made me enjoy pain. They painted evil as if it were good, as if it were the only
way. They made me believe that the darkness was better than the light.

I remember having a friend once. He was older than me, a boy with ginger hair and eyes so
blue, they looked like the sea. He teased me often, saying I was a seven-year-old stuck in
the body of a seventeen-year-old. He made me laugh. I thought he was funny.

He came over every weekend. I looked forward to his visits.

But they took him away from me.

It started on my eighteenth birthday. The palace felt colder that day. My mother hadn’t come
back in six years. Her image in my head had begun to blur, her voice more distant than ever.
I was tired of waiting for her.

The bad men told me I was safe now. I was older. Eighteen. I could do whatever I wanted,
they said. But I was still in the house. I couldn’t leave. They stopped the ginger boy from
coming over. They said he was bad.

“You will not see him again,” Bad man 1 said. He yelled a lot. They all did.
I missed him. But by then, I understood—nothing I had was ever mine to keep. Nothing
lasted. I was still trapped in the body of a seventeen-year-old, even though I had just turned
eighteen.

My body had begun to change. My chest was no longer flat. It grew heavier with each
passing day. I had gotten used to the bleeding when I was twelve, but this… this was
something else.

I accepted it, though. I accepted that the sun wasn’t for me. So I stayed inside and read
books. They let me have a few. But Bad man 2 always warned me, “Stay away from the
books in the back.” I was stubborn. I read one anyway.

It was a book about war. A new word for me—violence. I didn’t understand it yet, but it
intrigued me.

“I told you not to read those books!” he yelled when he found out. He grabbed me by the
hair, pulling me hard.

I had just braided it.

He threw me on the bed, ripping off my clothes. I felt uncomfortable, confused. But he told
me this was how things were. That this was what I should get used to.

He did things to me, things I didn’t like. I asked why. They called it discipline.

I started to like being disciplined. Sometimes, they all disciplined me together. It made me
feel safe.

What did I know? I was but a child.

It went on for months. But eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. For the first time, I admitted
to the pain. When I tried to resist, they beat me. So I stopped resisting.

I embraced the darkness they forced on me. I read more books, despite their warnings. And
my mind began to open.

Knowledge is power. And power… they had misused. They used me, lied to me, made me
feel like the bad one. But I wasn’t the bad one.

They were. And bad people deserve to die.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t remember what happened, not clearly. But when they
found the bodies, they had to piece them back together to figure out who was who.

There they lay—Bad man 1, Bad man 2, Bad man 3, Bad man 4.

And then she came back. Mother came back.

---

“Eleanor,” a voice cut through the haze of memory. “Are you even listening?”
I snapped back to reality. The dimly lit room came into focus. I was still in the meeting
chamber, Charles standing silently in a corner, Aldric beside him. But at the far end of the
room, it was real. Seraphina, my mother, sat there, glaring into my eyes as though seeing
through my very soul.

“Are you listening?” she asked, her voice cold and cutting.

I felt my body tremble, but I quickly steeled myself. “Aldric, leave. Charles, get the door,” I
commanded, my voice firm despite the shaking in my limbs.

Aldric nodded, retreating swiftly, and Charles followed, closing the door with a soft click. I
turned back to her, still seated in her glory, as though this were her throne.

“Seraphina,” I began, barely containing the disgust in my voice.

Her eyes gleamed, the corners of her mouth curling into a smile. “Ah, we’re calling names
now, are we?” she purred, removing her glasses with a slow, deliberate motion.

“There’s nothing qualifying you to be called 'mother.'” My words came out harsh, but it was a
truth long buried beneath the surface.

Her smile widened, a twisted mockery of affection. “Is that how you greet your mother? I’ve
traveled lands to be here, and this is my welcome?”

“You left me to die!” I shouted, taking a step toward her, my body jolting with a mixture of
anger and despair.

“And yet, here you are—alive and thriving. They groomed you well, didn’t they? Look how
strong you’ve grown, building your own empire.” She smiled, the expression more of a sneer,
dripping with condescension. “Must cost a lot of money.”

I could feel my blood boil. “Could you be a mother for once?” I yelled in frustration.

Seraphina chuckled darkly, her eyes narrowing as she played with the edge of her coat.
“And you were supposed to be a daughter, not sleeping with my husband.”

“What can I say? I wasn’t aware girls don’t sleep with their fathers.” I added. “I suppose
that’s not your fault, though, is it?”

Her tone shifted, dripping with mockery as she leaned forward. “Oh, darling, you should
know by now. Mockery is a game I play far better than you.”

The room felt smaller, the air thick with tension. Every word from her mouth cut deep, but I
couldn't let her see it.

“How long are you staying?” I asked, my tone betraying the disgust I could no longer hide.

“Already chasing me away?” she teased, her voice laced with amusement.

“I don’t feel safe with you here.”

“Enough!” I shouted, cutting through her words like a blade. “Name your price. How much do
you want?”

Her laughter echoed through the room, loud and venomous, filling the space with an
oppressive weight. It was the laugh of the devil herself.

“What’s funny?” I demanded, my voice shaking with rage.

“Eleanor, darling, don’t ask questions you can’t bear to hear the answers to.”

I stepped forward, fists clenched. “I asked, what’s funny?”

Seraphina stood slowly, the fabric of her dress rustling like whispers of death itself. Her
presence filled the room, casting a shadow that made it impossible to breathe.

“Do you want gold, lands, ships?” I asked, each word laced with frustration, my voice rising
as I grasped for control.

“Oh, silly Eleanor,” she cooed, her tone dripping with condescension. “What could you
possibly give me? You, my darling, are broke. That’s why you cling to this power role. Taxes
are beautiful, aren’t they? Sad, though, how your husband didn’t will anything to you.” She
smirked, a taunting, wicked expression that cut deeper than any insult.

Her words hit me like a slap. My hands started to tremble uncontrollably, sending
shockwaves through my body. I tried to steady my breath, but it was failing me.

“I mean, really,” she continued, her voice a singsong mockery. “What is a Thornton without
wealth?” Her eyes glinted with an unholy light. “What’s the price of power when you have
none?”

“Shut up!” I screamed, my voice echoing against the walls, filled with desperation. “Just shut
up…fuck!…What do you want?” I asked again, my voice barely a whisper now, cracking
under the pressure.

“Oh, darling, I’m just here to watch you,” she said, her tone sharp and cruel. “To watch you
try to live your little dream. Maybe you’ll succeed, maybe you’ll fail. But remember, I’m not
your mother after all. I might just be your downfall.”

She began walking toward the door, her steps slow and deliberate, every movement exuding
a sense of triumph. I stood frozen, trapped in a whirlwind of rage, fear, and something I didn’t
want to admit—powerlessness.

“And, oh, Eleanor, darling,” she said, pausing at the door, turning to face me one last time.
Her eyes gleamed with malice. “Don’t even think about killing me. You know, you’re quite
good at that. But they know I’m here, and they wouldn’t want to have to search for me. Like I
said, I’m here to stay, darling.”

Her smile widened, a final, mocking smirk before she exited, leaving the room filled with a
suffocating silence.

I stood there, heart racing, consumed by a storm of emotions—rage, confusion, and most of
all… fear.

---