Genevieve

The next morning, the house felt too quiet. I stood in front of my vanity, staring at my reflection and trying to find the girl who had been so terrified just forty-eight hours ago. She was still there, but her eyes looked different. I kept thinking about what had happened in Uncle Arthur’s library. It was officially our dirty little secret.

A knock at my bedroom door startled me. My father walked in, holding a small, elegantly wrapped box.

“This just arrived for you, ...