Chapter 199: Tomorrow

Georgia -

Time had lost all meaning in my underground prison. Each hour bled into the next, leaving nothing but the echo of my own ragged breathing and the soft whispers from the walls. I had long ago abandoned hope of physical escape. The house had swallowed me whole, and its appetite was insatiable.

But I had found another way out.

I sat in the corner of my cell, knees drawn to my chest, focusing on the single thread that connected me to the world above. To her. To Adeline.

“She’s our only chance,” Bertha whispered from the shard of mirror Elena had smuggled to me months ago. Her reflection had grown stronger lately, more defined than my own. Sometimes when I looked into the glass, I couldn’t tell which of us was real anymore. “We need to reach her properly.”

I nodded, closing my eyes. The faces in the walls watched with hungry anticipation, their features shifting in the dampness. Water beaded on the stone like sweat, running down in rivulets that formed mouths, eyes, pleading expressions. They understood the urgency. We were running out of time.

Every night, I would sit like this, my consciousness stretching upward through the foundations of the house like roots in reverse. Searching for her. At first, it had been impossible—just fleeting impressions, disconnected sensations. The softness of her sheets against my phantom skin. The taste of wine on a tongue that wasn’t mine. The scent of her perfume—my perfume, once—filling lungs I no longer controlled.

But lately, the connection had grown stronger.

I could feel her now, sense her movements through the house. I knew when she paused at certain doorways, fingers lingering on the frame as if sensing something wasn’t right. I felt her unease when she passed the east sitting room, the prickle of awareness at the back of her neck when she looked too long in the mirrors.

She felt me too. She just didn’t understand it yet.

I had been carving messages for days—no, weeks—into every surface I could reach. The walls of my cell had become a frantic tapestry of directions, warnings, maps. My fingernails were worn to the quick, often leaving bloody smears across the stone as I worked. The pain was nothing. Pain meant I was still here, still fighting.

“Northeast corner of the pantry,” I muttered, scratching the words deeper into the wall. “Fourth board from the wall is loose. Below it, a latch. Turn counterclockwise.”

My maps were meticulous, detailing every hidden passage, every weak point in the house. I knew this place better than anyone—better than Carlisle, who had locked me here. Better than the servants, who pretended not to hear my cries. I had become part of the house, and the house had become part of me.

“She’ll never find it,” Bertha whispered from somewhere deep inside my fractured mind. “He’s too careful.”

“She’s already looking,” Bertha countered, her voice growing louder with each passing day. “She’s heard us scratching. She’s seen the faces in the mirrors. She knows something isn’t right.”

I knew Bertha was right. I had seen it through Adeline’s eyes—those brief, disorienting moments when our consciousness merged. I had felt her confusion, her terror, her desperate need to understand what was happening to her. She thought she was going mad. I knew better. She was finally waking up.

The dreams had started three nights ago. Not ordinary dreams—something deeper, more visceral. I would close my eyes in my cold, damp cell, and open them in her body. I could feel her heartbeat, taste the metallic fear in her mouth, feel the softness of her skin that had once been mine.

At first, I could only watch, a passenger in her movements. But then I found I could nudge her, just slightly. A turn down a hallway she might have passed. A lingering glance at a floorboard she might have overlooked. Small things, but enough.

Last night had been different. Last night, I had taken control.

It hadn’t lasted long—just a few precious minutes when her consciousness had dimmed and mine had surged forward. I had walked her body to the pantry, made her fingers trace the edges of the floorboards, searching for the loose one I knew was there. We had been so close—I had felt the board shift slightly beneath her touch—when something had snapped. A rubber band stretched too far, suddenly recoiling. She had gasped, stumbled, grasped the shelves for support as she returned to herself.

But the seed had been planted. I had left my mark.

“You’re getting stronger,” Bertha encouraged, her lips curving into a smile that wasn’t quite sane. “Soon you’ll be able to stay. Soon you’ll be able to show her everything.”

The faces in the walls nodded in agreement, their features shifting in the dim light. They had been trapped here too, for longer than I could imagine. They saw Adeline as their salvation, just as I did.

I woke this morning to find my body had been busy while my mind wandered. New markings covered the walls—symbols I didn’t recognize, words in a language I had never learned. My fingertips were raw, bloody, the nails torn down to the quick. The coppery scent of blood hung in the air, mingling with the ever-present damp.

Bertha smiled from the mirror, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “We’re getting closer,” she whispered. “The barriers are breaking down.”

I nodded, too exhausted to speak. The lines between us—between me and Bertha, between me and Adeline, between me and the house itself—were blurring. Sometimes I couldn’t remember which thoughts were mine anymore.

Did it matter? We all wanted the same thing in the end.

Freedom. Vengeance. Fire.

Elena came later, her face paler than usual as she set down fresh water and dry bread. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, kept her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as she moved around my cell. She had seen the new markings, the blood. She was afraid.

Good. She should be.

“Georgia,” she said softly, her voice barely audible. “What are you doing to yourself?”

I looked up slowly, my vision swimming in and out of focus. I had been sitting in the same position for hours, maybe days, my body growing stiffer with each passing moment. “What needs to be done,” I replied, my voice a dry rasp.

Elena glanced around at the walls, at the frantic scribbles that covered every inch of stone. “This isn’t right,” she whispered. “You’re... you’re not well.”

I laughed—a harsh, broken sound that made her flinch. “Well? I’ve been locked in a cellar for almost a year. I wasn’t meant to be well.”

“I mean...” She hesitated, twisting her hands in her apron. “The way you talk to yourself. The things you’re writing. These drawings—they don’t make sense, Georgia. It’s like... like you’re someone else now.”

She was right. I wasn’t Georgia anymore—not entirely. Not just Georgia, at least. I was becoming something more. Something the house needed me to be.

“I’m doing what I have to do,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I’m finding a way out.”

Elena’s eyes widened. “There is no way out. You know that. Carlisle—”

“Carlisle thinks he controls everything,” I interrupted, a surge of energy suddenly coursing through me. “He thinks he can bury his problems and forget about them. But the house remembers, Elena. The house always remembers.”

She backed away, nearly stumbling in her haste. “You’re scaring me.”

“Good,” I replied, turning back to the wall where I had been scratching. “You should be scared. We all should be.”

After she’d gone, I pressed my palm against the damp stone, feeling the faces shift beneath my touch. They were growing stronger too, more defined. They whispered to me at night, telling me stories of the others who had been trapped here, forgotten. This house had a long memory, and a longer appetite.

I closed my eyes, reaching out with my mind once more, searching for Adeline. Tonight would be different. Tonight, I would show her the truth.

And tomorrow, everything would change.