Ascendancy - Book I of the 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

VIII. 2nd December 1931 - the death

Black Manor, Wiltshire

The bedroom door opened to reveal a harried-looking maid. With arms laden with sheets, she creaked purposefully on the old wooden floor, then laid the linen on an armchair. The morning light was streaming feverishly through the thick curtains. The woman drew them aside with a single blow, causing a shower of dust to fall. She grumbled something, adding new things to her list. Dusting her mistress's room, fixing the office door, even though no one had been there for years... Oh yes, getting rid of all those moths that were destroying the fabrics. They were a real problem, those moths. She even thought of sending an owl to Sirius, one of her mistress's nephews who was taking care of this Manor the most.

"Madam! It's time to get up!"

Her mistress was old now, so it was important that she had a routine. The maid helped her with her activities, even though Elladora Black was still energetic enough to do things on her own. Sirius had employed her for the purpose of keeping him company, as the older woman had no children.

"Madam, come on!"

Nothing moved in the antique four-poster bed. The maid smiled mischievously. Her mistress sometimes pretended to be asleep so that she wouldn't have to get up, but by now she had figured out her trick. The girl drew aside all the curtains. Daylight flooded the room. The mass under the sheets still hadn't moved.

"Mrs. Elladora?"

It was strange, though. The mistress always ended up making a sound so that she knew she was awake. This morning, nothing. The night before, they had gone to bed early.

"Elladora!"

The maid walked around the bed and towards the old woman. Still nothing. Complete stillness. An icy silence covered the covers. The girl became worried. She took a few steps forward, short of breath. Nevertheless, it didn't take her long to understand.

The old woman's face was frozen. Her white skin made her look like a sceptre. It looked as if she was sleeping, if only her chest had moved.

The maid screamed.

Elladora Black would never wake up again.

***

The women wore black veils, and the men wore completely dark suits. The coffin in front of them was ready to enter the ancient Black tomb. Three ravens were carved into the wood, around two symmetric greyhounds. Dark red roses protruded slightly from the interior, where they had laid the body. A respectful silence dominated the crowd. Cassiopeia stood behind her father, her mind haunted by the old woman's dead face. One by one they had passed her remains, but she would have preferred to recant as Dorea had done. In his closed eyes she had seen the tragedy itself, the Unfortunate One coming and laughing at her. She had stood her ground and faced that terrifying image, but inwardly it had chilled her. The more she thought about it, the more the idea of dying terrified her.

Once, Elladora Black had been powerful, more powerful than any woman in this family. She had managed to raise their honour when they were losing their privileges. Even if she had not been able to maintain the position after the death of her brother, Phineas Nigellus, she was one of the strongest figures in the House of Black. Yes, Elladora had once been something else... and now her body had sunk into the coldness of death itself. What would become of her? Dust. Her memory would be lost, only a name on a tapestry and a tombstone.

Living to end like this? What was the point of it all?

She buried her hand in Pollux's as their father stepped forward to deliver the speech. His words were cold, his words contained no emotion; it was as if he had never met this woman, and that her death did not touch him. After all, she was his aunt. If Lysandra died one day, it would probably affect her. She frowned at her reflection. No, in fact Lysandra was not a good example.