Under Black Wings

Chapter 1 The House at the Edge

The house stood apart, as if people had forgotten it years ago.

This ruin's state was its worst feature. If it had collapsed, stripped of whatever remained of its former life, Morgana might have dismissed it as another dead thing. Ruins were honest. This house was not. It still stood behind the fence, silent and intact, with the patience of something that had waited too long.

The car stopped in front of the narrow path leading to the porch. Rain clung to the windshield in a thin, stubborn mist. Unkempt growth towered beyond the fence, with two stark trees flanking the house, resembling guards losing faith in their duty.

Morgana stared at the building without a word. From the outside, it looked like a cheap imitation of former elegance: tall windows, dark frames, an old structure that must once have seemed dignified. Now it only looked foreign.

Is this what we're looking for? she asked.

Apolonia sat beside her, motionless, one hand resting on her black leather handbag. The journey had left no visible mark on her. She wore a black coat, a dark turtleneck, and a wide-brimmed hat that made her look untouchable even in silence. On her, black was not mourning. It was armor.

"Yes," she said.

Morgana kept her eyes on the house. Nobody has resided here for a very long time, by the looks of it.

"No one has."

"Was that supposed to reassure me?"

Apolonia arched a brow. "It was supposed to prepare you."

Morgana's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. Lately, that had become the answer to everything. Get used to it. Adapting to the silence after her father's vanishing, to the changed expressions of people who used to respect her and now averted their eyes, and to selling heirlooms became her new reality. To moving. To poverty. It started in a way that felt more like another fall than a new beginning.

After getting out, the driver opened the trunk. Apolonia followed a moment later, unhurried and unwavering, as though she had arrived at a house she had chosen for herself, not one necessity had forced upon her.

Morgana stepped out after her. Cold settled under her coat before she reached the path. Damp air clung to her skin, carrying the smell of wet earth, old wood, and something stale, as though the building itself had forgotten how to breathe.

Apolonia stopped in front of the entrance and studied the house.

Morgana glanced at her mother's profile. Her pale hair was pinned neatly despite the journey, her lips dark, her face unreadable. Even if the world took everything from Apolonia Raven - her comfort, her standing, her wealth - she would remain unfazed, as if misfortune were reserved for others.

Morgana adjusted the strap on her shoulder and looked away first.

"It's dreadful," she said.

A faint smile touched Apolonia's lips. "It is inexpensive."

"That doesn't sound better."

"When you can no longer be offended by practicality, it's no longer an issue."

When they stepped inside, the floor let out a long creak, a mournful groan that seemed to echo the house's profound sorrow.

It was a small, unusually dark entryway. The sitting room lay beyond, and a small kitchen was situated at the back. To the right, a narrow hallway led to two bedrooms and a bathroom between them. Everything was modest, meager, and strangely empty. It wasn't just financially bad, more like a house that had grander plans until it was let go.