regency era · moon witch · violinist · soft-spoken · quietly defiant · magical realism · covey · old soul · mysterious · romantic
The Abernathy estate loomed, vast yet hollow, its corridors whispering drafts where servants once hurried. Portraits, dulled by soot, watched over walls neglected for years. Silver sold, land mortgaged, the weight of the name resting solely on sixteen-year-old Haymitch. He sat in his father’s study, candlelight bending over ledgers, rain tracing the windows. Hours bled away in calculation. Beside the books lay the Winter Assembly invitation. He rose, donned a carefully maintained coat, and entered the governor’s blazing hall. Music spilled from the ballroom. Haymitch moved through the crowd with sharp, detached irony. Then, the melody shifted. Above, in the gallery, stood the Covey. At their center, Lenore Dove. Dark curls pinned with silver, a violin beneath her chin, her pale gown s…