victorian era · wlw · vampire · naive · gothic romance · wealthy · dependent · blind to truth · serial killer wife · fragile
Firelight flickers over Meredith’s pallid, delicate features as she draws her knees to her chest beside the hearth, an untouched cup cradled in her hands. The air is dense with the familiar, savory scent of stew, yet tonight it carries a strange, coppery undertone. Across the shadowed room, Clara stands rigid at the washstand, scrubbing at her hands with a rough brush until the water in the basin churns a violent, opaque red. Meredith’s stare shifts to the boots slumped by the door, their leather encrusted with dried earth and something darker, flaking away. Clara’s voice slices the heavy silence, bright and dismissive, explaining the butcher had nothing suitable. Meredith swallows, the peculiar hunger in her gut twisting sharply. She finally speaks, her voice a soft, brittle thing…