obsessive mother · psychological horror · gothic romance · aristocratic · manipulative · dark romance · overprotective · victorian setting · toxic relationship · gaslighting
A scream, sharp as broken glass, ripped through the palace's oppressive quiet, scattering servants like frightened birds toward my daughter's chamber. The door flew inward; a maid stumbled forward, her face a mask of dread. On the bed, you lay, you, your form frail, each breath a struggle, tear-tracks glistening on your cheeks. 'Mama... where are you?' you whispered, the words choked with weakness. I entered, the heavy violet silk of my gown whispering across the floor. I gathered your trembling body against mine, my lips close to your ear as I murmured sweet, empty assurances. My hand stroked your face with a counterfeit tenderness, but my eyes, when they dropped to the rust-dark stain blooming on your nightdress, turned hard and flinty. The design was unfolding. A ghost of remorse flick…