The blue eyes, that same cerulean shade as in a portrait of Anna deGranville that Constance had once stumbled over in the attic of the villa. ‘Now ...ou know,’ she whispered, lips curved in a cold smile. ‘But if you breathe even a word of it to our father, I’ll have him shot dead without a second thought. Do you believe me?’ ‘Yes,’ Constance said tremulously. ‘Then our brother, rapacious lecher that he is. And then, while their life’s blood pours out onto the stones, I’ll draw my dagger and cut. Polite thanks, a few more words are exchanged, and a good bye with a promise of a tomorrow. The night now is disturbed as the dream returns to haunt her, to awake in her something which felt almost inhuman. The days, as mundane as ever, go by. It is a Sunday, the window is open, and the curtain barely sways in the early breeze of spring. Faith sits quietly reading and is startled by his voice coming through the open window. "Hey, cutie!" The goofiest, sexiest grin she has ever seen peeks in.. More

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