CHAPTER I

The sunlight crept faintly across the marble tiles, casting long shadows that felt unfamiliar in their stillness. I wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just staring. The woman in the painting looked like me. Or maybe I looked like her. Or maybe we just looked like each other. I’m not at all sure. 

“Oh, Mireille! What are you doing here so early in the morning?” I glanced away from the towering painting to see Mother— still in her nightgown. Her hair was a little messy, which meant she hadn’t had tea yet. I turned back to the mural of the woman who shared my face. I heard footsteps coming closer, but I kept my eyes on her, trying to tell if she was an ancestor or someone they just made up. Sometimes I think the paintings are more real than the people. Maybe she’s from a story. Maybe she’s me, someday.

“You really do look like her, don’t you, my dear? You even share the same name—‘Mireille Ilona.’ It was such a great idea proposed by Aunt Violet. I should thank her again the next time I see her.” Mother squealed a little and placed her warm hands on my shoulders. Mireille Ilona. I share her name and her face. What kind of person was she, really? She died a long time ago—but the family still throws a whole thing for her every year, like she’ll come back and be upset if they don’t. I don’t know if I really believe that. But I guess it’s better not to ask questions. I looked down. The cold marble floor reflected the pale morning light as it shyly crept across the ground.

Mother seemed to have noticed that I wasn't paying attention to any of her mindless rambling and sighed, pulling back her hands— the warmth of her fingertips still lingering. “It's daybreak already, Mireille. Let's go have breakfast, yes? And please, talk more at the table this time. Your relatives seem to think you are turning mute, you know?” I looked back up at her, nodding along. Silently mumbling a simple ‘Yes mother’ to reassure her that I was, in fact, not turning mute. I followed her towards the dining hall, the table already settled in with our meals and dripping candle wax. Seated at the very end of the table was grandmother, already having a taste of the different wine bottles in front of her. “Mireille, my God!” Someone exclaimed from behind me. Mother and I turned around to the source of the horrendously loud noise to see Aunt Violet and her husband gasping wildly as they made eye contact with me. “My dear Mireille! Your hair has a slight—!” She paused. As if hesitating if she should point it out or not. “—wave.” She said softly, almost like a child whispering a secret they shouldn't have told anyone. “It's really nothing, of course my dear, but you should really take care of your hair.” She laughed awkwardly. The man beside her also let out a strained breathy ‘giggle’ to compensate for my lack of reaction. I see their glances. Their obsessive nature of always looking at her. I fidgeted with a strand of my long hair, twisting it and rubbing it with my fingers. My hair is supposed to be straight— at least hers was. They said I looked just like her. They smoothened it out— brushing it with heat, pressing it down forcefully until it seemingly stopped barking back. But now, I quite like my pin-straight hair. It gives a little more personality, I suppose. 

But there was always a strand of my soft black hair that defied the overwhelmingly persistent demands— always turning back to a determined curl, as if it remembered that I wasn't her— I was Mireille Ilona, daughter of Valerie and Ansel Ilona. Not Mireille Ilona of the dead. I glanced back at the portrait of Mireille looming behind the dining hall, my heart feeling a slight discomfort as her silver sea glass eyes pierced back at mine— seemingly filled with a glint of life for a moment. She sat there, with her wiry straight hair and that pale face. With that annoying all-white dress that made her look like a haunted porcelain doll. I squinted my eyes— feeling a wave of cringe wash over me as I looked at her face with disdain.

“Enough already.” A gruff voice echoed through the dim dining hall. “Sit down, children.” Grandmother commanded. I strolled towards my seat beside my mother and waited for grandmother to start breakfast. “Mireille.” She called out. I jerked my head towards her, locking eyes together. “You truly are as beautiful as always. Stay healthy and eat lots, my child.” I nodded lazily and laid back my eyes towards the empty ceramic plate on the neat-white table cloth. Grandmother then started to cut her way into her steak. I looked back at my empty plate, my mother slowly piling it with a chicken breast, potatoes, and slices of wheat bread. I stared blankly at my mother, my eyes widening and amused— but not denying the meal settled in front of me. I took a hold of my cutlery, starting on the soft and fleshy chicken. At least, I am fed. I thought to myself. I smiled to myself— slowly chewing and ignoring the bland taste I so frequently ate. “When will Ansel be back, Val?” My grandmother asked, not leaving her gaze as she pierced through her steak. My mother covered her mouth as she continued to chew down her food, “He wrote to me last night that he would be arriving back in Burgundy by sun-down.” She said as she swallowed down the rest of her food. My grandmother hummed, still not wanting to lift her gaze away from her plate. I continued to chew quietly, not wanting to draw anymore attention to myself any further while peacefully enjoying my meal.

Breakfast ended peacefully, I should thank the Lord, I thought to myself as I walked back to my chambers. There are no maids in the manor, yet it always stays extravagantly clean and sterile. I was told that a ‘cleaning ghost’ comes and wipes down the whole manor at midnight when everyone shuts their lights, I didn’t think it was true until Father told me the same story and claimed that he, himself, have seen the ‘cleaning spirit’.

 “Mireille! There you are!” I snapped back from my thoughts and lifted my head from the marble floors. “Sister Andraea. What do you need from me?” Andraea shouldn’t be at the manor right now? I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms and analyzing her clothing.

She still wore her uniform, even had her saddle brown hair neatly tied up into a bun. “I ran away from the dormitory a few days ago, mother told me to come back but told me to run on foot. And I really, really, really need your help.” She says as she grabs my hands, her pleading blue eyes locking onto mine.

I sighed— good Lord above, why do I have to cross paths with her out of everyone right now? “You will help me right, Mireille? Right? Right? I mean, we are family, right?” Her annoyingly pitched voice pleaded, tightening her grip on my hands. “What do you need, sister Andraea? I believe you could’ve asked brother Sebastian instead.” I questioned. I knew that Andraea and Sebastian didn’t really get along, I guess or whatever— Aunt Violet ended up having to send both of them to boarding schools in two different towns, but I think that’s just how they were back then. They fought a lot, or maybe they just talk loud. 

 “Oh Mireille, you might just be the only one that can do this though…” She huffed, her lips curving into a frown as she looked back up at me. Still with those god-awful pleading eyes. “Fine. What do you need?” Her face lit up as she looked around to make sure no one was probably camouflaging as one of the furniture, and closed in the distance between the us. “So, you know how Winnie isn’t part of us, right? You’re very knowledgeable about, you know, considering you learned great-great-great Aunt Mireille’s ‘techniques’, you should know about that, right?” She started, “I need you to— ehm, ‘break him down from the inside out’. You should understand what it is by now, right Mireille?” She said as she pulled back. It wasn’t like her regular favors but it isn’t really odd considering Andraea always asked me to do the most odd things. Though I guess, I was kind of surprised. I mean… Winnie? Andraea probably meant Winston. But like, why would she want him to be ‘wiped’? I hear that they fight and all but they are still siblings in one way or another. Or maybe it really isn’t my place to ask. I don’t know.

As if reading my mind, Andraea spoke— “You know how Winnie is, right? I pity Winnie after all he’s been through, even though he really isn’t one of us. I think it would be better if Winnie had just— you know, be buried underground instead.” I don’t think the word ‘shocked’ is the correct word— neither does ‘confusion’ nor ‘surprised’, either way— it didn’t really feel very dramatic at the time. I mean— the two siblings do fight a lot, but from what I heard— Winston looks up to Andraea, even when she was being a little bully. 

But Andraea seems serious right now. And she was asking me for help, so…..  No more thinking Mireille. Either say no or—

“Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Really?! Oh my God!! Thank you so, so much Mireille! I will definitely pay you back tenfold!” Andraea shrieked, pulling me into one of her hugs that left me feeling suffocated and out of breath. Then she sort of waved goodbye and left. I was left alone in the empty white hallway, feeling a burden slowly weighing down on me as I reminded myself that I had to do Andraea’s favor. I should return back to my room— whatever Andraea’s intentions are, they don’t really concern me in any way. She alway says weird things either way, is it the effect of being sent to a boarding school? 

I hugged the thin shawl rested on my shoulders and headed down the cold hallway quickly, not thinking any more of what Andraea’s intentions are. I walked straight through the cold echoing corridor, as if something was waiting for me at the end of the hallway. There wasn’t really anything, though. It was just a room, but it’s mine. 

I closed the ivory doors and sighed, slowly lowering my body and leaning on the door. Inside, the air was a bit warmer— barely. The manor had always seemed to hold onto a chill, no matter how many fireplaces were lit. I glanced towards the crackling flame near the wall, its ember slowly dying. My desk was cluttered with papers and stained ink— some about notes on medicine and unopened letters. There was also a bulletin board with little scraps of paper regarding past favors I did for either Andraea or Uncle Ethan. I walked up towards my desk, scribbling on another blank piece of paper before pinning it up on the board with its other family. 

‘Favor 198, Andraea Melanie Ilona. Regarding Winston. Materials needed: Foxglove, lead, mercury (ask Grandmother), —‘

That should do it. I thought as I started to search through the many hand-written books stacked neatly on the shelves nearby. I caressed my hands as I reached for a book titled ‘Journal of Medicine and Others’. I pulled it out of the shelves and flipped through the pages written in cursive until I stopped at a familiar segment in the book— Medicine and Makeup [Slow-effect, deadly].               ‘During my era, lead and mercury were extremely popular among young women and even children, as both were commonly used in makeup and paint. Mercury, in particular, was prized for its supposed beautifying effects and found its way into skin whiteners, face powders, and treatments for facial imperfections. However, its toxicity was profound—once absorbed through the skin and into the bloodstream, mercury would bind to sulfur-containing enzymes and proteins in the body, disrupting the central nervous system. This interference damaged the cerebellum, affecting movement and coordination, and impaired brain functions that controlled memory and perception, often leading to memory loss and hallucinations. Mercury also accumulated in specific regions of the brain responsible for visual and auditory processing, resulting in vision and speech problems. In addition to neurological damage, mercury exposure could affect the kidneys and cause severe mental disturbances.

Lead, on the other hand, mimics calcium and interferes with the neurotransmitter release. Lead prevents proper development of the human body and the functioning of neurons by blocking the calcium signaling. By interfering blood cell production, the transport of oxygen is significantly reduced. Chronic exposure (especially affects children’s brain development) leads to learning and even behavioral issues. Lead also affects the kidneys, causing long term damage. Friends of mine had followed the trend of using lead and mercury makeup, those who did lead makeup (white lead face paint, also known as Venetian Ceruse) had used it to cover up scars or blemishes. This made their faces look extremely pale and ‘moonlight’ skinned that was the trend at the time. They eventually lead to hair loss (thinning of eyebrows, too), loose teeth and jawbone decay, muscle paralysis (specifically in the hands), seizures, coma and even fatality. If you, who are reading this, are intentionally making lead or mercury based ingredients for whatever purpose, I suggest also using foxglove flowers and apple seeds which can lead to seizures, coma and death— a slow release of it causes dizziness, weakness, shortness of breath, and the failure of organs.                                                        Others to consider: Belladonna (Hallucination, increasing heart rate, possibility for a coma, and delirium), Autumn Crocus (Multi organ failure, vomiting, loose bowels, disrupted immune response), Wolfsbane/Monkshood (Tingling or numbness, irregular or slow heartbeats, paralysis and/or death).’ 

How informative. I thought. I settled the book down on my desk and started listing the items I needed; Belladonna flowers, Wolfsbane, lead, and (possibly) Autumn Crocus. I jotted them down on a small piece of paper and inserted it into a small, crisp, empty letter. I then heated some silver seaglass wax and stamped the letter shut before sending it off towards a conveniently resting messenger bird. I fed it into its mouth after some struggle and sent it off to the winds, praying that it meets the receiver in time. I glanced to a ticking grandfather clock, its hands pointing at the time— 06:49. I should bathe and rest, there is nothing left for me to do. I concluded while walking towards the entrance of my toilet chambers— my eyes squinting as they were suddenly harassed by the blinding sunlight through the stained-glass panels. How convenient, the water is thankfully in the right temperature. I say as I dipped my fingertips into the warm bath, slowly lifting back my hand to undress myself before entering.

Although it did seem like I didn’t do anything while I bathed, I managed to take quite the time for the messenger bird to almost break through my glass window. I yanked the letter from the winged creature and shut the window door. I read through the letter and nodded in satisfaction. The transaction between me, Mireille Ilona, the buyer and the provider. Though, how did that bird know of the manors location? It isn’t the same bird because of the color of its feathers on its back... Oh well, it might just be a coincidence. I shouldn’t worry about minor things.