The manor stood like a monolithic tomb amidst the weeping willows and gray mist of the estate. Inside, the air tasted of beeswax, old parchment, and a lingering, cloying scent of lilies that smelled more of funerals than gardens. For Siya, the house had become her entire universe, a labyrinth of polished mahogany and velvet shadows where the only sun that mattered was the approval of Theo.

The days following her arrival had morphed into a slow, methodical exercise in grooming. Theo did not rush. He possessed the patience of a spider, weaving a web of dependence and desire around the girl with a terrifying, calculated kindness. He treated her like a prized orchid, providing her with honey-flavored sweets, intricate porcelain dolls, and soft ribbons, but these rewards were always contingent. The moment Siya showed a flicker of hesitation, a question of "why," or a longing for the world outside the iron gates, the warmth vanished. Theo would turn cold, his voice becoming a distant, icy gale, and he would remind her of her mother’s fragile state and how her "disobedience" would be a crushing weight upon her mother's heart.