Wilfred pulled her behind him immediately, one hand raised to point at me, his eyes full of undisguised disgust.
“Take a good look at her. Now look at yourself.”
“How has Judith ever wronged you? For three years she's given way to you at every turn, and you still won't stop?”
The guests piled on without missing a beat.
“Mr. Sanchez has the patience of a saint, keeping a woman like that around this long.”
“What do you expect? Village-bred, village-hearted. Vicious through and through.”
“I heard she keeps insects at home. Disgusting. Miss Henson deserves a medal for putting up with it.”
I stood there, the cold creeping into my fingertips inch by inch.
Sister Maureen never mentioned any of this in her letters.
All she ever wrote was— *Wallis, it's getting cold out. Bundle up. And stop running into the mountains barefoot.*
*Wallis, no more killing. Stop piling up that kind of karmic debt. You need to leave yourself some mercy for the road ahead.*
My ears twitched, picking up two servers whispering in the service corridor.
“Hey, did you see her? That's the lawful wife right there.”
“I saw. God, it's awful. I heard last winter they ripped her hair out by the fistful, nearly tore the scalp right off.”
“Didn't she bring it on herself? The housekeeper said she stole Miss Henson's necklace and tried to hex her.”
“Stole nothing. A friend of mine works at the Sanchez estate. Said the necklace turned up in Miss Henson's own makeup case. They just pinned it on the wife anyway……”
The other one shushed him fast.
“Shut up. You want to get fired? Last time one of the housemaids said one fair word for her, she was out the next morning.”
My eyelid twitched.
Hair ripped out.
The necklace.
A maid dismissed.
None of this was in the letters my sister sent me.
Wilfred saw I wasn't speaking and took my silence for fear. His tone only hardened.
“Apologize to Judith. Now.”
“And get that coffin out of here. You're contaminating the venue.”
He paused, then added under his breath, like he was granting charity.
“For the sake of having been married, I'll pretend today never happened.”
For the sake of having been married.
I stared at him. I genuinely wanted to know how he said those words with a clean conscience.
That was when the lifebound hex tucked inside my sleeve burned faintly hot.
Residual hex-trace from my sister, reacting on instinct.
I followed that faint pull and looked toward the bridal suite on the second floor.
The door was half-open.
Through the gap, a young maid was being dragged inside by her hair, sobbing and begging：
“It really wasn't me who let Maureen out of the basement! I did everything you told me! I never once brought her food or water. I don't know how she got out!”
Then Judith's assistant laughed, cold and sharp：
“Then how the hell did she get from the basement to this wedding? You tell me that.”
“Miss Henson told you to starve her to death!”
The crying upstairs cut off. All that was left was a single dull crack—like a palm knocking someone flat to the floor.
The maid was innocent.
My sister had not survived that basement.
All that came back to the Blackthorn Highlands was a corpse, carried home by a kindhearted undertaker.
I stood downstairs, every inch of me drawing tighter with each breath.
Wilfred didn't notice. He was busy straightening Judith's veil, his voice clipped with impatience.
“Maureen.”
“I'll say it one last time. Apologize.”
I raised my eyes, slow, and fixed them on Judith standing behind him.
She looked back at me over Wilfred's shoulder, and for one unguarded instant the triumph in her eyes slipped loose before she could reel it back in—quick as a snake's tongue, there and gone.
And then I understood why my sister had refused, even on her deathbed, to let me come.
Not because she was afraid I'd suffer.
Because she was afraid that once I saw all of this, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from turning this wedding into a real wake.
