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    “Ophelia, my dear.” Edgar’s tired eyes looked at the door, noticing my presence passing through the gap on the wood. Almost reactively, but at his own pace, the Duke rose from his chair. “I heard from Mace what happened... how are you feeling now?”


    “I am grateful for your concern. As it stands, I am quite alright.” My answer was overwhelmingly polite, as if growing attached to this man was but a treacherous crime.


    The moment he was close enough, Edgar’s arms stretched and wrapped themselves around my body, sinking my face into the cinnamon cologne stamped all over his dark brown shirt. “I wanted to visit you, but there was so much to be done... yet nightmares haunted my mind every night, warning me that you would soon leave us. Truly, I am so relieved to see you are alright.”


    It is a curious thing, trust that is. How some mere words are able to start wars that could last for centuries to come or heal hearts that were far too broken to be mended. And yet, my soul found some serenity in his arms, feeling the warmth of what should’ve always belonged to me - of a father’s love, a father’s care, a father’s affection.


    “Please forgive my selfishness, it is but a dying man’s wish.” Guiding me to the couch on the end of his study room, Edgar’s hands urged me to sit, knowing full well my body still had some remnants of poison left within. He appeared slightly troubled, probably preoccupied from having crossed a boundary not many fathers-in-law used to. “Have you talked to your sister?”


    “Not yet... but to be fair, I don’t intend to.”


    Before, these words would’ve left a bitter taste in my mouth, knowing full well that this action would be something I’d come to regret later on; however, after cutting ties with the Criswell’s not even a sorrowful or regretful thought remained. It was as if a tide had washed away the presence of those creatures, taking them to a place where only the pitiful souls could reach.


    And, even without telling him upright, Edgar knew of the thoughts roaming through my mind. He was aware of the treatment they’d subjected me to in that house, how my status was overlooked, my presence neglected, my soul standing lower than a pig’s - unable to be treated as an individual. Yes, Terrel may be a completely fucked up man, with fucked up tendencies and fetiches but that didn’t mean the rest of his family shared the same values. After all, it would take a fool not to capture the intense love the Duke held towards me, as if his blood actually pumped through my veins.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    “The late Duchess and I always wanted a daughter, you know... but alas, God wasn’t benevolent enough to grant us one. She died after little Ralph’s birth...” As the words rolled through his tongue, slipping in my ears, certain cracks of pain voyaged alongside it, displaying a bit of his shattered soul just for me to see. “I couldn’t bear getting married again but our desire never grew weak. When I met you for the first time, you were seven if my memory doesn’t deceive me; my heart was taken. All I could think was how Lydia would’ve loved you.”


    Edgar Wharton was the beginning of my tragedy: a man whose dream went past the desire of revising his dead wife, the eager desire of having what they never managed to, a daughter. And being the ever so cautious man, Duke Criswell was the first noble to supply with such a feasible and easy solution - all he had to do was to set the board, each piece playing its very important part in the eyes of the fool. Yet, even knowing he’d been my demise, my heart couldn’t bear to curse the dreams of a broken soul, as we were one and the same.


    “I can still remember everything so clearly, dear... the brown dress you wore, the autumn leaves that fell on your hair... I remember it all.” His hand passed through my raven strands, as such allowed him to reminisce about the past, from what he hoped his mind could never forget. “But I also remember the way you were treated. The way those maids looked at you, how your dress was used and with holes at the edge of your sleeves... I’d never thought them capable of trying to go through with such a horrid thing... if I knew I’d... Will you ever be able to forgive this old fool?”


    “Father, please don’t blame yourself. You are not the culprit behind the darkness in their hearts.” My fingers intertwined onto his patting wrinkled hands softly. “I may not have your blood, but you are more of a father to me than that man ever was.”


    Frail, unsure tears escaped from the corner of his eyes, trembling all the way down, until meeting at the base of his chin, slowly dripping onto his dark collar. “Whatever you might need, my dear Ophelia, please tell me. Allow me the honor to help you with anything you might need.”


    “Thank you, Father.” Noticing his messy gray hair was falling forward, my remaining fingers passed through, revealing his chocolate brown eyes gazing into mine attentively. Somehow, my words seemed to have relieved some guilt lingering in his soul, clouding his mind.


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