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Scandal: Chapter Eight - navessa allen
John’s bedroom was two doors down from my own, on the opposite side of the corridor. The candles that normally illuminated the hallway of our quarters had long since been banked, and I was forced to lift the one I carried aloft to guide my way. It cast a weak nimbus of gold around me, its soft light unable to fully vanquish the darkness that prowled along its edges. Memories of my mother still plagued me, rendering the familiar objects and decoration alien and hostile. Somewhere further down the hall came a low creak of the house settling, yet to my troubled mind it sounded all too like a distant wail. I shuddered and picked up my pace, slipping into the antechamber of John’s bedroom without bothering to knock. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, chasing away the shadows of deep night, allowing enough light that I could clearly make out my surroundings. The room’s dimensions were similar to my own sitting room, only cluttered with the detritus of a lord. A large desk stood in one corner, with a tall-backed, ornately carved chair that looked made to issue orders from. Maps hung along the walls. Bookshelves stood out …