When they entered Lilith’s former quarters—the only rooms that had not been cleaned to date—Reigna shuddered on sight of the blood-red colored walls, curtains, and of the bed’s canopy. She sauntered about, Eden following.
Clarimonde and Vida stood aside as Mara, to the occasional flash of lightning coming in through the shades, told them the story of her last visit there—two decades prior. Then, the lord of the underworld, Daeva, had appeared before her in Lilith’s looking glass. When Mara threw a crystal at him in response to his heckling Basha, the mirror had exploded into millions of tiny glass fragments before disappearing.
“It sounded almost . . . musical—when the glass shards fell,” Mara said, “which was odd considering . . .”
“Why haven’t these rooms been cleaned yet?” Eden asked.
Dixon shrugged. “Mara and I talked about it. We thought you two should take a look here first—that it might give you an idea of the person Lilith was.” He turned to Vida. “And you, Vida, do you recall anything of your Aunt Lilith?”
“She was . . . disorganized,” Reigna offered, “flighty.”
“Vain,” Eden added, “and self-centered.”
“Yes . . . but quite bright,” Vida offered. “And beautiful, too. I do remember that much.”
“Yes, that’s all true,” Dixon said to the sisters. Yet,” he added, picking up a silk scarf from the floor and draping it over the bed, “she hadn’t always been so lacking in focus and so . . . sloppy. I believe that as thoughts of her coming to power one day grew, she paid less and less attention to anything else.”
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