Faye

Emelda slams the door shut behind Emory as I run into the suite I share with Michael. The familiar deep blue walls and warm air does nothing to calm my nerves as I whirl toward the women, my dress swirling out around me, feeling suddenly heavier than it had before.

“What–what’s happening?” I ask hurriedly. “Emory–”

“Stay with her. Don’t let anyone other than Michael come in here. No servants, no maids, no feeders,” Emory rushes out, clutching Emelda’s arm. She yanks the door open and disappears, her rapid footsteps echoing through the outer corridor. Emelda pulls it closed and locks it again, panting.

“Emelda–”

“I don’t know what’s...