The Gala Preparations

Lily sat on the edge of the velvet stool, her spine a rigid line of forced obedience. The guest room in the smart-home was too quiet, the air conditioned to a sterile, breathless chill. Elena stood behind her, weaving Lily’s hair into a complex, tight braid that pulled at the skin of her temples.

"You need to look flawless tonight, Lily," Elena murmured, her voice a calm hum. "The board needs to see the success of our little internship. Stability is the only thing that matters."

Lily stared at her own reflection in the backlit vanity mirror. Her eyes looked strange to her—wider, but hollowed out, as if her personality had been scooped away with a silver spoon. Usually, by this time of the afternoon, a heavy, warm fog would settle over her brain, making the floor seem to tilt. But today, the fog had failed to arrive.

She had been groggy this morning and accidentally knocked her pill organizer behind the dresser. Fearing Elena’s disappointment, she hadn't said anything, assuming the skipped dose wouldn't matter.

It mattered.

The colors in the room were suddenly too sharp. The hum of the invisible air purifier was a roar. And for the first time in weeks, the memories of her mother weren't scary. They were vivid. She remembered the smell of the hoard—old paper and rain—and the way Sarah’s hands always moved frantically, not out of madness, but out of a desperate need to fix things.

"Hold still," Elena snapped, the sudden sharpness in her tone making Lily flinch.

"Sorry, Auntie," Lily whispered. Her own voice sounded foreign, reedy and small.

Elena’s fingers continued their work, but Lily’s gaze drifted to the bedroom door. It was a sleek, handle-less slab of white oak. She remembered her mother’s frantic, muffled voice from the hallway a few nights ago, screaming about poisoning. She had thought it was a hallucination then. Now, she wasn't so sure.

She noticed the red light on the door’s digital strike plate. It wasn't green. It was the same locked-red that the medicine safe in the kitchen displayed.

"Is the house still on lockdown because of Mom?" Lily asked, her heart beginning to thrum against her ribs.

Elena paused, the comb poised mid-air. She leaned in, her face appearing next to Lily’s in the mirror. Her smile didn't reach her eyes; it was just a mechanical arrangement of muscles, a perfect imitation of affection.

"Your mother is a very sick woman, Lily. She tried to break in here and hurt us. I’ve had to increase the security to keep you safe from her chaos."

Elena reached for a pearl-encrusted hairpin, her right hand passing close to Lily’s shoulder. The silk sleeve of her robe slid back, exposing the underside of her wrist.

Lily froze. There was a jagged, raised scar there. It looked like a bite mark, or a tear from a struggle. It was an old injury, deep and permanent, marring the doctor’s otherwise perfect skin.

The memory of Sarah’s words at the dinner table flashed back: *If she wasn’t in Italy, whose blood was the attorney paid to clean up?*

Lily felt a sudden, cold clarity. She reached out and touched the oak vanity, testing the weight of her own agency. She needed to see that door from the other side. She needed to know why the air in this house felt like a trap.

The scar on Elena's hand caught Lily's eye. 'Aunt Elena, why is my door locking from the outside?'