Victoria was dragged into the Sterling courtyard in chains.

When she saw the open grave—my open grave—all pretense evaporated.

"It wasn't my idea! Father made me! He said if Alexander found out about the prophecy, he'd kill us all!"

"So you killed your sister instead," Alexander said.

"She was going to die anyway! The seer said she'd bring ruin—"

"The seer said one twin would bring ruin. Your father chose which one. And you spent two years learning her voice, her walk, her mannerisms—to steal her life."

"My Lord, I can be a good wife. Better than she ever was. I can learn the cakes, the fish, the perfume—"

"You can learn what she did. You will never learn what she was."

Alexander turned to the magistrate. "The charges: murder, conspiracy, identity fraud. Lord Sterling as accomplice."

My father fell to his knees. "She was the cursed one! I saved this family—"

"You buried your daughter alive. Slowly. Over two weeks. Your servants heard her screaming."

The courtyard went silent.

My mother stepped forward. She looked at my father. At Victoria. At the grave.

Then she walked to the pear tree, knelt on the earth where my body had been, and began to weep. Not the polished tears of a noblewoman. The animal sounds of a mother who had failed the most fundamental promise of motherhood.

I drifted down beside her. Placed my ghostly hand on her shoulder.

She shivered. Looked up. For one impossible moment, her eyes found mine.

"Amelia," she whispered.

Then I was gone. The pear blossoms fell like snow.