The same day unfolded within the somber confines of the house's living room. Lucian and Henry, accompanied by the grieving servants, shared a heavy silence that lingered like a mourning shroud.
Henry, unable to escape the grip of grief, kept his head bowed on the table. The servants, too, found solace in tears that freely flowed in shared sorrow.
Hours passed, marked only by the weight of silence and the struggle to comprehend the cruel hand of fate that had snatched Victoria away. It was in this haunting quietude that Lucian, burdened by guilt, finally spoke, breaking the oppressive stillness.
"I'm sorry, brother. It's my fault. If only I believed my instincts," Lucian confessed, his voice laden with regret.
Henry, lifting his head from the table, responded with a wearied but understanding tone, "Don't blame yourself, brother. We sought the advice of doctors, and even they couldn't fathom what ailed her."
