Over the next few days, Ivy tried to distance herself from Aurora, but Aurora's presence was suffocating. Every time she turned a corner, Aurora was there—at the art studio, at her apartment, even waiting outside her classes.
"You don't understand," Aurora would say, her voice trembling with emotion. "I need you, Ivy. You're the only thing keeping me sane."
Ivy's resolve wavered. Despite the fear, she couldn't deny the pull Aurora had on her. Every touch, every lingering glance, stirred something deep inside her.
But the cracks were widening. Ivy started hearing whispers from the Elric family's staff. Hushed voices spoke of Aurora's past obsessions, of friends who had disappeared without a trace. Vivienne's sharp eyes followed Ivy wherever she went, and Leo's disarming smiles felt more like warnings.
One night, unable to sleep, Ivy found herself wandering the halls of Verdant Manor. She ended up in the attic, drawn by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a small window.
The painting was there.
It was the same one she had seen before, but now, in the pale light, the details came alive. The woman in the painting wasn't a stranger after all. It was Aurora, but older, her face gaunt and hollow, her eyes filled with despair.
A voice behind her made her jump.
"She painted that after the accident."
Ivy spun around to see Leo leaning against the doorway, his usual smirk replaced by a somber expression.
"What accident?" Ivy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Leo hesitated, then stepped closer. "Aurora's last… friend. They were inseparable, just like you two. But then things got… complicated." He paused, his gaze meeting Ivy's. "Be careful, Ivy. Aurora's love can be… consuming."