Chapter 1: The Maid’s Betrayal and Death

I’m the personal maid to the governor’s daughter, Savannah Langley. I saw her torture and kill the mayor’s wife, then watched as she had the poor woman skinned—her body left to rot in the woods outside Maple Heights. The memory still claws at me: the way Savannah’s eyes glinted cold, the little tune she hummed as she worked, like it was just another summer chore. God, it still makes my skin crawl. The woods behind the estate always had a hush to them, but that night, it was different. It felt like even the trees were holding their breath, afraid to make a sound.

The mayor showed up, eyes red and swollen from crying, and begged me—really begged—to let him collect his wife’s remains. He showed up at my door, voice cracking, hands shaking so bad he could barely keep hold of his hat. God, I’d never seen a man come apart like that—his grief pressed down on the room, heavy as a lead blanket, making it hard to breathe. I knew I shouldn’t have, but my conscience wouldn’t let me say no, so I told him where he could find her. My voice was barely more than a whisper, but he clung to my words like a drowning man grabbing driftwood. I hated myself for it, but I told him anyway. I couldn’t leave her out there, not like that. I never dreamed he’d turn right around and sell me out to Savannah—just like that.

“Such disloyalty in a servant, Miss Langley. Why not just have her beaten to death?” His words rang in my ears, cold and sharp as a slap. I realized too late: kindness in this house would get you killed.

Savannah was furious and ordered a hundred lashes. She didn’t even look at me when she gave the order. Her voice was smooth and bored, like she was just picking out a dress for the day. The other servants turned away, pretending they didn’t hear. No one dared say a word for me.

My bones shattered. Skin torn and bloody. I died from the beating. I remember the bite of the whip. The taste of blood in my mouth. The world spun away, everything going black. My last thought was of my grandmother, and the promise I’d made to come home.

After I died, my soul drifted back to my hometown. The streets were just as I remembered—white clapboard houses, the smell of cut grass, the faint sound of kids playing stickball in the alley. For a moment, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could rest here. I should’ve known better. Peace was as far away as ever.

But even there, I found no peace. My own Grandma Edna had been hunted down and drowned, like someone wanted to rip out the roots. They said it was an accident, but I knew better. Folks in town whispered, but no one dared breathe Savannah’s name. My grandma’s house was boarded up, the garden wild and overgrown. It was like she’d never existed.

I saw her broken body, swollen and battered, and rage and hatred boiled up inside me. She’d always been so proud—her hair always neat, her apron spotless. Seeing her like that—her hands swollen, her dress torn, and the birthday present for me still clutched in her fingers—my grief twisted into something sharp and burning. The birthday present—God, she still had it in her hands.