บท 11: Conviction
The next day, as Lyra stepped into the grand foyer of her Aunt Selene's estate in Ashborne, she was immediately struck by the opulence and grandeur that surrounded her. The air was filled with the faint scent of antiseptic and polished wood, mingling with the aroma of fresh flowers arranged in exquisite vases on every table. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, casting a shimmering light over the intricate mosaic tiles beneath her feet.
The walls were adorned with ornate tapestries depicting scenes of medical history and grandeur, their rich colors and fine details a testament to the wealth and prestige of her family. Portraits of stern-faced ancestors, all renowned physicians, lined the hallways, their eyes seeming to follow her every move, adding to the sense of unease that gnawed at her.
Despite the breathtaking beauty of her surroundings, Lyra could not shake the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere that seemed to permeate the air. She reached out with her newfound telepathic essence technique, tentatively probing the emotions of those around her, and was shocked by the waves of disdain and resentment that washed over her.
She could sense the barely concealed hostility emanating from the servants who flitted about the room, their crisp uniforms and polished shoes a stark contrast to the fear and revulsion that tinged their thoughts at the sight of her. Even the butler, a tall, gaunt man with a meticulously groomed appearance and an air of severe propriety, seemed to exude an aura of disdain as he bowed stiffly and introduced himself as Mr. Hawthorne.
"Good morning, Lady Lyra," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "If you require anything, please inform one of the maids, and they will attend to your needs."
His words were polite, but his tone made it clear that he considered her an inconvenience rather than a guest. Lyra managed a small nod, her stomach churning with unease.
Her aunt Selene greeted her with a tight-lipped smile and a perfunctory embrace, radiating an aura of disgust and contempt that made Lyra's skin crawl. Selene's elegance and beauty were undeniable, dressed in a sumptuous gown of deep burgundy velvet that complemented her porcelain skin and perfectly coifed hair. Yet, the coldness in her eyes and the rigidity of her posture spoke volumes about her true feelings.
As the days went by, Lyra found herself increasingly isolated within the walls of the estate. She was treated as a second-class citizen, relegated to the smallest, darkest rooms and denied the comforts and privileges that were lavished upon her cousins. She noticed that the meals served to her were often plain and simple compared to the elaborate feasts her cousins enjoyed—dishes like roasted pheasant with rich gravies, delicate pastries filled with exotic fruits, and wines that shimmered like liquid gold.
One evening, she watched as a maid brought her a simple bowl of broth and a slice of bread, while her cousins dined on succulent roast beef, seasoned vegetables, and decadent desserts. The disparity in treatment was glaring, and it made her feel even more isolated.
Lyra was also given a limited selection of clothes, mostly plain dresses in dull colors, while her cousins paraded in vibrant, finely tailored garments. The estate's tailor would visit regularly, but his finest work was reserved for others, leaving Lyra with garments that were serviceable but uninspired.
Her hair, once lovingly tended by her mother, was now handled with brisk efficiency by the estate's hairdresser. She was subjected to quick, perfunctory styling sessions, resulting in simple braids or plain buns, in stark contrast to the elaborate coiffures that adorned her cousins' heads.
Lyra spent her days wandering the expansive halls, her heart heavy with loneliness and longing. The grandeur of her surroundings only served to deepen her sense of isolation, each beautiful detail a reminder of the world she was not truly a part of. Despite the fine food, the new clothes, and the carefully done hair, it all felt like a mockery of what she had lost and what she could never truly possess in this cold, unfeeling household.
One day, her Aunt Selene summoned Lyra to her majestic study. As Lyra entered, she was struck by how much her aunt's eyes resembled her mother's. The familiarity was strong, but her telepathic essence ability told her that they were worlds apart. Selene was stern and unyielding, her gaze piercing through Lyra's very soul.
"I warned your foolish mother never to leave Ashborne," Selene said, her voice cold and unforgiving. "And look what that ended up doing."
Lyra felt the sting of her words, tears welling up in her eyes. But Selene merely scoffed.
"Don't cry, little child," she said, her tone condescending. "You will attend Ashborne Academy, the same school your mother and I attended. There, you will study medicine and leave behind that make-believe alchemy your mother has been trying to get you into. It's time for you to grow up and face reality."
Lyra's heart sank, realizing that even here, in the heart of her family's estate, she would find no understanding or compassion for her passion for alchemy. She was trapped, forced to conform to a world that cared little for her dreams and desires.
As Lyra left her aunt's study, her mind was reeling with the harsh reality of her situation. She felt trapped, suffocated by the expectations and demands placed upon her. The thought of attending Ashborne Academy, a school filled with the same cold, unfeeling vampires that populated Ashborne city, filled her with dread.
She wandered the halls aimlessly, her footsteps echoing in the vast, empty spaces. The portraits of her ancestors seemed to mock her, their painted eyes following her every move with a silent judgment. Lyra longed for the warmth and comfort of her parent's home, for the gentle guidance of her mother's hand as she taught her the intricacies of alchemy.
In a moment of desperation, Lyra found herself in the estate's vast library, seeking solace among the towering shelves of books. As she ran her fingers along the spines, a small, worn volume caught her eye. Pulling it from the shelf, she realized it was a journal, its pages filled with her mother's familiar handwriting.
With trembling hands, Lyra opened the journal, her eyes scanning the pages hungrily. As she read, she discovered that her mother had once faced the same struggles, the same pressures to conform to the expectations of Ashborne society. But Elara had refused to abandon her passion for alchemy, instead finding ways to pursue her studies in secret, away from the prying eyes of her family.
Lyra felt a spark of hope ignite within her. If her mother could find a way to follow her dreams, perhaps she could too. She resolved to attend Ashborne Academy, but not to study medicine as her aunt demanded. Instead, she would use the resources available to her to further her knowledge of alchemy, to carry on her mother's legacy in whatever way she could.
As she closed the journal, Lyra felt a renewed sense of purpose. She knew the road ahead would be difficult, that she would face opposition and obstacles at every turn. But she also knew that she carried the strength of her mother's spirit within her, and that with perseverance and determination, she could find a way to forge her own path in this dark and unforgiving world.
Lyra returned to her room, the journal clutched tightly to her chest. She hid it beneath a loose floorboard, knowing that it would be her secret treasure, a reminder of her mother's love and the power of her own convictions.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง