Isabelle stared at the floor, her shoulders trembling as Matriarch Genevieve loomed over her. The ancestral hall felt oppressively silent, with only the occasional crackle from the fireplace interrupting the tension.
"Stand properly when addressing your elders," Genevieve commanded, her voice cutting through the silence like a whip.
I watched from my position near the wall, arms crossed protectively over my chest. The child before us was Natalie's daughter, but she was still just a child. Even knowing what I did about her involvement in Violet's death, I couldn't help the twinge of pity that surfaced as I watched her quiver.
"I said," Genevieve repeated, thumping her cane against the wooden floor, "you will stand properly until you have apologized appropriately."
Cassandra stepped forward, placing her hands on Isabelle's shoulders. "Mother, perhaps—"
"Be silent," Genevieve snapped. "Your coddling is part of the problem. The child must learn respect."
