The air outside Blackwood Manor was a crisp contrast to the stifling tension inside. I stepped onto the dew-laden grass of the expansive yard, the scent of autumn leaves mingling with my resolve. The chill did nothing to dull the ache in my jaw, but it sharpened my focus. Every step away from the house was a step towards the liberation I had meticulously planned but never dared to execute—until now.
In the sanctum of my mind, I had been constructing an escape, brick by clandestine brick. It wasn’t just about leaving; it was about exposing the rot within the walls of Blackwood Manor. My parents, with their pretentious airs and condescending laughs, had cultivated an image of untouchable elegance. But behind closed doors, there was only decay.
I rounded the corner of the house and ducked into the shadows of the old gardener’s shed. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of oil and earth. Here, I had hidden the tools of my freedom: a small backpack filled with documents, a burner phone, and a thick dossier on my family’s darkest dealings.
Be First to Comment