Anne’s Story Chapter One On the afternoon of Paolo Mariano’s murder, I heard the drops of blood hit the stage before the body did. My fae gift of greatly enhanced senses was a curse as often as it was a blessing. Sort of like being the daughter of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. The former meant I experienced sight, smell, sound, touch, and even taste—ten times stronger than anyone around me. The latter meant I lived every moment with soul-crushing expectations weighing on my chest. I was forever striving to present a polished appearance, interact with the “right people” while maintaining impeccable etiquette, and uphold our family’s reputation at all times—even when being pummeled by waves of sensation. This drove me to my room more times than I could count, leading to the rumor that I had a delicate constitution. I was just Anne, the quiet girl with little to contribute. Except for my music. Half an hour before the murder, I used my key to enter throu...