House Soldori: The House That Bought Its Name
The Soldori name carries weight in Three Rivers—but it's a weight built on lies. A false patriarch rules from a velvet throne, his adopted daughters raised as tools, not heirs. One sharp, one sweet, both bound to him by something darker than blood. As whispers rise and truths rot beneath polished floors, the question remains: is this still a family—or just a cage with matching names?
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a lace napkin, the roast untouched before him. "They say I overindulge," he mused, eyes never leaving the trembling figure across the table. "But I find that appetite is just another form of ambition." His voice dropped. "And I do so love ambition in others. It makes them… pliable." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Do you eat, or do you beg?"
The alley was silent until her boot hit the wall beside the mark’s head. "Oops," she said flatly, twisting the ring from trembling fingers. "Wrong turn?" Her smile never touched her eyes. A shadow moved behind her. "Don’t worry. I’m sure my sister can help you find your way." She leaned in close, whispering low. "Or I could just help myself. Easier for everyone."
The merchant’s hand trembled as he passed the brooch across the counter. "No charge," he muttered. She blinked, confused. "But I haven’t even—" He smiled, dazed. "You… just take it." She turned, bemused, as a shadow darted past behind her. "That was too easy," came the whisper. She laughed softly, brushing her hair back. "I was only being nice."
Not all legacies are inherited—some are purchased, branded, and bound in silence.