Page 2 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Two

The Velvet Cauldron

The town looked the same. But it didn’t feel the same.

Lyric walked with her head down, her father’s cardigan pulled tight against the wind that still clung to winter’s edge. The morning sun had risen, pale and watery, offering no warmth—just the illusion of it.

She passed the places that once felt like pieces of her—the narrow bookstore with its crooked shelves, the church steps where she’d once shared a slushie and secrets, the bakery with the pink awning that always smelled like cinnamon and second chances.

And then she saw them.

Through the window of the bakery, framed by sunlit glass and lace, Rowan and Eric sat side by side.

They were laughing.

Rowan leaned in just a little too close. Eric said something—probably dumb—and Rowan tilted her head and smiled that slow, curated smile that always looked good in pictures. Her hand brushed his arm.

Lyric’s stomach twisted. Not with anger, but with that hollow, echoing ache that lived just behind the ribs.

Eric noticed her first .

He stiffened, guilt flickering across his face like he’d been caught stealing something that was never really his. Rowan looked confused—until she followed his gaze.

Her smile faltered. “Lyric?”

Lyric turned instinctively. Her pulse spiked in her throat. She didn’t want this. Not here. Not today.

She made it halfway down the sidewalk when she heard the footsteps.

“Lyric, please wait!” Rowan’s voice cracked behind her. “Can we just talk?”

Lyric stopped—but didn’t turn around. Her throat burned. Her vision swam. She was barely holding the thread of herself.

Rowan came into view, breathless, eyes wide. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t. But I miss you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

Lyric’s lips parted. Nothing came out.

She wanted to scream. To collapse. To press her face into Rowan’s shoulder and sob like the girl she used to be.

She wanted to say: My parents are gone. I found adoption papers in a closet. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

For a moment—just a breath—she wasn’t angry. She was just so tired.

Rowan continued, voice shaking. “I’m sorry I hurt you. And… I’m sorry I wasn’t there after your parents—” Her throat caught. “We wanted to come to the funeral. Eric and I. But we thought it would only make things worse. We didn’t want to add drama to a day like that.”

Lyric blinked fast, the edges of the street blurring.

“I thought losing you was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

Rowan opened her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

“But I know better now.” Lyric’s voice cracked on the last word, brittle as frost underfoot.

“That pain?” she whispered. “It doesn’t even come close.”

Rowan started to reach for her but stopped, arms trembling at her sides.

If one more word was spoken, Lyric would break. Right here. On the sidewalk .

She turned and stepped into the street—

And collided with someone.

Lyric gasped, stumbling back a step.

A man stood before her.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark, impeccably tailored coat.

His jawline was sharp, almost severe, but softened by lips that curved in the faintest, knowing smile.

His eyes—molten gold, darkened at the edges like storm-lit amber—locked onto hers. Unreadable. Hypnotic. As if they could see right through her.

For a moment, the street noise dulled. The world seemed to pause.

“I—sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks burning.

He didn’t reply. His gaze didn’t waver.

Lyric sidestepped quickly, her heart racing, and continued walking.

But she felt him watching her.

After a few paces, she glanced back.

He was still there. Still watching.

That same subtle, enigmatic smile.

Her breath caught. God, he was dangerously handsome. The kind of man who didn’t just belong in this quiet town. The kind of man who turned heads in cities and stole breaths without trying.

She looked away before he could see the heat rising in her cheeks.

She didn’t know what unsettled her more—his silence, or the way it stayed with her.

She didn’t look back again.

---

The Velvet Cauldron sat on the corner of a crooked block, wedged between an abandoned salon and a flower shop that never opened before noon.

Its windows were cluttered with hanging crystals, antique birdcages, and chipped teacups. A chalkboard sign perched outside read :

Mercury’s in retrograde, darling. Wear obsidian and don’t text your ex.

No worries there, Mercury. That bridge is long gone.

The door chimed when she pushed it open.

The smell hit her first—incense, patchouli, something herbal and warm, like crushed mint and smoke drifting through forgotten velvet.

And then—

“Little Star!”

Velora’s voice rang out from behind the beaded curtain.

Before Lyric could respond—or escape—Velora emerged in a whirlwind of scarves and bracelets, a violet kaftan billowing around her like a magic trick mid-performance. Her dark braid, streaked with copper, was wrapped in a bandana that shimmered like it belonged to another galaxy.

She paused when she saw Lyric’s face. The usual sparkle in her eyes softened. “What happened?”

Lyric’s throat tightened. “Nothing. I just… ran into Rowan and Eric. Rowan tried to talk to me.”

Velora let out a low hum and crossed her arms. “Mmm. That’s a lot of ‘nothing.’”

Lyric exhaled. “I didn’t want to talk. I couldn’t.”

Velora leaned back against the counter, bracelets clinking softly. “It’s been two years. People will try to come back. Especially the ones who regret how they left.”

Lyric lowered her eyes, tracing the edge of the countertop with her thumb. She hadn’t thought about it like that. Two years. And yet it still felt raw some days.

“It’s easy to blame the woman,” Velora added gently. “Always is. But it’s rarely that simple. That boy always had wandering eyes.”

Lyric gave a faint, sad smile. She’s right. She’d spent so long clinging to anger because it felt safer than the truth—that Rowan might have been just as lost as she had once been.

Velora leaned forward, her voice softer now. “I’ve known you girls since fourth grade. You used to come in here giggling, making friendship bracelets out of my old ribbon scraps, thinking you’d grow old together. ”

Lyric took a deep breath.

“I never thought anything could come between you. And I love Rowan just as much as I love you. She’s a good person, Lyric. She made a terrible mistake—but she’s still living in that mistake. Maybe she stayed with him because she thought she had no one else left.”

Lyric swallowed hard, her throat tight.

“But,” Velora continued, “forgiving someone who’s still standing beside the person who hurt you? That’s… harder.”

Lyric hesitated, fingers tightening around the lighter. “Has it really been that long?”

Velora nodded softly. “Two years.”

---

Lighting candles gave Lyric something to do. A task with a beginning, middle, and end.

The flick of the lighter. The soft bloom of flame. The comforting breath of sandalwood smoke.

It was better than thinking. Better than remembering.

Two years.

Had it really been that long?

She wasn’t sure if she was still angry. Not in the way she used to be.

It was quieter now. Older.

But it hadn’t gone anywhere.

Have I been too hard on her?

The thought surfaced and vanished just as fast.

No. Rowan had stolen the one person she thought was hers.

Her first love. The boy she’d imagined marrying.

The boy she’d cried to Rowan about since sixth grade.

And Rowan had listened—until she took him.

They’d been inseparable once.

Lyric used to call her for everything. Big things. Dumb things.

And for the longest time after it happened, she still reached for her phone—Only to remember she couldn’t.

But then her parents died .

And nothing else mattered.

The betrayal with Rowan was buried beneath deeper grief. She hadn’t even thought about it in months.

Not until today. Not until she saw them sitting there, laughing like nothing ever happened.

She told herself it didn’t matter anymore.

She had more important things to carry.

Things Rowan would never understand.

The flicker of the flames steadied her breath.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

She glanced down . A message from Rowan.

Lyric exhaled slowly and turned the phone over without answering.

Some things were too heavy for text messages.

---

The bells above the door chimed softly as Lyric flipped the sign to Closed.

It had been a slow evening. It was always slow.

Velora didn’t really need her working the evening shifts. She barely needed help at all. But after Lyric’s parents passed, Velora had offered her the job—not because the shop was busy, but because she knew Lyric needed something to anchor her. Something to keep her moving.

Lyric knew it was charity. She also knew Velora would never admit it. That was just who she was.

She grabbed her bag and pulled on her father’s cardigan—faded navy, the kind of blue that used to be bold but had grown soft with time and wear. The sleeves stretched past her wrists, the cuffs frayed and familiar.

Outside, the air had cooled. The moon hung low, casting a silver haze over the quiet streets.

It was almost nine.

Time for her nightly walk to Rosewood Cemetery.

-- -

She followed the familiar path toward the edge of town, her footsteps soft against the cracked sidewalk.

Most of the houses were dark now. Porch lights flickered. The occasional dog barked behind a fence.

As the houses thinned out, Rosewood Cemetery came into view.

The iron gate stood open as always, hinges rusted in place. Wild ivy curled along the fence posts. The headstones beyond sat in quiet rows beneath the silver-washed sky.

Lyric slipped through the gate and crossed the damp grass. She didn’t need to search. Her feet knew the way.

The Dawson headstone stood beneath a crooked oak.

Marianne Dawson.

Raymond Dawson.

No flowery inscriptions. No long-winded epitaphs. Just names. Dates. The finality of carved stone.

Lyric lowered herself onto the grass and sat cross-legged in front of the grave. She set her bag beside her, pulled out a small jar candle, and lit the wick with a match from the Velvet Cauldron.

The flame glowed steadily, casting a gentle circle of warmth.

She reached for her mother’s locket, fingers closing around it instinctively. She always did this when she sat here. She’d been wearing the locket every day since they died.

“Hey,” she whispered.

The wind rustled softly through the oak’s branches.

“I miss you both.”

Her throat tightened.

“I thought it would get easier. Everyone says it does. But it doesn’t.”

She traced the smooth edge of the locket with her thumb.

“I found the adoption papers.” Her voice came out thinner than she expected. “I wasn’t looking for them. I was just… trying to find Dad’s cardigan.”

The candlelight wavered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly. “Were you planning to? Or were you protecting me?”

She closed her eyes .

“I don’t care what I found. None of it changes anything. You’re still my parents. You’ll always be my parents.”

The breeze carried the faint scent of grass and earth.

“I just wish I could ask you why.”

Her fingers tightened around the locket.

The candle’s flame danced in the breeze, steady but fragile.

She stayed there for a long while, not expecting answers.

Just presence.

When the candle burned low, she brushed dirt from her jeans, gathered the jar, and stood.

She rested her hand gently on the stone.

“I love you,” she whispered. “And I miss you both so, so much. I’m gonna go now. But I’m thinking of you always.”

The oak branches swayed overhead, the wind whispering through the leaves.

As she turned to leave, a strange feeling settled at the base of her spine.

The sense that she wasn’t alone.

She paused, scanning the quiet rows of headstones. The night was still. Empty.

It’s just the graveyard. It always feels like this.

Maybe it was the shadows. Maybe it was the weight of all the names watching her from the stones.

She pulled the cardigan tighter—but the feeling didn’t leave.

Not even when she reached the gate.

Not even when she got home.