Mrs. Davis' distinctive screech was heard throughout the abbey, rattling the walls and threatening to break the window panes as she called out orders to the throng of servants. Lord Moorehouse was returning with his new young bride, the eloquent Miss. Willingham who would preside as Lady over the house.
Elizabeth watched from her perch at the very top of the swirling staircase, a great whirlpool of steps going down and down. She shivered in the chill, her hands gripping to the railing. Rising to her feet, she presumed that she had spent long enough, adjusting her apron properly over her skirt. She continued onwards as if climbing for the sky, the voices and the blending melody of commotion fading behind her.
Gently she closed the book, setting it beside her. Elizabeth peered over into the cradle once more at the child's face, blank and drained of all color, contrasting against eyes with deep black irises, filled with a strange wisdom of sorts. She sighed, reaching inside and running the tips of her fingers along the features of Lilith's face, unusually cold at the touch.
"Are you cold, Baby?" she cooed, reaching inside and taking Lilith into her lap. With her wide eyes, the child looked up into her face, a flash of some sort rippling through her pupils. But as fast as it had come, it was gone, and Elizabeth doubted that she saw it at all. There was something magical about the child, but how could anyone believe such a small little thing was a demon?
She recalled the night that Mrs. Schelling had died, and someone must be recruited as Lilith's new nanny. The memory of Mrs. Davis' tall, narrow form turning to Elizabeth, gazing seriously into her face as she commanded that she would be the baby's caretaker. Perhaps it was because she was the youngest of all employed at Moorehouse Hall, and supposed to be the most useless. Elizabeth sighed bitterly, holding Lilith's small, ivory hand in her own, her tiny fingers cold as stone.
"What are you, Lilith?" Elizabeth murmured. She had always asked that question to the baby, but there was never a response. Like she should expect it, it was only a baby. It could get quite lonely up at the top of the Abbey, where she sat all day with the silent child. Only on occasions would she take the journey down the steps to fetch nescessities for both of them, and for food a different servant came, placing the plates at the front step of the door, before fleeing. Elizabeth was used to the feeling of lonliness. Ever since her family had died...there, she had seen that flicker of light again in Lilith's eyes! "What am I, Lilith?" she whispered even softer, as if she would receive an answer of a sort.
Memories of family and days of good flooded through Elizabeth's head, so clear and crisp that she, for a moment, believed she was brought back into her past, that she could reach out and touch her mother, or her father, or even her brother. She shut away the painful thoughts, closing her eyes as a single tear rolled from within and then down her cheek.
Elizabeth bit her lip, her eyes blurred with tears as she opened them once more, gazing down into the child's face. To her amazement, the curve of a small smile appeared upon Lilith's lips, a slight color rising to her cheeks.
The prattle of hoofbeats and a carriage made her lift her head, putting the small baby on her hip and going to the window, tossing open the heavy, dusty curtains. A carriage neared the abbey, Elizabeth watching with extraordinary curiousity. Gently she lifted Lilith slightly higher so that she may see too-like the babe would see and understand anyways. "There's your new Mother." Elizabeth said into Lilith's small ear. Sighing, she mumbled, "Not that you'll ever see her."