Chapter Text
The office phone rang at 6am. Harrow tapped a button and sent the call straight to voice-mail. She still had another precious 3 hours of peace and quiet before having to deal with any clients.
Moments later, the phone rang again. Same number as before. This time, she let it ring out.
30 seconds later, they called again. Harrow lifted the phone off the receiver for a moment before slamming it back down. When it started ringing a fourth time, she yanked the power cord out of its socket.
With that dealt with, she got to work.
About an hour later, she was interrupted again. She had just finished revising an obituary when the blast of a car's stereo shattered the morning's silence. Harrow rose from her desk and squinted out the window.
She spotted an absolute monstrosity tearing its way down the dirt road. A deep purple Maserati roared through the early fog. The ground beneath its tires seemed to tremble in time with the bass. To her horror, the car slowed as it approached the funeral home.
Harrow stood up and pulled the blinds closed. She scampered around the first floor, turning off all the lights and tugging curtains shut. The world fell silent as the car suddenly powered off. She heard two beetle-wing doors slide open, accompanied by the crunch of shoes on gravel.
Harrow held her breath as a pair of footsteps drew closer, one set of stilettos clicking against the wooden porch. She could make out two voices in the midst of a heated whisper argument.
"--no reason to come so early in the morning!"
"It's the only way to ensure no curious ears are listening--"
"You're so paranoid! This is ridiculous."
"Simply following Daddy's orders."
With that, one of the voices huffed in exasperation and the two fell silent.
The doorbell sounded, echoing through the empty house with a sharp ring. Harrow remained motionless.
The doorbell rang a second time and then a third and fourth in quick succession. One of them must have been jamming their finger against the button like a woodpecker.
"See! No one's home!" Hissed the exasperated one.
"She's home. She picked up and hung up the phone when I called."
A series of rapid knocks that set Harrow's teeth chattering followed.
"I know you're here. Open the damn door before I kick it down."
Harrow groaned and reluctantly rose to her feet. She stomped over to the door and wrenched it an inch open, sending the chain lock rattling.
"We. Are. Not. Open."
A spindly hand snaked over the door, nudging it open until the chain was pulled taut. A tall woman with ghostly pale skin and mismatched eyes leaned forward, regarding Harrow with an aloof sort of annoyance. She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a weathered envelope.
"We're VIPs. Proof is in that letter if you don't recognize us."
Harrow scoffed, "I don't care if you're the president. Come back in 2 hours."
Before the wraith-like creature could reply, her companion nudged her to the side.
"I am SO sorry about my sister. She gets really annoying in the mornings."
The second woman now occupied the narrow space between door and frame. Her golden hair shone brilliantly in the sunlight, cascading well past her shoulders in elegant waves. She looked like an airbrushed, well nourished version of the first woman.
"My name is Coronabeth. From the Tridentarius family."
Harrow raised a brow. The name did sound familiar.
"My parents passed away recently and well...they had very specific instructions for how to proceed with their deaths."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Harrow replied mechanically. She puzzled over the name while Coronabeth recounted the tragic story of her parents' death. She had certainly heard it before, maybe even seen it on documents in her parents' records.
The first woman grew impatient with her sister's rambling and shouldered her way back into the conversation.
"Your family owes ours a great debt. Not of the financial variety. We get one discrete funeral service for dear mummy and daddy. No questions asked."
The woman shoved the envelope towards Harrow, "Read the damn letter and let us in."
Harrow took the letter with a grimace. "Allow me a moment to review its contents."
Before the two could reply, she yanked the door shut.
"Uh, okay. We'll be out here then!" The one named Coronabeth called from outside. Her sister made an impatient click with her teeth but said nothing.
Harrow made her way over to the lobby and tossed the envelope on the center table. She squinted at the loathsome thing. The paper had probably been a deep purple about a decade ago. Now it was a washed out, cool grey tone with splotches of water damage. There was a dull wax seal right at its center.
Harrow crouched before the table to get a better look, searching the seal for any clues. It was difficult to make out the pattern; most of the ridges in the wax had been worn down and swirled together. She could just barely make out six sharp lines that stood out from the mess of softer grooves. They all pointed skyward, converging together--
"Ah. It's a trident. How tacky," Harrow announced to the empty air.
She jammed a chewed-down thumbnail beneath the seal, flicking it off with the same sort of reverence usually reserved for opening a trash can. It came away with little resistance, not even granting her the pleasure of a satisfying pop. She briefly pondered if the contents might be laced with anthrax or some other sort of deadly poison, but decided she didn’t particularly care either way.
Harrowhark shook the battered envelope until a packet of yellowed pages fluttered unceremoniously onto the table. The text was tiny; maybe 8 point font, and excruciatingly difficult to read in the dim morning light. She skimmed it and quickly deduced that it was a fine mess of legalese. Phrases like “binding contract,” “non-disclosure agreement,” and “penalty clause” stood out, as they were mentioned several times per paragraph.
Her parents’ names also appeared often, alongside Polonius and Guinevere Tridentarius. Each name was accompanied by a set of hand-written initials. She immediately recognized the immaculate penmanship of her mother, alongside the unmistakable press of her father's heavy letters. He had broken through the paper in several places, leaving ink-soaked puncture wounds in his wake.
Harrow spent several long minutes staring at the initials. They wouldn't have been impossible to forge (Harrow had been able to perfectly copy their signatures at age 10), but it would've taken a lot of practice to mimic her mother's calligraphy.
However, any concerns of forgery evaporated when she reached the final page. Alongside all four parents' signatures were matching sets of dark brown thumb prints. She stared, eyes tracing over the mirrored arches of her mother's prints and the twin whorls of her father's. Harrow had spent many sleepless nights trying to reproduce these as well, but it was in vain. Both of her parents had been granted an odd combination of deltas and cores, which made silicone molding impossible without their cooperation.
Even with her layman's understanding of contracts, Harrow could tell that she was categorically fucked.
She didn't have the time nor finances to try poking around for loopholes. The terms were astronomic in both the level of service demanded and penalty for non-compliance. She wracked her brain, trying desperately to determine why her parents would even deign to look at such a document, let alone sign one. The Nonagesmius line had a history of being very careful with their debts, resolving them swiftly and quietly. Harrow's transition to funeral director had been unnaturally smooth, with all the paperwork in place before her parents even reached the incinerator.
They never mentioned a stray contract that bound the entire funeral home to the whims of two trust fund babies.
Harrow sighed and shuffled the papers back into their envelope. She trudged back to her main office and slipped the contract inside a tiny safe tucked between two filing cabinets. With immense reluctance, she made her way back to the front door, undid the chain lock and braced herself for the worst day of her life.
Coronabeth was nervously pacing up and down the length of the porch. Her sister was leaning against the railing, taking long drags from a cigarette. Coronabeth brightened when she saw Harrow and quickly approached, blonde curls bouncing with each step.
"May we get started?"
"I don't have much of a choice," Harrow replied dully.
"Glad we've come to a mutual understanding," Coronabeth's sister remarked from beyond a cloud of smoke. She took one last puff before stubbing out the lipstick-stained cigarette.
Harrow opened the door wider and gestured for the two to come in. "Welcome to the Locked Tomb."
"I get that your parents were goths, but seriously? The Locked Tomb? Even for a bunch of weirdos, that seems a bit much."
"Ianthe!" Coronabeth chided and gently elbowed her sister in the ribs, "Be polite!" She turned to Harrow, "I think it's a very unique name."
Harrow ignored the remarks and waited for her VIP clients to hang their coats. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp scent of smoke and perfume that seemed to fill the entrance.
"Please, take a seat," she advised, gesturing to a large couch in the lobby, "I will return momentarily with refreshments."
"Oh thank you but we don't need-"
Harrow briskly walked away before Coronabeth could protest, desperate for a few more moments of solitude.
She took her time preparing a pot of tea, though she wouldn't be drinking any of it. Harrow let her body continue on auto pilot, going through the motions of hospitality with a mass of frustration burning in her gut.
She returned to the sisters with a tray, laden with her family's finest tea set. And a single paper cup of water for herself.
"Thank you," Coronabeth said graciously, bringing the matte black teacup to her lips. Ianthe ignored her cup and fished a golden Juul from her handbag.
"Please do not vape in my funeral home." Harrow said, struggling to keep the venom from her voice.
Coronabeth shot Ianthe a daggered glare. She did not relent until the latter pocketed the vape with a massive sigh.
Coronabeth turned from her sister, replacing her disapproving scowl with an easygoing smile. "So, Harrowhark, yes? It's an honor to finally meet you."
Harrow quirked an eyebrow in confusion.
"Ah well, our parents were close with yours I think. A few decades ago at least. They used to speak of your family often."
"I see," Harrow replied, and took a slow sip of water.
Coronabeth, undeterred by the lack of response, continued dragging the three of them through small talk.
"It's a shame we never got to meet as kids. Ianthe and I were born here, but we were sent away to boarding school every year. This is actually our first time back home in ages."
Harrow nodded, wishing very much to crawl back into bed.
"So um…" Coronabeth looked around the lobby curiously, "Where is everybody else?"
Harrow couldn't help but shoot her an incredulous look. "My parents are dead."
Panic lit up Coronabeth's bright blue eyes, "Oh no sorry! I knew that! We were told of their passing," the teacup shook nervously in her hand. "I meant your siblings!"
Harrow grew even more confused. "I am an only child."
Ianthe, who had been quietly pouting thus far, seemed to reanimate at the sound of her sister flailing.
"I uh, I see," Coronabeth set down the teacup and crossed her arms, "I just thought that...well, I ah, heard that um…"
Harrow waited patiently while Ianthe grinned at the ever growing awkward silence.
"When we were toddlers, I recall our parents mentioning your um...conception."
Ianthe snorted at that, which earned her a light kick beneath the table.
"IVF I mean! I don't remember all the details, but I'm fairly certain there was a lot of excitement about it. They thought there would be triplets or even quadruplets! I think maybe I was just excited to meet someone else who was part of a set," she finished sheepishly.
"Ah, that." Harrow finished off her water before replying.
"You are almost correct. My parents had a variety of fertility issues, due in large part to my mother's age. After many failed attempts, they implanted five fertilized eggs in a last ditch effort to conceive. There was a moderate chance of quintuplets, a higher chance of quadruplets and the highest chance of triplets."
Both Ianthe and Coronabeth looked intrigued, perhaps surprised at the frank explanation.
"However, I devoured my siblings in the womb."
Ianthe cackled at that, while Coronabeth beheld Harrow with ill-disguised shock.
"Oh man! Cor wishes she'd absorbed me. Guess I was too stubborn though."
"I am quite happy that I didn't absorb you, actually," Coronabeth retorted, regaining her composure. "I would hate to have inherited your complete lack of empathy."
"And I would hate to have inherited your dull wit."
The twins continued to bicker over who should have absorbed who for several minutes.
"Well you may as well have devoured me, dearest Corona, seeing as you nearly strangled me in utero."
"As if I had any control over the placenta! You are NEVER going to let that go, are you?"
Harrow tuned them out, relieved to no longer be the focus of their exhausting attention. She returned to the mystery of the contract, and the exact significance of the Tridentarius family at large. Once they left, she would have to do some serious digging in the archives for answers.
The more she thought about it, the more familiar the name felt. Harrow pressed a finger to her temple as she sifted through memories, letting her eyes shut in concentration. Bits of conversations between her parents floated to the surface, but nothing of true substance.
Suddenly, a very recent memory flashed vividly in her mind. Something she had seen on her phone...Instagram maybe? A blurred Coronabeth, pursing her lips playfully at the camera while her arm was wrapped around--
"Harrow? Are you alright?"
She was yanked back in the present, with the twins staring at her intently. One set of eyes brimming with worry, the other alight with a perverse curiosity.
"I'm fine. This is a huge undertaking. I was doing some planning."
Ianthe reclined on the sofa, turning to drape both of her legs over the arm. "Well, we're not shadow vestals gifted with telepathy. So please refrain from doing any arrangements without our explicit permission."
Harrow grit her teeth. “I realize you would like to be as involved as possible, but there are many mundane tasks I can take care of without supervision. Additionally, there are plenty of rather gruesome tasks that the bereaved prefer not to see.”
Coronabeth paled a bit but Ianthe looked unfazed. She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh please, you’re not the only one who’s worked with corpses. I doubt an embalming is any worse than an autopsy.”
Harrow blinked in surprise. She had assumed “social media influencer” would be the only career the Trindentarii might pursue.
“That’s...not within protocol,” she replied at last.
“Well, it’s within my protocol. I get that the Nonagesmius family has centuries upon centuries of quaint little traditions, but this isn’t an average funeral.”
“Yes, that is becoming abundantly clear to me,” Harrow muttered.
“I want to be included every single step of the way. And I mean everything. I don’t want you trimming my father’s nose hair without my say-so.”
Harrow felt the beginnings of a nasty headache spark to life just below her eyes.
She fixed Ianthe with the most professional gaze she could muster. “I realize you may be familiar with the medical aspects of death...but have you considered the emotional? Seeing a stranger’s organs laid bare feels quite different than a parent’s.”
Ianthe’s dark red lips tugged into a smile, revealing a flash of teeth. “I assume you are speaking from experience?”
“Frankly, that is none of your business. If the two of you are finished drilling me about my personal life, I would like to move on to the matter at hand.”
Coronabeth deflated a bit, looking guilty. Ianthe rolled her eyes but remained quiet.
“Per the contract’s terms, I will need to reschedule and/or transfer several upcoming funerals to another home’s jurisdiction,” Harrow paused to grimace. “Honestly, the concept that other grieving families are your ‘competitors’ is unheard of. I suspect your parents just exploited a linguistic technicality to get an attorney to sign off on that.”
Ianthe chuckled dryly, “Ah yes, the old ‘make our lawyer believe other customers are competitors to work in a non-competition clause’ routine. Oldest trick in the book.”
“Right...well you can’t be around for that step of the process. It is a violation of privacy to my other clients.”
Ianthe stretched languidly. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll be quiet as a mouse. They won’t even know I’m here.”
Harrow sighed in agitation, “I’m serious. Privacy is what we offer above all else. It’s where the home’s name originates.”
“Fiiiiiine, I wasn’t that interested in eavesdropping on a bunch of crying randos anyway,” Ianthe relented, “Corona and I will wait here while you go about your umbral business.”
“It is not a simple task. I estimate that it could take all day. This is an incredibly sensitive matter that must be handled with the utmost caution. Perhaps the two of you would like to return tomorrow?”
Ianthe smirked, “Nice try, Harry. You won’t be getting rid of us that easily.”
Harrow bristled at the stupid nickname but bit back an angry remark.
“We cleared our schedules. Sensitive time for grieving and all that. Just let us know when you’re done with your phone calls.”
With that, Ianthe pulled out her phone and began tapping away. Coronabeth gave Harrow an awkward smile and shrugged.
Relieved to get a bit of breathing room, Harrow practically sprinted down the hall to her office. She locked the door and in a brief rush of paranoia, jammed a chair beneath the handle for extra security. It felt ridiculous, to barricade herself away for some business calls. But the entire situation thrust upon her was at least ten times more absurd.
She plugged her landline back in, took a deep breath and began a marathon of nerve-wracking rescheduling.
It was well past noon by the time Harrow got the final client sorted. They had been as flexible as a piece of glass, insisting through tears that going to another funeral home would be impossible. When Harrow offered to hold the service in three weeks time, the line erupted into a deafening roar of static and sobs. After much stiff and awkward consoling (never her strong suit), they had arrived at a compromise.
Not wanting to deal with the twins just yet, Harrow opted to slide out of her chair and lay silently on the floor. She felt dead tired, yet wide awake. Maybe she could stay like this for another few hours. Maybe she could stay here overnight. Maybe she could remain holed up in her office until she heard the ugly roar of that Maserati thunder off into the distance.
“Nonagesmius, are you done?,” Ianthe called through the door, “I don’t hear the hum of your monotonous voice."
"I thought you said you weren't interested in eavesdropping," Harrow replied, remaining horizontal.
"Wasn't eavesdropping. Just happened to pass by during a mysterious silence."
"Of course you did," Harrow muttered and forced herself to sit up.
She stood and retrieved the chair wedged against the door, returning it to its proper place before undoing the lock.
Ianthe interpreted the click of the bolt as an invitation and let herself inside. Harrow immediately took a step back, which the other woman matched with a stride forward.
"Oh Harry, you don't seem to trust me very much." She pouted, sauntering closer.
Harrow inched backwards. "I'm just being cautious."
Ianthe seemed apathetic to the concept of personal space and pressed onward. "We'll be spending a lot of time together. I'd hate for you to wear yourself out with your unfounded suspicions."
Harrow retreated until her back bumped against the desk. "Pardon me for being wary."
Ianthe leaned forward, stretching out an arm to rest on the desk. She caged Harrow in with ease, towering a solid foot above the smaller woman.
"You are pardoned," Ianthe replied with a grin. Her gaze was piercing, made even more intense by the contrast of icy blue and molten brown irises.
Harrow held her gaze with great difficulty. Her head spun as the heady, lavender scent of Ianthe's perfume clouded the air. Up this close, she could see the resemblance to Coronabeth more clearly. Ianthe shared the same striking bow-shaped lips, made even more pronounced with a deep magenta smear. Although she lacked her sister's musculature and mass, the absence of padding on her face flaunted the artistic arch of her cheekbones.
However detestable she found Ianthe's mind, Harrow couldn't help but marvel at her body. It would be an interesting embalming, if she were the one on the table. Harrow would take no small pleasure in laying eyecaps upon those heterochromatic pupils. Wiring her overly familiar jaw shut would be an act of kindness to all. Perhaps her sister would request that her resting face be set to an uncharacteristically serene expression. Harrow wondered if that would even be possible. Could flesh that seemed incapable of anything but sneering be rendered peaceful? How much careful suturing along the lips and gums would it take?
Harrow finally broke eye contact, allowing her gaze to rest somewhere along Ianthe's collarbones. The arterial process would be simple. Ianthe's jaundiced complexion did little to hide the tangle of veins below her skin. Harrow could probably drain her blindfolded.
"My eyes are up here," Ianthe teased, jolting Harrow out of her thoughts.
"Given your ridiculous height and unnecessary proximity, I cannot look you in the eyes without giving myself severe neck strain."
Ianthe laughed and mercifully took a step back. Harrow slowly straightened up, trying not to look as relieved as she felt.
"Is there something you need?" She asked, already exhausted by the other woman's presence.
"Coronabeth was getting antsy, so I thought I'd check up on our little mortician," Ianthe replied, glancing curiously around the room.
"I told you it could take all day to reschedule everything."
"Could being the imperative. I've heard you're something of a funeral prodigy...whatever that means," Ianthe scrunched her nose, "So I figured you'd be done by now and were just hiding in your office to kill time."
"I just finished. I was about to return to the lobby."
Ianthe shot her a skeptical look but said nothing more. She waited patiently while Harrow gathered her laptop and a stack of folders, watching her with unnerving intensity. She held open the door (much to Harrow's annoyance) and followed her back to the main room.
Coronabeth was stretched out across the couch, legs folded across one another with her heels in the air. She was reminiscent of a 90s romcom protagonist, cradling her iPhone as if it were a corded phone, twirling the coil around her finger with a mess of magazines and chocolates scattered nearby. Her grin was radiant, drawing a bit of warmth into the otherwise gloomy home.
"Oh- I gotta go babe! See you soon!"
Harrow heard the crackle of a reply through the speaker. The words were unintelligible but the voice was familiar. She felt her intestines twist together like a basket of snakes.
Ianthe seemed similarly displeased and made a "blugh" noise at Coronabeth.
Ignoring her sister, Coronabeth straightened up. "Hello again, Harrow! Were you able to get everything sorted?"
Harrow fought down the rage roiling within, "With no small amount of pain to my other clients, yes."
"So sorry about that," Coronabeth shot her a very practiced apology glance. It was all puppy dog eyes, pouty lips and not the least bit genuine.
"Anyway," Harrow set an armful of documents on the table, forceful enough to make the tea set rattle. "Let's move on to the planning. Please tell me what type of service you would like."
Ianthe returned to her spot on the sofa, making sure to recline in the most obnoxious and inconvenient way possible. Coronabeth ignored the set of spindly legs stretched across her lap and fixed Harrow with a blinding smile.
"Could you outline the types of services there are?"
"Google is free and easy to use," Harrow snapped before she could rein herself in.
The twins looked at her with mirrored surprise. Coronabeth's glittering grin fell into pensive confusion, while Ianthe looked genuinely knocked off kilter. A painfully awkward silence filled the air, broken by the rib-shaking gong of the grandfather clock.
Harrow debated apologizing or pretending as if nothing had happened. With little remorse, she chose the 2nd option.
"First, you need to decide if the service will be religious or humanist."
Coronabeth bounced back immediately. "Well, our parents pretended to be devout Catholics."
Ianthe snorted, "Yes, good place to rub elbows I guess. This will be their first church visit in ages."
Harrow relaxed a bit. She could prepare a Catholic service in her sleep. In lieu of bedtime stories, her parents read passages from Liturgy of the Hours.
The day progressed unremarkably after that. Fully in her element, Harrow was able to tune out the frequent bickering and bizarre requests from her clients. There were many odd demands, particularly regarding the bodies themselves. Harrow repeatedly assured them that she was no stranger to dressing burn victims. So long as the faces didn't require extensive reconstruction, it wouldn't be an issue. She was met with staunch opposition when she suggested a closed casket funeral. With as much delicacy as possible, Harrow explained that bodies with severe third degree burns carried a rather unique scent for weeks to come. Coronabeth blanched at that but Ianthe seemed unperturbed.
It was nearly 8pm by the time Ianthe decided to call it a day. Harrow had subtly (and then not so subtly) urged them to head out once the sun set. In typical Trindentarii fashion, the twins paid no mind to business hours, assuming such silly numbers didn't apply to their patronage.
Harrow walked them back to the entryway, suppressing the urge to shove them out the door. Her clients took their sweet time leaving. Coronabeth spent several minutes redoing her bubblegum pink lipstick while Ianthe fiddled with her smart watch.
After snapping her pocket mirror shut, Coronabeth shot Harrow another dazzling look. "Thanks for all your work today! We'll text you tomorrow when we're on our way."
"Uh, you don't have my number. Just call the office phone."
A moment later, Harrow felt her cell buzz.
"Don't worry, I've got your number," Ianthe said with a smirk.
Harrow checked her phone screen, groaning when a message preview from an unknown number popped up.
New message: 💀❤🔱🔱
She glowered at the emojis and pocketed her phone once more.
"Keep things professional, please."
Ianthe brought a hand to her chest, fingers fanning over her sternum in mock indignation. "Harry, I am a consummate professional."
Harrow rolled her eyes at the innuendo. She was tempted to ask how Ianthe got her number, but had a feeling that knowing would be worse than ignorance.
The twins finally shrugged on their coats and opened the front door. They made their way back to that ridiculous sports car, Coronabeth turning to wave and Ianthe blowing a kiss before settling into the driver's seat.
Harrow watched the fresh-off-the-floor Maserati peel onto the road, kicking up an obnoxious cloud of gravel in its wake. Once its headlights had disappeared into the fog, she whipped out her phone and opened a group chat.
Harrow: I met Nav's rebound today.
A few moments later, three little dots appeared next to Palamedes' name.
Camilla: is it a rebound if you broke up a year ago? 🤔
The three dots froze for a moment, then reappeared over and over, as if Palamedes were feverishly typing and deleting his response.
Harrow: Only ten and a half months, actually.
Palamedes: I'm sorry to hear that. Are you doing ok? 🤍🤍🤍
Harrow grit her teeth.
Harrow: I'm fine. It was just unexpected. I didn't recognize her at first.
There was a long silence after that. Palamedes and Camilla were probably squabbling over how to handle the situation. The two had been caught smack in the middle of the break up and played arbiter for months before Camilla finally put her foot down and banned all Gideon talk.
Camilla: Harrow. Stop stalking Gideon and her girlfriend.
Harrow: Her girlfriend is my client.
The chat exploded into a flurry of "___is typing" at that.
Camilla: Jfc, did you kill her parents???
Harrow: No.
Harrow: And given how much of a hassle this funeral is shaping up to be, I sincerely wish I could resurrect them.
Palamedes: Do you have to take her as a client? You can't just pass her on to a different home?
Harrow: No. Apparently our parents were quite close. Or rather, my parents appear to owe them one hell of a debt. Refusing to do the funeral will have legal reparations I am not equipped to deal with.
Camilla: sounds like a blood oath 😶
Palamedes: Well, that's certainly...interesting. When is the funeral?
Harrow: Two weeks from today. The parents are being maintained in a cryo chamber, so the daughters have all the time in the world to fuss over the funeral.
Palamedes: Daughters plural?
Harrow raised her eyebrows at that. She had expected Cam and Pal to know all about the twins from Gideon. Perhaps those three didn't speak as frequently as Harrow worried they did.
Camilla: yeah they're twins
Why on earth did Camilla know?
Harrow: They're terrors. I feel like I'm being asked to plan a wedding with two bridezillas. They spent an hour arguing over what shade of black the napkins should be.
Camilla: well if you survive this you won't have to work for at least a year. I imagine they'll be paying you with gold bars for your discretion
Harrow: Maybe. I didn’t even get the opportunity to ask about payment though. I was not exactly leading the discussion…
Palamedes: is there anything we can do to help?
Camilla: pls don't make me your errand boy again
Harrow flushed at that. The first few weeks after the break up had been...unpleasant. Amid a deep depression, she had refused to set foot outside, terrified of running into Gideon and one of her many flings. Camilla, the patron Saint of navigating all relationship drama, had kicked Harrow's ass into gear. She managed to get Harrow out of the house, accompanying her to doctors appointments and grocery shops. It had taken months for that awful agoraphobia to finally fade away.
Harrow: I won't.
Harrow: There isn't much the two of you can do, aside from keeping me sane.
Palamedes sent a gif of two kittens hugging, which Camilla followed up with a stoic thumbs up emoji.
Harrow sighed and set down her phone. She rubbed her temples in an attempt to soothe the migraine brewing behind her eyes.