CHAPTER 18: BEYOND PROFICIENT

At night, dinner was ghostly quiet because Erisia had joined them, just like she said she would. But one person was missing—Leander. When Erisia asked why he wasn’t there, Mrs. Wrenford hissed at her, "You should know why he isn’t here. After all, you caused it."

Erisia only shrugged, dragging out the chair at the other end of the table and taking a seat. "I warned him. He deserved it."

Selena opened her mouth, ready to hurl another insult, but then she shut it again—like she’d just realized wasting her breath on Erisia was useless. Her lips pressed into a thin line, though, and her fingers twitched against her fork as if itching to throw it. The tightness around her jaw was all fury barely chained.

The maids finished serving and quietly left. Without waiting for anyone, without ceremony, Erisia dug in. Across the table, Sierra sat rigid, silent as a mouse, but the way she gripped her knife gave her away. She wasn’t eating so much as slicing at the chicken breast in front of her, the edge of the blade sawing harder than necessary. Her eyes flicked up at Erisia every so often, cold and hateful—but she never said a word.

They ate in brittle silence until halfway through the meal when Erisia spoke again.

"You two always go shopping at the end of every month, don’t you? Aside from the sprees before birthdays, parties, or celebrations."

Selena’s brow furrowed deeply. She opened her mouth, already sharpening a rebuke. "And what does that have to do—"

"Instead of going shopping with you both—something I’d hate to do—just give me the money you’d spend. And don’t tell me you won’t, because I don’t want to hear that."

Her gaze slid to Sierra, locking onto her with a look so sharp it was almost amused. "As nothing but an adopted child, Sierra gets almost the same allowance as her dearest eldest brother—the one working his ass off at the company. So tell me—what should I, the biological daughter, get? Nothing?" She scoffed. "Too bad. I’m not content with that."

Sierra’s hand froze mid-cut, knuckles whitening on the handle of her knife. She didn’t speak, but the glance she sent across the table was filled with malice.

If glares could kill, Selena’s glare would have buried her six feet under. "Well, if you want an allowance, you’ll have to wait for your father to get back from his business trip—"

"I didn’t ask for an allowance, Mrs. Wrenford," Erisia cut in, her tone ice-cold. "I asked for the money Sierra spends whenever you both go shopping. Nothing more." She set her fork down with a quiet clink. "And don’t tell me you can’t give me what I asked for—we all know you can."

Pushing her chair back, she stood, smoothing down her black lace top. "I’m done. Enjoy your meal."

Without another word, she left the dining room and headed upstairs.

’Echo.’

[Yes, Erisia?]

’I feel worked up. Let’s continue the acting lesson.’

[I’m sorry, Erisia, but the simulation lesson occurs only once a day—and you were just discharged from the hospital. The doctor advised that you should rest as much as possible.]

’I know. We’ll do half the time. If I get tired or my head starts to ache, you can stop immediately. I just want to get better at acting.’

[You have a natural talent for acting. You are beyond proficient for a beginner. There is no need to rush–]

’I want to get the fuck out of this house and away from this family. Forcing money out of them won’t work for long—maybe twice, three times at most. And I refuse to waste my time on some exhausting part-time job. She pushed open the door to her room, closed it, and locked it behind her. So yeah—I need small acting jobs that can give me enough to rent an apartment, furnish it, buy my own things, and more. But even small acting jobs don’t want a newbie-level actor anymore.’

[Alright. We will review what you learned this morning and cover half of the next lesson.]

’Good, let’s start in thirty minutes.’ Erisia picked Rein up from where she was curled on the bench in front of the bed and stroked her fur absently.

Still dressed in a sheer black lace crop top with long bell sleeves, layered with a solid black bodice in a sweetheart neckline, paired with high-waisted, oversized washed jeans, she sat back down on the bench and took in the room more carefully than she had earlier that afternoon.

Honestly, there wasn’t much in it—but at least it didn’t look like she was suffering in that regard.

A queen-sized bed stood against the far wall, dressed in pale gray sheets and a comforter neatly folded at the edges. A polished oak wardrobe filled one corner, and a tall mirror leaned against the opposite wall. The desk beneath the window was clutter-free—just a lamp, a glass of water, and a few notebooks stacked neatly. The walls were painted a muted cream, clean but impersonal, like the room belonged to someone passing through rather than settling in. The one indulgence was the bench at the foot of the bed, cushioned and soft, Rein’s chosen spot.

It was a large enough space, and that was enough for her.

Thirty minutes later, they began the simulation lesson.

[Scene Study and Character Embodiment – Lesson One begins.]

The room around her flickered, reality peeling away. She found herself standing in a dim rehearsal hall, a single spotlight overhead. A chair sat in the center of the stage, a folded script resting on its seat. Rows of empty theater seats stretched out in front of her, shadows pooling in the aisles.

[Today’s exercise: Monologue Study. You will embody a character, not simply recite their words. Your task: become the person in the script. Feel their thoughts as your own.]

A soft ding sounded as the script on the chair lit up.

[Character Assignment: "Lydia" – a young woman confronting her estranged father after years of abandonment.]

[Difficulty: Beginner – Emotional Recall Integration.]

The words glowed faintly across the page.

[You may begin when ready.]

Erisia stared at the chair, then at the script. Her fingers itched as if to tear the paper apart, but instead, she reached for it, steadying herself with a slow inhale.

Alright, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Let’s see how deep I can go.

The script felt warm in her hands, words pulsing faintly across the page as though alive.

She skimmed the first line—Lydia’s opening—before lowering the script and muttering under her breath. "Confronting a father. Easy enough. I already hate mine."

[Not easy, Erisia,] Echo corrected, its voice steady but not scolding. [Remember, this is not you. This is Lydia. The moment you blur the two, you risk overacting. Do not vent. Embody.]

"Tch." She flipped her hair back, tossing the script onto the chair. "Fine. I’ll embody."

She stepped into the spotlight, bare feet silent against the floorboards. For a moment, she just stood there, arms hanging loose, her gaze flicking over the empty rows of chairs.

"Dad."

The word came out flat, dull.

[Again, but this time, think about Lydia’s history. She hasn’t seen her father in twelve years. What does she remember of him? His absence, yes—but also, does she long for him? Hate him? Miss him? Let both emotions exist.]

Erisia inhaled through her nose, then tried again.

"Dad." Her voice cracked slightly—unintentionally, but it carried. Her throat tightened.

She gritted her teeth and went on. "Do you know how many birthdays you missed? Twelve. Twelve years of silence, while Mom worked herself half to death trying to keep us alive. And you—" Her jaw clenched. "You just disappeared."

Her hand shot up, fingers curling like claws. "Do you know how it feels to be the daughter of a ghost? To answer questions with lies because it was easier than admitting the truth?"

The words tumbled out hot, too hot—her voice rising, sharp.

[Pause.]

The spotlight dimmed slightly, as if Echo had pressed an unseen switch.

[You are shouting. Lydia is not here to scold. She is here to seek an answer she has never had. Do not let your anger eclipse her yearning. Try again—but this time, imagine she is still that child, desperate for a father’s presence.]

Erisia exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Desperate. Right." She steadied herself, then began again.

Her eyes softened, unfocused, as if she were looking at someone she couldn’t quite reach.

"Dad... do you know how many birthdays you missed?" Her voice trembled faintly, not with rage, but with sorrow. "Twelve. Twelve years, and I kept hoping you’d come back. Every candle I blew out, every wish I made—it was always you."

She pressed her fist to her chest. "But you never came. Not once. And I told myself it didn’t matter. That I didn’t need you. But I lied. I lied because I did need you." Her throat bobbed. "I still do."

Silence.

The rehearsal hall swallowed her words, the empty rows echoing them back like ghosts.

Erisia’s hands curled at her sides. For a split second, she wasn’t Erisia anymore—she was Lydia.

[Better,] Echo said softly. [Much better. Now—hold that emotion. Let it stay in your body. Don’t rush into the next line until you feel Lydia breathe inside you.]

Her chest rose and fell sharply, her lashes wet before she realized it.

She closed her eyes. Breathe, Lydia. Just breathe.

When she opened them again, her voice was raw. "I want to know why. Why you left. Why I wasn’t enough for you to stay."

She stopped, trembling.

[End scene,] Echo’s tone carried something new—approval, almost warmth. [You tapped into emotional recall. That is not beginner’s work. That is instinct.]

Erisia ran her thumb under her eye, annoyed to find it damp. "Hah. Guess I had more in me than I thought."

[Yes, but remember—the goal is control. If you cannot step out of Lydia when the scene ends, you risk carrying her grief with you. Release her, Erisia.]

She drew a shaky breath, then deliberately dropped her shoulders, rolling her neck, loosening her stance. "Alright. Goodbye, Lydia. You’re not me."

The stage dissolved, the rehearsal hall peeling away into soft pixels until her bedroom returned—quiet, dim, Rein playing with her toys against the floor.

[Lesson complete. Session shortened, as agreed.]

Erisia leaned back, staring at the ceiling, her lips quirking faintly. "Echo... did I do good?"

[You did well. Very well.]

A silence stretched, warm but fragile.

Erisia stroked Rein’s fur. "Good."

~•~•~

The next day, when Erisia woke up and went down for breakfast, no one else came to eat. When she asked the maids, they told her that Mrs. Wrenford had gone out for a spa appointment.

"What about her adopted daughter?" Erisia asked as she cut into a plate of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and hash browns.

The maid knew exactly who Erisia was referring to but hesitated. Answering honestly could be seen as disrespecting Ms. Sierra, and if Mrs. Wrenford ever found out, it might cost her the job.

Erisia noticed her hesitation, rolled her eyes, and asked the system, ’Any other servants in the dining room right now?’

[No.]

"Then it’s fine," Erisia told the maid casually.

The maid finally answered in a low voice, "Ms. Sierra informed Ma’am that she was going out to meet her friends."

Erisia smiled thinly. "I see. Thank you."

The maid quickly excused herself and left the room.

[Are you not curious—or scared—about what she’s doing, or what might happen?] Echo asked in her mind.

’Curious, yes. Very much so. But scared? Strangely, no. I’m anticipating it. And you think it’s going to play out the same as in the story? Where Erisia was attacked and beaten?’

[It may play out the same way—or it may not. My calculations suggest there is a seventy-five percent chance it will unfold differently from the novel.]

’When I’m done eating, let’s go shopping.’