Nia - POV E3 (home)

Why did she say that? Has she lost her mind? She should've walked inside faster, not have let them catch up to her. But she stopped. Why? Nia has always prided herself on maintaining control over her emotions. She's been called a bitch for it, an ice queen, a cunt.

But she feels as if it allows her to have control over her life. Yes, she knows life is inherently chaotic, especially in a town like this. But if there's one thing that belongs only to her, it's her actions.

She had a plan. She would keep her distance. She would be courteous, she would be composed. In one single night that all went to shit. She talked to them at the movies, she told them why she calls them Birdie.

It's just... they unnerve her. If Nia had to explain herself and her in one image she would say that she imagines herself standing on a platform, thousands of feet in the air. The wind blowing her long locks around her face. Her feet are firmly planted. She doesn't tip over.

But ever since they came back she feels herself sliding ever closer to the edge. To plummet down to the ground, to splatter like a bag of blood is what awaits her if she keeps letting her rein loose. Nia shuts the door behind her, her heels echo off the walls. The chilliness of the night seeps in from who knows where.

She waits and listens. She hears footsteps, the usual ones she's recognized since childhood. The help is always here. Although they follow her father's rule of being neither seen nor heard unless called upon. Her father...

She walks with purpose towards the elevator her finger already outstretched to touch the button. She awaits with her arms crossed. She uncrosses them. She pushes her hair back over her shoulders. She taps her thigh. She sighs. Stop it, she can hear her father's voice reprimand her in her head. She lets her arms hang by her side and the elevator dings.

She walks in and hits the button for the third floor. The house was a hotel for many years. A business venture by her great-grandfather. A rather stupid one she thinks, on average how many people come to this shithole?

From what her father told her, her grandfather wasn't much better. He managed the hotel but his true passion lied with the arts. She's seen his paintings, she doesn't know much about art but they're rather mediocre. The only thing her father ever thanked his family for was his name. The Mirs were one of the first families to come to this town. Her ancestor Bijan Mir was apparently good friends with Josiah Croun.

Growing bored with thoughts of her dead relatives she thinks of Imre. Of what Imre told her. She just can't bring herself to believe it. Everyone says this town is haunted. That fairytale creatures abound. Small town superstition if you ask her, she's never seen anything out of the ordinary. It's all just tales from people who have far too much time of their hands.

The elevator dings open. She makes her way to her father's study and knocks once on the dark wood.

"Come in," a bored voice says.

Nia slowly opens the door and sees her father sitting at his desk, neat piles of paper around him. He doesn't look up as he's writing, "you're late, daughter."

Nia feels herself grimace but she quickly composes her face. "I'm sorry. Imre thought it was a good idea to drive half the town home."

"Is that hyperbole?"

Nia doesn't answer. "If Imre keeps bringing you home later than is prudent, I'll have to see about getting you a fulltime chauffeur."

"It won't happen again father," she replies a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow and in a more calm voice she adds, "I'll talk to him."

"You're adamance about not wanting a personal driver makes me think you're doing things you shouldn't," he accuses.

Nia's hand grips the doorknob. "Imre is a boy who has a lot of friends. The drives are one of the only times I can spend with him without other kids from other families trying to get into his good graces."

Amir twists his pen and sets it on the table. He clasps his hands in front of him and looks up at his daughter. "It's fortunate he's taken such a liking to you. I thought it would never happen when you constantly passed him over for your other friend."

Nia grips the doorknob tighter. "We did go to the party to keep up our relationship with the Crowns. It would be good if I renewed my friendship with [name] Crown, wouldn't it?"

Amir's face is expressionless as always. He says in monotone, "we went out of respect to Salvatore and his father. I never liked your friendship with that child, it did you no good."

She has the urge to look away from his penetrating black eyes but she manages to maintain her calm demeanor while her fingers hurt from the death-grip she has on the knob.

"The Crowns aren't as powerful as they once were. The only reason our kind still deigns to treat them as equals is because they founded this town but Victor ruined any chance of that family of ever gaining back the influence and authority they had. All that is left to them is their name and if things are as dire as I'm hearing, not even that will be enough," he explains.

Nia's curiosity is peaked but she holds her tongue. Her father looks at the small clock on his desk. "Inform Marcel that we're ready to eat," he orders.

"Yes, father," she replies and steps back into the hallway.

"Nia," he interjects.

She pauses and he says, "I don't want to hear that you're seeing [name] Crown. You have far more important friends. Now more than ever do we need the Durans' friendship."

She nods once and closes the door.