Content Warning:

  SpoilerAlcohol and substance abuse, references to past cases of abuse, mild transphobia, mild sexual content.

  [colpse] AnnouncementI'm so excited to share Daughters of the Manor with the world!

  This is a story that's been in the works for a ridiculously long time. It's completely written, minus a few st minute touch-ups, so please expect consistent releases and no interruption to my other story - Interstitial Entity.

  Daughters is a strange combination - it's both horror and romance. Specifically, it's a story about three lesbian retionships that occur in a world that ended nearly two decades ago.

  I'm hoping to release three chapters a week - Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. These will vary in length. I believe the shortest are around 1.5k words and the longest around 8k words.

  Without further ado, enjoy!

  PART ONE: Devi1. Night Life14 DECEMBER, 2035Not even the end of the world could put a stop to British drinking culture. A short woman lingered on the edge of the chaos, watching the swaying masses stagger down the street named Parsgate, oblivious to the ruin around them. She was too young to remember Parsgate before the Fsh, but from what she’d heard, it hadn’t changed much. The street had always been the city’s beating heart of culture - not for its history, but for the sheer density of its pubs. And on the morning of 10 October 2019, when the world fell apart, plenty of miserable bastards had been there. Many more had flocked back, returning to their nightly sanctum.

  The road stretched long and narrow, buildings lining both sides, with only two entry points at the east and west ends. The gates had gone up fast, built to keep the Flesh out. They worked well, but the street still drip-fed them drunken stragglers who stumbled home at sunrise, into their preying grasp. Leaning against the brick wall of Club Blue, the woman had no intention of becoming one of them. She watched the crowd, their bodies a waltz of stupidity, and felt nothing close to sympathy for those who would.

  For the party-goers, she was easy to miss - another shadow on the wall. Dressed in neutral colours - with her face half-buried in a washed-out scarf - nobody spared her a second gnce. If they had, they might’ve noticed the tension in her hunched shoulders or the fists clenched tight in her denim jacket’s pockets. Or how she kept gncing at the staff entrance to the club behind her.

  It had been an hour since she took this position, letting the cold jab at her pale skin. She regretted tying her brown hair into a ponytail - her ears were raw from the wind’s bite. So far, two people had entered through the door she was watching. Better than she’d hoped.

  To distract herself from the monotony, she studied the simpletons on the street. They came from all over - some from across the city, some from beyond - chasing one night of glory before waking up to the same grim reality. They were loud, obnoxious, and na?ve in a way that either made her feel sick, or bitter with envy. She couldn’t decide which. There was something infuriating about the way they surrendered to the night. They discarded inhibition, ignored their trauma, and lived unimpeded by the hellhole beyond the gates.

  Locals were easy to spot - they moved through the street with a zy kind of confidence, their pace unhurried and their eyes knowing. The outsiders would gallop down the road, shouting into the sky like the world owed them attention. The loudest were from the East Way compound. She rolled her eyes at them, just like everyone else, but she understood their impulse to celebrate liberation. What she didn’t understand was why any of them went back after such a taste. She hadn’t.

  Across the road, a stone building flickered to life in crimson light. Heels clicked against pavement as a small group of scandalously dressed women stepped outside - ughing, lighting cigarettes, and rubbing their arms in a bid to ward off the cold. Her head dipped instinctively, burying itself deeper into her scarf. She prayed the crowd would swallow her and that her short height would keep her hidden from the gossiping eyes spilling out of Rouge. Once infected, Parsgate had never been able to scrub the oldest trade from its DNA. Clubs like Rouge lined the street like sores, stitched into its foundation.

  She wanted - desperately and shamefully - to look up. To scan the group and search for a fsh of ginger hair. But if she saw it, she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stay still. For the good of the mission, she contained herself.

  She was so lost in that thought that she almost didn’t notice the bearded man sliding into pce beside her.

  Brandon didn’t say her name and didn’t look at her. Just leaned against the wall, mimicking her posture, his nky frame towering over her. He ran a hand through his thick, messy hair - steadying himself.

  "What do you think then, Goose?" His voice was low, speaking forward.

  Her face twisted at the nickname. "Goose." No one else called her that, no matter how much he tried to make it a thing. He insisted it was clever - said it sounded like Lucy. She didn’t care, it made her feel silly and small.

  Still, she ignored it and smirked. There was something inherently sexy about the secret agent act they were pying - watching the street as if they weren’t part of it. Not that she felt anything like that towards Brandon - part and parcel of both lesbianism and a ten-year age gap. But if she swapped him out and imagined a sultry redhead in a tight turtleneck beside her instead... yeah, that was a different story.

  "I’ve only counted two," she said, mirroring his stance, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her scarf. "I think that’s all there’s going to be. They don’t open for another hour, so it won’t be busy inside."

  A group of men stumbled out of a bar down the road, shoving each other, slurred insults spilling into the night. Brandon watched them with the calcuting stare of one of the green-uniformed guards. After a long moment, he nodded.

  "Then we stick to the pn. You keep them busy - we handle the rest."

  Lucy shifted, debating. Then, against her better judgement - against the dozens of times he had already shut this conversation down - she tried again.

  "And I definitely can’t get a lift back with you guys?"

  Brandon sighed through his nose, shooting her a look. "It’ll take too long."

  She knew that. If they stopped to pick her up, they’d prolong their exposure and risk compromising everything. She wasn’t stupid - she knew that once the gates closed, getting out of Parsgate was near impossible until morning - but it didn’t make the reality sting any less.

  Because while her comrades would ride off in a celebratory bze of glory, she’d spend the night trapped in this sea of musky vomit, with only her past to keep her company.

  "If you don’t think you can do this-"

  "No. I can." The words snapped out of her faster than she meant. She exhaled. "There are just... a lot of memories here."

  Brandon’s face didn’t change, but his eyes softened. He had been part of it, after all. He knew. "You gonna see your friend?"

  Her lips curled, amused despite herself. Her friend. As if that word could even begin to describe the impossible-to-bel retionship she had with Kylie.

  "I don’t know," she admitted, finally sneaking a gnce at the women outside Rouge. Kylie wasn’t there. Of course she wasn’t.

  Her chest tightened as she looked away.

  Brandon mistook the motion for disappointment. "Chin up, it’ll be fine," he said, warm and firm, taking her silence as reluctant agreement. "We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Bright and early at the rendezvous."

  Then, as smoothly as he had arrived, he melted into the crowd, his body vanishing into the sea of faces. He would slip through the west gate, circle the back of the club, and join the others for the hijacking.

  All Lucy had to do was wait for the signal. Keep the employees inside distracted and from noticing anything unusual outside. A simple job. She wasn’t convinced it was necessary - but tonight, she was gd to have it. The cwing memories were hard enough.

  Club Blue was a significant target, one of the most famous clubs on the strip. That meant a good payout - and serious consequences for getting caught.

  The woman who had hired them was allegedly a drinker with a refined pate, seeking a rare pre-Fsh crate of alcohol that was set to be delivered tonight. It was pusible enough. But something about her bothered Lucy. The client made no sense.

  She was too polished for the slums. Too tightly wound for Parsgate. Too unkempt for Albank Castle. And Lucy couldn’t picture a refined drinker living in East Way. She was an enigma - someone who existed off-grid but somehow had the money to fund an expensive job. Everyone agreed something was off - but no one could say no to the cash.

  Alone now, Lucy watched the guards pace down the street - young, jittery men gripping guns or crossbows they probably didn’t know how to use. A rumour said most of the guns didn’t even have ammo. She wasn’t going to stake her life on a rumour, but it provided some comfort. Her fingers tightened around the knife in her pocket, pressing against the worn handle, grounding herself in its weight.

  Then, from behind the club, a low hum. An engine. Lucy’s spine snapped upwards. Time to move.

  With one st self-pitying sigh, she strode to the side-door and smmed her fists against the metal. The loud, jarring cngs echoed through the building - perfect. The more noise she made, the less likely the staff inside were to notice the van pulling up out back.

  "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!" a voice yelled from the other side, muffled but clearly female.

  Lucy kept pounding, knowing that the awkwardness would buy her crew precious seconds.

  Finally, there was a click from behind the door, followed by the groan of hinges. A woman stepped out - a little taller than Lucy, dressed in tight bck jeans and a faded grey tank top that clung to damp skin. Blonde hair was scraped back into a messy bun, loose wisps clinging to her sweaty forehead. Sharp, angur features twisted into irritation - hostile before they’d even locked eyes.

  Then, the moment their gazes met, Lucy’s stomach plummeted.

  Brooke.

  A chill rushed down her. She had been so vigint, had studied the entrance so carefully - and still, she had missed this. One of the two employees was her. Of all people.

  Her first reaction was pure instinct: a gut-punch of panic, of emotional whipsh, and of memories she had spent years burying.

  Her second reaction was oh, fuck.

  "Lucy?" Brooke’s voice cracked on the word. She took a step back, disbelief fshing across her face before something sharper took its pce.

  Lucy swallowed hard. "Brooke." Her voice came out cold and taut.

  For a moment, they just stared, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the impossible situation.

  Brooke had changed. She looked stronger, her hollow frame filled out with muscle, her presence somehow bigger. But there was something in the way she held herself - controlled and calcuting - that hadn’t changed at all.

  "What are you doing here?" A demand, not a question.

  I might ask you the same thing.

  When she had st seen Brooke, they were both living in East Way - both trying to survive under Jack Mason’s fascist reign. Lucy had run. Brooke hadn’t. They hadn’t seen each other since.

  How had she gone from there to here?

  She wished she had the time to process it, but she didn’t. Right now, her job was to make sure this conversation didn’t derail the mission.

  Her brain thudded against her skull. Answer. Now.

  "I was looking for work." She forced a sheepish shrug, rubbing the back of her head as though suddenly shy. "Didn’t expect to see you here, though. It’s been a long time."

  Brooke’s jaw clenched. "I know that."

  Lucy blinked. Something in Brooke’s voice was off - tight, strained.

  "I know that-" Brooke repeated, quieter this time, "-because I spent half of it looking for you."

  For a second, Lucy’s breath caught. Brooke had searched for her?

  Her mind jumped, unbidden, to the time before she had left - to whispered conversations, to touches that lingered too long, to something that had almost been something before she had run away from it all. But Brooke’s face didn’t hold relief. There was no happiness in finding Lucy alive. Instead, she looked like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.

  Lucy’s stomach twisted. "Jack sent you to find me."

  Brooke gave a sharp nod. "Of course he did."

  That made sense. Jack would’ve been obsessed with finding her. Of course he had tried to use Brooke to do it. And, judging by the way Brooke was holding herself, it hadn’t gone well for her.

  Lucy exhaled, thinking fast. "Then why are you here?"

  It was a reasonable question. If she were still at East Way, then it made no sense for her to be working at Club Blue in the centre of the city. But Brooke scoffed. Her expression cracked - just for a second - into something unhinged and bitter, before she reined it in.

  "What do you think, Lucy?"

  Lucy’s stomach clenched. The answer was obvious: Jack didn’t let people fail him.

  For the first time since seeing her, Lucy let herself really look at Brooke - at the tension in her shoulders and at the way her fingers twitched at her sides like they were used to curling into fists. Jack had hurt her.

  Lucy’s throat went dry. "I’m sorry."

  The words felt empty the second they left her mouth.

  Brooke shook her head, eyes shutting tight for a moment. "You’re sorry?" She let out a sharp, humourless ugh. "Luce, you abandoned me." Her voice cracked as she threw her hands up, furious, emotional, raw. "Just when I thought we were-"

  She cut herself off with a hiss, looking away. Lucy said nothing. Because Brooke wasn’t wrong. She had abandoned her. She had left her in Jack’s hands. And now, knowing what that had meant-

  She almost apologised again, but bit it back. It wouldn’t help. Nothing would.

  Brooke exhaled sharply. "I can’t even look at you."

  Lucy swallowed. "I didn’t want to leave you," she said carefully. "But I had to get out. He-"

  "I know what he did." Brooke’s voice was a bde. "I just hope it was worth it."

  Lucy met her eyes. "It was." Honest. Unforgivable.

  Brooke’s face twisted. They were kids again - two angry and stubborn brats standing on opposite ends of a line neither of them had drawn.

  A familiar rumble split the air. The van.

  Brooke turned on her heel, sprinting for the back door. Too te.

  Lucy stayed where she was, listening to the engine roar as the van sped away. The job was done. Now she had to disappear.

  Lucy’s stomach twisted, nausea rising in waves. She wanted to fall to the ground, curl into herself and scream until her lungs emptied. But she didn’t have time for that. She had looked Brooke in the eyes and tasted pain that she had caused.

  The crowd swallowed her whole as she pushed forward, taking deep, shuddering breaths, as she desperately searched for one that would pull her back together.

  The gates would be closing any minute now. Once they shut, they wouldn’t open again until sunrise. Staying in Parsgate had already been a bad idea - now it was suicidal. A random stranger from Club Blue would’ve forgotten her face in minutes. Brooke wouldn’t. She was smart enough to be suspicious of Lucy’s conveniently timed appearance.

  Lucy needed to get out - now.

  Her mind flipped through options, discarding them just as fast. Most buildings had back doors leading out of the strip, but they were locked - restricted to staff. She couldn’t break into one without drawing attention.

  Then the realisation hit her, sharp enough to make her ugh. There was one key that she knew the location of. In the hands of the woman she’d been trying to ignore all night.

  The idea of seeing Kylie again had felt impossible before. But after facing Brooke, that wound felt much softer. And she really needed a friend.

  Her gaze lifted across the street to the glowing red lights of Rouge. A lump formed in her throat.

  She wove through the bodies toward the entrance, past the women lounging out front. The moment she stepped onto the stairs, she felt their silent and judgemental eyes tracking her.

  She wanted to scream that she didn’t care what they thought of her - that she still held the same opinions of their little viscous sisterhood. But she wasn’t even sure they recognised her. She hadn’t sted long in Rouge - less than a year - and most of that time had been spent wrapped up in Kylie.

  To them, she was probably just an unusual client.

  Inside, the room was bathed in smoky red light, sparse with early patrons. A girl sat on stage, plucking out an acoustic melody, her song barely registering over the low murmur of conversation. Older men in funny hats sipped drinks, ignoring the music, waiting for the real entertainment to start ter in the night.

  A well-dressed man stepped in front of her, sungsses obscuring his expression. New and unfamiliar, thankfully.

  "Can I help you, ma’am?"

  Lucy nodded, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few white chips - the de facto currency of the street.

  "Is Kylie working tonight?"

  She used to despise hearing about men who requested Kylie by name. When Kylie told her stories of them, Lucy would picture herself there - strangling the chaser bastards with their own belts. And now she was one of them.

  The realisation made her smirk. Though, she could already hear Kylie’s voice, dripping with smug amusement: You were always one of them, bitch.

  The man nodded. "Room Six."

  "I’ll take an hour."

  She pressed the chips into his palm without counting. No need. It wasn’t her money.

  He opened his mouth - probably to give her directions - but she waved him off. Instead, she strode through the corridors like she owned the pce.

  Upstairs. Through the dimly lit halls. To the sixth door. She took a breath, braced herself, and knocked.

  Room Six was as cramped as she remembered, dimly lit in hazy purple. The red sofa - which doubled as a bed - against the far wall was as filthy as ever. A single gss table sat shoved into the corner, long since abandoned as anything useful.

  Kylie was sprawled across the couch, one shoulder crooked to prop up her head. Her red outfit - two short satin pieces - blended into the cushions, her body posed in effortless seduction. She was ready to begin the first show of the evening. Then she saw Lucy.

  Her entire body sckened, tension dissolving like a punctured balloon. With a dramatic groan, she colpsed face-first into the pillows, her storm of ginger curls following after.

  "Are you serious?" Her voice was muffled, soaked in exhaustion.

  Lucy giggled - any filters vanishing - and threw herself onto the couch beside her, jostling Kylie’s head back up. Relief flooded her system. She had dreaded coming back here, but now, in Kylie’s space, it was like she had never left.

  Kylie was gorgeous. More so than Lucy remembered. She had clearly exaggerated the imperfections in her head, and that deserved at least some gentle hair-stroking as an apology.

  "Rex," Lucy said, smoothing back a natural curl. "I’m paying for the pleasure."

  That got Kylie to sit up properly, though her face remained scrunched in juvenile bitterness. Lucy was paying. But not nearly as much as the rich old creeps would.

  The pout didn’t st long. Kylie’s lips stretched into a wide smile, and in the next second, she was pulling Lucy into a hug.

  "How are you?" she asked, voice lifting. "This isn’t you back, is it?"

  Lucy shook her head, letting her head rest against the couch. The thought of running again - of Brooke prowling outside - suddenly didn’t feel as urgent.

  "I’m just passing through," she said, wincing at her lie. She had only come because she needed something. "How are you?"

  Kylie made a gesture of nonchance, though watched her closely. "Same old, same old. You know this pce - nothing changes. The sisterhood are still bitches. Ben keeps asking where you are. And - oh!" A devious grin spread across her face. "One thing has changed..."

  Lucy barely had time to process before Kylie lifted her top, fshing her bare chest as Lucy swung her head away. "Jesus, Kylie!"

  "Oh, please - since when weren’t you interested in my tits, Lucy Hanley?"

  Lucy rolled her eyes but forced herself to look, scanning with mock inspection. "Have they gotten bigger?"

  "Yes!" Kylie smacked Lucy’s shoulder. "I thought they were done, but nope - extra cup size. You know why, Lucy? Because oestrogen is fucking magical."

  Lucy grinned. It was magical. It had sculpted Kylie into something undeniably feminine. Some of the happiest moments in Lucy’s life had been spent worshipping that transformation. But the thought turned bitter in her mouth.

  "The deliveries are still coming, then?" she said, making a bad attempt at hiding her intentions.

  Kylie’s expression tightened, just for a moment. Then, with a simple, clipped, "Yes," she tugged her top back down.

  Lucy bit her tongue as Kylie let the silence settle before changing the subject. "How long are you staying?"

  Lucy’s chest went tight. Time to be honest.

  "I actually need to leave tonight," she admitted. "I was hoping you still had the key for the side alley..."

  Kylie raised an eyebrow, shot a finger gun at her, and made a little clicking sound with her tongue. Then, with a dramatic flourish, she reached behind one of the couch cushions and pulled out a single key, dangling it from a red string. She jingled it in the air, smirking.

  "Tonight now or tonight ter?" she asked, leaning forward just enough to put her cleavage on dispy again.

  Lucy hesitated. She wanted to stay. God, she wanted to stay. It had been so long, and she missed Kylie - missed her warmth, her voice, and the way she could make the whole world feel smaller for a little while.

  But Brooke was out there - and she would find her eventually.

  Kylie saw the hesitation. Read it instantly. Nodded. She sat back, pulling herself upright, not wanting to hear the rejection. But she couldn’t hide the flicker of disappointment that crossed her face.

  Without another word, she started pulling on her clothes, stripping the scandal from her outfit piece by piece. Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat. The quiet stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

  Then Kylie exhaled and gave her a small, tired smile. "I’m gd you made it out of this shithole."

  It was an honest statement, but her voice was ced with something sad - something unspoken and aching. As if she still wished things had gone differently, despite knowing that they couldn’t have.

  Lucy forced a smile in return. "You can still come with me if you want."

  Kylie didn’t even blink before swatting the offer aside. "You know that I can’t, Lucy."

  Once she was fully dressed, Kylie took the lead, guiding Lucy toward the emergency stairwell that led out of Rouge. There was a fake spring in her step, a forced lightness, like if she made it seem like she was okay, then maybe she would be.

  Lucy followed in silence, gripping the key tight in her palm. Then, as they reached the stairs, Kylie spun on her heel.

  "Oh, I forgot to mention." Her voice took on a teasing lilt, though something sharper lurked beneath it. "Right after you left, some East Way bitch came looking for you... and I want to underline the word bitch."

  Lucy’s blood ran cold.

  She stared at Kylie, her mouth suddenly dry, knowing the answer but needing to check anyway. "...Who?"

  "Didn’t get her name." Kylie shrugged. "Kinda hot, in a ‘would definitely have called me a slur when we were young’ way, but she said that-"

  She stopped. And Lucy saw why. As Kylie’s words died in her throat, the door at the bottom of the stairs swung open. Two figures stood in the frame.

  A beefy man and a lean blonde machine with sharp blue eyes. Lucy’s stomach plummeted as her eyes, once more, met the piercing gaze of Brooke Matheson.

  LilAgarwal