Deborah received a shock as she saw. “Her.” walking around the house without the veil. She hated how golden her hair was, and with those green eyes, she looked exactly like her mother. In a temper, she sent brat to her room and told her not to come out until she was allowed. She had her meals taken to her and left her in there for a week. During this time she cast another spell, this time on the house and all but herself that would enter the home. She knew her magic was not strong enough for this, but she had some of the brats own hair to use.  She smiled as she thought of the looks the brat would now get from all that would see her. But at the same time she decided it would be good to have her cover her face anyway.

A few months later she threw the old dress to the maid; she had picked it up from a lady whose daughter had just died. “Tell her to wear that, the other one does not fit any more. I refuse to spend my money on the likes of her.” The maid said nothing as she went up to the girls’ room holding the dirty dress. All the maid wishes for was not to see that face again, the scar was giving her bad dreams. Deborah saw more and more of her mother in her, as the little girl grew up. Now she refused to do more that yell at her, as the brat grew so did Deborah’s hate.

 If she was not careful, she might actually kill her before she was able to gain all that power for herself. With this in mind, she found herself spending very little time at home. Only at night, when she made the child use her own magic to strengthen her own, could she be in the same room as her and not want to cut her throat. It had not been long before she started to sell the things around the house, not because she needed the money, Deborah just wanted the things gone. She dismissed the gardeners, sold all but two of the horses and only kept one man to drive her carriage.

Slowly she had the pleasure of seeing the Flowerdew Estate becoming rather shabby. It made her very happy, if she could not kill the child, she would make her life a living misery. But no matter what she did, that damned girl never seemed to be put out by it. The damned brat always seemed content.