'you have your mother's eyes, grace,' the rhythmic clack clack clack of victor's shoes against the checkered marble was the only sound in the room, save the wet breathing of the things lurking behind every door. he adjusted his goggles, the glass clicking as it magnified toward her trembling form. 'though alyssa, she never really had your . . . constitution, your . . . resilience,' he came to a halt about ten feet away from where grace stood, his gaunt frame casting a large shadow across the floor. he held out a gloved appendage, palm upward, as if expecting her to simply hand over the future of the spencer legacy. 'she was a seeker of the truth, grace, but you - you are the truth, itself,' @roseguided + grace.