The dress was frilly, too long and dragged itself across the floor when I walked. I hated it.

“Now,” said Beatrice, fussing over me in a way I thought only mothers could. “No one will know you were not a member of Everton House. Listen to what Priss says, and you’ll be stunning. The party will be yours.”

I was sat in a cushioned stool, it’s carved wooden legs taller than my own. Beatrice, the maid designated to care for me, was prattling around in an enormous wooden walk-in wardrobe that was filled with second-hand clothes given to me by other members of the family. Even not being new, they were incredibly rich, nothing like I had seen in my life. What I wore made my precious woolen blanket seem like a washcloth.

“Where’s my blanket?”

Beatrice smiled and pointed at the table next to my bed, smaller than the one I had woken up in. On the top was a simple lamp and my blanket rolled up and tied in a neat ribbon, it’s surface white as snow and pristine. It seemed that Priss had thought one step ahead.

“Come over here, little one.” Beatrice came towards me with a necklace, hands outstretched as she gently put it on my neck. It was a simple yet confusing design- something that had a simple elegance of its own without the finery of flashy colours or priceless gems. It fit onto my neck nicely; I liked it immediately because I couldn’t even feel that it was there.

“Now, little one, don’t take that off, do you hear?” Beatrice was already back to fumbling in the wardrobe while I sat like a painting prompt on the stool. “That’s the insignia of Everton House. As long as that is on, if you find yourself lost, you will be returned to us. Don’t take it off, and don’t lose it now.”

I didn’t. I never did. Even now, the ornament is still on my neck.

Beatrice finished off my outfit with a short ribbon on my head, just in time for Priss’ arrival into the room. She was dressed similarly to how I was. She flashed a big smile at me, something that I was getting accustomed to.

“It’s just like what I said.” Priss joined Beactrice as she was finishing up tidying the wardrobe. “She could not have come from the Outer originally. Look at her pale skin and soft hands! The savages in the Outer put their children to work almost as soon as they are born.”

“It’s as you say, madam. I can’t put a hand on it, but she has an air of nobility about her, even if she doesn’t look it or say a word.”

“One day we may find out where she has truly come from. I, for one, would like to know. She couldn’t have been on the street for long, or she would have been dead. She was cast out, or she left of her own volition. The question is quite simple- why?” Priss turned to face me, almost as if she sensed my discomfort sitting in the stool. “Are you looking forward to the ball, sweetie?”

I didn’t know what a ball was, of course. At the time, I could count the things I knew on the fingers of my hand.

Priss had an uncanny habit of knowing what people were thinking. I didn’t, and still don’t know how she did it. “Don’t worry about the ball, sweetheart. Just follow me, and I’ll tell you what to do. Trust me- it’ll be fun!”

Beatrice managed a slight glance, as if having slight doubts on Priss’ unstoppable optimism. “Madam, you know that-”

“Since it will be your first time, just follow me and listen to what I say.” I nodded vigorously. “As long as you do everything right, the ball will be carefree and fun. Don’t leave my side.” Even I could tell she was stressing a point through her bubbly voice.

“Now madam, I have George to attend to, and then we will be ready to leave.” said Beatrice, finally closing the doors to the walk-in wardrobe. “God, you’d never know how picky that wretched boy is…”

Priss interjected. “If you need, you know I can always talk to him.”

“Won’t be much use, I reckon.” Beatrice sighed as she exited the room.

“Now, sweetie… sit still for just a moment. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

---

I never knew one of the silliest things of childhood self would be discovered quite soon.

“Please, sweetie.” Priss’ usually happy voice bled desperation, and I felt like I should oblige just to make her happy again. “The car isn’t going to hurt you.”

Much at Priss’ dismay, George and Beatrice were silently snickering behind her.

“See? The car might make loud noises and move very fast, but it’s not alive. We control it, and we’ll make sure that it doesn’t eat you-”

“You say that, yet you’re making her step into the car’s belly.” George was having too much fun at his sister’s expense. Priss looked as if she was going to lash back, before realising he was right, biting back her reply. “You’re telling me that she isn’t from the Outer, but she’s never seen a car?”

“Sweetie,” Priss crouched down so she was level with my head, and pointed. “The car isn’t an animal that will eat you. It helps us get to places faster, because it moves so quickly. If we walked, then we’d be tired, see? If we walked, we’d be late for-”

A thundering of footsteps clattered on the stone ground behind me, and I was swept up before I could even turn around. “Alright, alright.” Beatrice was almost cackling as she picked me up with a single motion. “She’ll learn eventually.” She strided into the car before I could even manage to scream, to the vehement protests of Priss as she fumed then followed to get in.

“Don’t worry now, you’re safe here. See? I’m in the car as well. If I knew the car was evil and would eat us, don’t you think I wouldn’t have stepped inside?” Beatrice’s smile was genuine and her simple piece of logic seemed to be simply irrefutable. As I calmed down, I found that the interior of the car was rather spacious and comfortable, and as far as I was aware, no creature had cushioned chairs I had seen inside the house in their belly. In that moment, Priss arrived and finally shut the door behind her, a mix of exasperation, desperation and relief making a convoluted expression on her face.

“Earnshaw! We’re running a little late. Could you take us through the shortcut that runs along the wall?”

“You know that that route is dangerous, madam.”

Priss was busy tidying herself into the seat as the car slowly lurched forward, causing me to jolt in my seat. “Don’t worry about it- at this point in time, we’ll be late. We can’t afford to ruin her-” Priss looked at me indicatively, notioning that I was the subject. “First impression. Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with anything that happens.”

Earnshaw, the older man sitting to the front of us, managed a slight nod as his steely eyes returned to the road.

This was the second time in my life I had even been able to explore Shiinevaar. The first had been very uneventful- it was when I went with Mother to the food ration office to get our monthly supplies. It did not end well.

Having been trapped inside the Cabin, and lately, the House, being outside and breathing the air, no matter how painful it was for my lungs, gave me a sense of freedom that I realised I had truly never experienced in my life. Now, sitting in a warm ‘car’ driving through comfortable and happy streets, it seemed to me that the ‘Lights of the City’ were simply more than just a childish pipe dream.

The lines of the road were set out with clear fence posts, the well carved wood jutting out of the tar like guides to our destination. The buildings were not enormous, but they were relatively squat, tightly packed together, and most importantly, cozy. Lights and quiet sounds emanating from the buildings gave me a warm feeling, even though the white death that rained from the sky never stopped its campaign on the people on the ground. No matter how scared I was of the colour white, the faint orange glow coming from the houses reminded me of fire. As the snowstorm gradually grew in intensity, this feeling abated and I started to shy away from the car window. Priss shot me a concerned look as my small hands grasped the window edge as if hanging for dear life. Beatrice, however, knew immediately.

“She’s scared of the snow, madam.”

Priss nodded slowly and I started to regret my actions as a sad expression slowly crossed her face. In due time, the interior of the car devolved once again into silence as the peppering sound of the snow became the only source of sound.

I did notice however that the further we travelled, the less well built the street and the buildings seemed to be. They were rare, but some buildings were as bad as the ones I had seen when I went out with Mother to the Food Ration office- I assumed no one lived in them. Everyone in the car seemed more visibly agitated as the car ride grew longer and longer, except for Earnshaw. His eyes never left the road.

“Do you have your truncheon?” whispered Pris, craning in her seat.

“Always, madam.”

“Something tells me we’re going to need it.”

Beatrice nodded.

The road continued to wind down the rows of tightly packed houses, and one feature that was most evident as we traveled further was that the right side of the road gradually had less and less buildings. Instead, the land was covered by a stone wall reinforced by steel, its height immeasurable from the visual constraints of the car. The wall was enormous, and the lack of buildings between the wall and the road made me think that the road winded around the edge of the wall. I thought that that might be why everyone in the car stood so closely at attention.

“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Priss’ voice was gentle, but her eyes were on their surroundings, not on me. “We’ll be fine.”

The streets here weren't as tidy as the ones we had seen when we had just left Everton House. While there were still fence posts to mark the edges of the road, it was as if they had been installed and neglected for quite some time, with stakes broken and strewn across the street not far from where they had fallen. The road was crackled and full of little potholes. The state of the buildings reflected the rest of the street- it was simply as if it had been built to the same standard as the other places in the city, but left to rot for many years.

“The damn poverty and the darkness, it seeps from the Outer Districts into the Inner so, so fast. The last time I was here, it wasn’t as bad as this.” George spoke for the first time ever since we set out for the ball, and his voice was surprisingly not accusatory, but almost thoughtful. “What the hell is wrong with being close to the Wall? You’re in the Wall, and you’re protected from the outside regardless of where you are. Those rich pricks in their high chairs refusing to give the suburbs near the wall funding because they’re ‘most susceptible to attack’. As if any place inside the Wall will be safe from the Outer once it’s breached.”

Someone talking, even George, was a comfortable change from listening to the incessant shower of snow. No one in the car spoke back, even Priss, who loved to prove her brother wrong. It seemed that his opinion was simply an irrefutable one.

“We’re going to have trouble, madam.” Earnshaw spoke so softly that if anyone else was talking, we wouldn’t have heard him. “Ahead.”

It would have been hard to see if not previously warned by someone with the eyes of a hawk. People, dressed thickly in furs to protect against the cold, started milling out of the dilapidated houses. As many as four people came out of each tightly packed house, and it was as if each action was being mirrored along every house for a forty meter length of street. My mind heaved as I remembered the day I went to the ration office- the two experiences were like two sides of the same coin. People milling out broken buildings in unison, their faces listless and dull.

Only that it was the same as the day I went to the Ration Office with Mother- the faces on the people were nearly dead, but even through the thick haze of the snow I would see betrayed through their eyes something I could truly never forget.

They wanted something.

A warm feeling enveloped me as Priss readied something under her coat. In due time, I would know that she was nothing short of a master in the use of antique firearms, and what she carried that day was a snub nose revolver. “Sweetie, don’t let go of my hand.” I complied.

The amount of people now blocking the road meant even Earnshaw could not simply speed through. Even I could see that. As our car trickled to a crawl, we were slowly surrounded by a ragtag group who made their intentions clear as soon as the person next to Earnshaw’s window lifted up a crowbar.

“What are you doing here?” I had expected a crash, but what came was a soft knock and and a smooth voice, very much unlike their demeanour. “You know this place isn’t for money-laden people like you.”

Earnshaw had his hand on the button to open the window, but he never pressed it. Instead, they conversed through a small intercom seemingly built for such situations. “I am very sorry, sir. We have somewhere that we have to go, and very little time to get there. I can assure you that if we can, we will not use this road again and keep it clear for you and your fellow residents.”

The person at the window skewed his face as if he was both humoured and confused. The look died with the sound of a hammer from a pistol cocking from beneath Priss’ coat. He had been the only one who had heard it.

“Clear the road! Let them pass.” the man called, gesturing to the other people on the street to get back into the houses. He spoke a final time before turning to leave himself. “I would advise you to not come here, ever again.”

Earnshaw nodded and grinned, provoking a rough grunt from the man in response.

The people on the road began to dissipate like water draining out of a sieve, just like the scene at the Ration office that day in the Outer. When the office put up the sign to say they had no more food, not a single person complained, instead grudgingly walking away. Most people couldn’t even read; they simply knew what it meant.

“At least they could rationalize.” Earnshaw rapped the steering wheel as he slowly drove through the quickly disappearing cloud, eyes still on the road even after nothing stopped us on our path. “When I worked for the government in the Outer, the people outside the wall I had to interact with-” In my limited time at Everton House, I had rarely heard Earnshaw speak, so everyone listened. “I had already learnt that they either wouldn’t talk, or would get violent without a second thought. At least the impoverished in the Inner are not so...restricted in their actions.”

Beatrice patted my head as the car began to pick up speed again. I could already see the fence stakes at the side of the road begin to even out and almost fix themselves as the streets further from the wall became more and more affluent. “That was far easier than I expected.” replied Priss, making herself once again comfortable in the upholstered seat.

“I’d advise against going this path again, madam. If it wasn’t for the little girl’s first impression, we might have not been stopped.” Shame burned within me.

Priss snuggled me as she leaned quietly against the window. “Don’t say such things, Beatrice. First impressions are important.”

“Duly noted, madam.”

---

The first time I saw it, I thought it was a castle. Anything bigger than Everton House, I probably would have considered a castle.

The first prominent feature was the greenery planted in a splendid show of wealth all the way to the front of the house from the entrance, seemingly eons away. In the Outer, trees and shrubs looked dead and lifeless, and snow capped their brows for a large portion of the year. Here was the first time I had seen truly, actual green plant leaves. The paths were similar to the ones that lined the streets of Shiinervaar’s richer districts, a delicately carved, flat cobblestone that made not a single noise as we drove up the perfectly straight road. One could see a marvellous fountain as they arrived at the entrance, becoming more elegant and grandiose as they drove up. Overarching stone lions in a sejant position kept a keenful eye on the neverending flow of water. It seemed like winter’s dead breath could be stopped with dedication of many people, and what looked like an awful lot of money.

“Now sweetie, this is a very important event. Just listen to everything I say, okay? Don’t act out of line, now.”

Beatrice held out the car door for us as I stood on the pavement having gotten out, in awe and glued to the spot. My mouth was open, quite literally.

“Remember when she said she lived in ‘the Cabin’?” asked Priss as she joined me in staring at the building. Even at her height, she had to incline her head a significant degree to gaze at it’s precipice. “This must be the first time she’s seen a building of this size. The Chateau is certainly big, but I do very much wonder what she will think if she sees some of the other buildings in Shiinevaar. Beatrice, perhaps next week you could take her to the Academy? I’ve heard that they finished installing the elevators just yesterday. It’ll be about finished next month.”

I could not really imagine any building bigger than the Chateau. Now, the Cabin seemed like nothing but a converted closet- uncomfortable and impossible to survive in, though I lived there for nearly ten years. I was like a fly trapped in a bottle, unable to go back once I had experienced new perspectives.

“Up the stairs now, little one. Remember to listen to Priss, okay?” It seemed that Beatrice was not permitted to enter, for she stood next to the car door, joining Earnshaw. “And you, Priss. Make sure George doesn’t come back again drunk. I’m dealing with that ever again.”

Priss nodded and we bounded up the long flight of steps. Even the path up to the front door took the breath out of me, as I was not only young, but I would later find out, sick. When I joined Everton House, I was finally able to later put a reason to why I was always so frail and weak while I lived in the Cabin.

The inside of the Chateau was nauseating. I had never seen so many people packed together, all loudly singing, screaming, whispering- I couldn’t tell, because there was simply too much noise. While the structure was as grand inside as it was outside, it was impossible to appreciate. A miasma of flickering lights, pacing along the walls and floorboards like scurrying rats, made me feel that I was experiencing a hallucination. In the Outer, the predominant colours were simply white, or grey.

Priss sat me down at an empty table among a crowd, identical to all the rest with a flowing lace tablecloth and four neatly tucked chairs. Around us, people were engaged in conversation and socialising with each other as a few dancers performed in the center of the ballroom. As my ears became more accustomed to the noise, I realised that the surroundings were actually not as loud as I had originally supposed them to be. A small assortment of fruit on a plate, still untouched and full, was nestled next to a vase. My hand reached for a piece of purple fruit almost instinctively, but recoiled back and sat in the chair obediently when I remembered that I should not eat so readily. It had not been so long since I was adopted into Everton House, and my stomach had not been able to cope. I learnt that lesson quite memorably on my first day, when I hungrily demolished a platter of food in a matter of minutes, only to feel the intense repercussions of my stomach screaming in agony. After crying out in pain, Beatrice took care of my meals, gradually adding on more servings until I was able to eat two thirds of a meal without my stomach hurting. Beatrice, however, was not here. Lucky for me, pain was alone a good enough teacher, guide and punisher as to how much I should eat. I did not want my stomach hurting in the middle of the main course, so I laid my hands off the fruit- no matter how much I wanted to eat it.

I glowered at George, who had sat down with me and Priss at the table and was already steadily picking at the fruit. He responded with a look of confusion that turned to suspicion, before looking away. George was far, far from liking me, but I felt that in the days prior he had begun to regard me with grudging acceptance. On my third day, the first day that I was deemed fit to get out of bed, Priss and George brought me to the House’s library, one asking and the other demanding I read the first few pages of A Tale of Two Cities, in order to prove I could read. It was confusing at first- two copies of the same text, but of a different format. Priss’ copy was modern, on a slim electronic screen, while mine was written on a long forgotten medium- paper. It took little time to understand, and after I had read the third page George was convinced and marched out of the room. Since then, he had treated me a little better, though our stares were lined with ice and exchanges as tense as the thawing of the winter snow.

“Now, little one, feel free to eat anything that is on the table. After all, we have been invited as guests in this hall, and it’d be rude of us to refuse their patronage.” I looked sideways at her, confused. “Their food.” Priss said, chuckling and patting my head.

“I think I have somewhere to be.” George stood up and pulled his chair out, acting much unlike his usual uncaring and grumpy demeanour. The way he acted hinted to me that the ‘ball’ we were attending was no such unimportant occurrence. “I’ll be back before the announcement is made.”

“Beatrice asked me kindly to add ‘not drunk’ to the end of your sentence.”

George snorted, showing a hint of his true character, before weaving through the tables and walking out of sight. “No guarantees, sister.”

“That boy.” Priss turned away as she began picking on the fruit herself.

“Priss, what do I do in a ball?”

It was no surprise that I did not speak much when I first joined Everton House. It was well established that I was literate and was perfectly capable of speaking, but no one pushed me to talk, understanding of my situation. One word answers were commonplace in the opening days of my stay, and anything more was a rarity reserved for Beatrice. I spoke so quietly that if Priss were not sitting next to me, my voice would have died amidst the music and chatter around us.

Priss was momentarily stunned but quickly recovered. “Perhaps when you are older, you will be able to join the dancers on the floor beneath us. For one, I am simply content to sit, eat and talk to people. Socialise.” Priss still did not understand at this point that previous to this, I simply didn’t talk to people. “Nearing the end of a ball, the head of the house, Clemenceau in this case- will deliver a short message. Balls on a scale like this attract people from nearly all houses, and are an efficient facet for the spreading of information. I hear that the announcement tonight is to be quite important.”

I watched the proceedings of the night with avid fascination. While another person might think them boring, colourful lights and the dancing on the ballroom floor, no matter how repetitive, was luxurious entertainment compared to my time in the Cabin, whittling away time by reading a single book.

It was about an hour and a half from when we first entered the ball that one of Priss’ friends came to our table. Dressed in in a colourful silken gown that complimented the strands of hair that fell to her shoulders, she seemed, for loss of words, a magnet for any kind of jewelry.

I could see immediately from the way Priss puckered her lips that she did not hold this ‘friend’ in very high regard. I withdrew.

“Priss! Why weren’t you here for the Boulevard party?” asked her friend, smile sickly sweet.

Priss purposefully looked up slowly, revealing the fakest smile I had ever seen. Her mouth may as well have been made of plastic. “My dear Helena, I had to hand in my tax registration form. Abiding the law should be above any celebrations, is that not correct?”

A tinge of disappointment washed over Helena’s face, as her scheme to catch Priss off guard promptly failed. It was but an instant before her face was back to standard, bubbly but so full of malice at the same time. “Could you not have handed it in a day early or a day later?”

“Now, Earnshaw could only have gone to the Outer on that particular day, so I had to make do. You know where I live- you don’t want me driving to the other side of the Inner just to go to a police station, do you?”

“Oh, the Outer.” Helena changed the subject as quickly as a key turns a lock. “Utterly deplorable. I hope I never have to see that place in my life. If you need, I can hand in your registration for you to the police station. You do know that I live quite close, and it saves you from putting yourself in danger by venturing out of the walls.”

“That’s very kind of you,” The fake smile again. “But no.”

“You can always rely on my help.” Priss and Helena were engaged in a sweetly brutal game of belittling and undermining each other, and the winner was the one who could finally find a tiny chink in the other’s armour. As Helena’s almost greedy gaze turned towards me, I felt a pang of fear, almost as if I was about to be eaten. Alive.

Priss noticed, too.

“What’s this little one? I don’t remember you having a sister, Priss.” I didn’t know then, but as I began reading fairy tales and reading stories outside of the only one I had owned in the Cabin, I realised the striking similarity between Helena, and a witch.

“A distant cousin.” Priss’ face fell as she failed to account for the most obvious outlier on the table. Amazingly, Helena didn’t press the issue of our relationship even though there was so much she could’ve picked at.

However, her next jab couldn’t have had a better timing.

It was realised in that moment that I truly had only been at Everton House for less than a week, and had not been able to integrate fully. As such, while everything seemed to be in order, a crucial detail, mindlessly forgotten, came to bite back with Helena’s next question.

“She’s certainly a small beautiful one,” I think that at that moment she might’ve actually meant it. “What’s her name?”

I could see Priss’ face crease as if she was about to swear. She smiled back at me, changing in an instant- a skill that she must have honed only through years of practice. “Marilin. She carries the family name. Marilin Everton.”

That day, under the slowly wandering lights and the mass of dancers gracing the marble floor, was the first time I had a name to call my own.