Kieran

Like passion itself, she tempts me.

I’ve been hearing her silent whispers, beckoning me even before my eyes opened hours and hours ago. I don’t know why. I don’t know if all this is a figment of my imagination, or just some wild craving to throw myself into a cavern of hollowness once again.

I wander to the West Wing, a ghost flitting past unopened doors and polished floors. Though no new soul has stepped foot in this accursed place for years, everything has been kept in order by both the magic that keeps this castle alive and the restless hands of the last remaining maid in this house.

The only room left untouched, the only place which scares off even the maid, is the one which holds her. The mirror.

The door swings open for me without the need for my touch. As soon as my bare foot sweeps against the thick layer of dust on the wooden panels, the door closes by itself, sealing me in.

Every piece of furniture in this near-empty room has been covered with white sheets. The emptiness of this place reminds me for the billionth time of a funeral, though I am not dead.

I wish I were.

My hands reach out to catch fistfuls of thick material. I pull. It comes tumbling down in cascades, drowning my sight with white and dust.

A reflection of a ghost stands before me. He stares right back, eyes hollow and unrecognizable.

I avert my eyes.

“My liege.”

Another ghost enters the room, his head lowered slightly in reverence. As if he doesn’t witness me cower every night, sword drawn to protect me from the monster that lives in the dungeons.

He always fails.

“Captain,” I say, my voice hoarse. I must have been screaming last night.

“You are...returning?”

He watches the mirror warily, as if my reflection will jump out and attack us. I say nothing and revert my gaze to the mirror, careful to avoid looking at my own face.

“Take me outside,” I order it.

The picture of me warps and blurs until my reflection is no more. Instead, a picturesque view of trees standing guard amidst hot green grass appears. Warm morning sunshine beckons me forward.

“I have never forbidden you from going anywhere, Bayorn,” I tell the guardsman. “You may come with me if you wish.”

The warning in his stance is obvious. “My liege, I would advise you to reconsider your plans for today. That thing has brought us nothing but…”

“I never asked for your opinion.” My tone comes out curter than intended. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

He falters. Again that reservation returns in his eyes as he lowers his gaze respectfully. Begrudgingly. He retreats by a step.

I sigh. Now I’ve made things awkward.

Before one of us can attempt a stiff apology, I decide to step forward. The mirror gives way to my body like the surface of water.

When I take another step, my bare foot sinks into the forest dirt.

Astrid

“Astrid, child.”

A hand shakes me awake. Was I even asleep? Had I been dreaming of numbers and calculations, or was I truly just thinking very hard?

When my eyelids flutter open, new light streams in through the windows. It takes me several heartbeats before my vision can focus on Lady Tremaine’s concerned gaze.

“Were you here all night?” she queries.

I nod. “I could not leave Papa.”

“You should have gone to fetch Sir Rotwell. If your neighbours had not knocked on our door this morning, we would not have known your father was in the apothecary.”

In front of me, my father stirs ever so slightly on his bed. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and stand to check his temperature with the back of my hand.

His skin is still warm, but his fever has come down since last night.

“What is it?” Lady Tremaine asks again.

I blink once. Twice. Moisture starts to blur my vision. But when I speak, my voice is still steady, as if the rest of my body has not come to terms with the facts in my head.

“His lungs are failing.”

Everything falls silent. Everything except my father’s heavy exhales. I watch his chest rise and fall.

Lady Tremaine touches my shoulder. “Why don’t you rest?”

“I have been resting.”

“Why don’t you rest properly?” she amends her words, giving me a meaningful look. “At least take a bath, or stretch your legs for a spell. I will watch over him until Doctor Erving returns for another examination.”

I must look evidently doubtful, because she adds, “You are of no use to your father in this state, child.”

So out she sends me. I make my way home to change my clothes and freshen up, but that is all I can do. Being in the house alone scares me to no end.

I wander outside like a ghost in broad daylight. Every person I meet greets me with sympathy and makes inquisitions about my father, much to my chagrin. Perhaps asking my chatty neighbours for help last night was not a clever maneuver. I respond with lies in the form of positive assurance and pretend I am in a hurry.

Katya catches me just before I can disappear into the usual marketplace crowd.

“Astrid!” She loops her arm around mine. “Mama heard about your father from Mrs Antrope. How does he fare?”

“He will be fine,” I lie again.

“What a relief to hear,” she beams, the dimples in her cheeks deepening as she does so. Katya has golden hair and soft almond eyes, with equally soft features framed within a heart-shaped face. She is a small girl and, frankly, rather plain in appearance. Her meek character does not make her any more interesting. As we stroll about the marketplace, she begins to prattle on about the prices of today’s beans and meat, and how so-and-so has just done this and that.

I usually find it very hard to pay attention to her for long. Today, it has become an even greater task. I cannot think of anything but my father lying in the apothecary.

“Indeed,” I murmur when she pauses to give me an expectant look. She nods and continues with her one-sided conversation.

We pass by some of our old classmates from school. Katya catches their eyes and waves happily, as if she has not seen them just last night.

“Good morning, Agatha, Marienne, Ingrid!” she says with more enthusiasm than I can muster in all my lifetime.

Their eyebrows lift and I watch as they plaster on false smiles. I avert my attention elsewhere until we pass by them. As Katya continues her monologue, I hear faint, derisive titters from over my shoulder.

I hate this place.

Slowly, I try to steer us away from the noise of the marketplace. The stalls line the sides of one of the bigger, more commercial roads in this town, so slipping in between each stall would lead us right into another late-morning crowd rushing to enter someplace like the tailor’s or the bank. I have to take the pavement in between two buildings to escape the crowd.

Katya has stopped speaking. She drops her arm away from mine.

“Where are we going?” she asks tentatively.

“This is just a shortcut to the apothecary. You do not need to follow me.”

She chews on her lower lip. When I try to step away from her, she regains her ability to make decisions.

“I will walk with you,” she says loyally.

I truly wish she would not, but at least she stops talking so much. She asks questions me my father’s condition instead, and I keep my responses vague.

“He looked so well last night. I thought I saw him engage in a dance or two. I’m sure he will regain his health soon.”

She squeezes my hand. For the first time this morning, a wave of comfort washes over me, fleeting but true. I struggle to swallow the rising lump in my throat.

“Why, it’s our lucky day!”

The harsh laughter that erupts from our left makes us both jump. I turn before the voices call out to us.

“If it isn’t the stunning Miss Delacroix and…and our love-ly Miss Haelm!”

Keenan and two more friends of his lounge against wooden crates stacked up against the brick wall of a building. One of them – Francis – mentions Katya’s name in a slurred sentence, and they all burst into another fit of laughter. Glass bottles litter the ground beside the crates.

They’re not saying very colourful words about her appearance. I don’t recall these boys being very bright, but today, their description of the human anatomy nearly impresses me.

Katya’s lower lip wobbles. Her fingers curl tighter around my hand.

“Pay them no mind,” I tell her, tugging at her hand. “They only mean to rile you up because they have nothing beneficial to do with their lives.”

Just as we turn around, Keenan chortles. “Hold it, lads,” he says mockingly. “The queen has spoken. Just because her papa’s fed her books instead of actual food, she thinks she’s way above impressing. Can’t get too close to ‘er, she thinks. But e-rybody knows what you do when you escort the lads home some nights, eh?”

I pause. When I turn, they all elbow each other and snicker again.

“What did you say?”

Francis grins. “Everybody knows the stories, O Esteemed One.” He bows his head and waves a hand in the air animatedly.

My heart starts to race, but not in fear. “What stories?”

Katya touches my elbow.

“Let us go,” she whispers. Her voice is close to breaking.

“What. Stories?”

“Bah, you’re one to play the fool,” Keenan says derisively. “Parading around expensively each day, but we all know you leave your house when all’s-a-sleepin’ to meet with one of the boys. It was…” his nose scrunches as he thinks. “Was it Jaime last week, lads?”

“Quentin the week before,” one of them murmurs behind the mouth of his bottle.

The rest of them laugh. They laugh, as if we weren’t standing before them. This must be how they all laugh when I am not around. How they all perceive me.

My ears hear nothing else for a split second.

When I step forward, I only see red. My glare focuses onto Francis as I cross my arms in an effort to stop my fists from trembling.

“You will take it back.”

Keenan is the first to stop laughing, though his grin is still wide and idiotic. The rest of them are oblivious to how close to the edge I am about to be pushed.

“Oh, pardon me, Miss Delacroix.” Francis swings his legs off the barrel and leaps to his feet. His steps towards me are slow and nearly unbalanced. He cups a hand behind one ear and bends closer. “I didn’t catch what you said.”

“I said. You will take back your vile words, and you will apologize. Right. Now.”

His jaw falls open, that foolish amusement still lingering. He glances over his shoulder to his friends.

“Did you hear that, lads?” he says. “She wants me to say sorry.”

I feel his hand slip over my waist before my entire side nearly goes numb. For a split second, I am paralyzed by the heat in his breath, tickling the bridge of my nose.

I shove him.

He is sent sprawling onto the crates, knocking one of them over before his hip connects with a sharp wooden edge.

They all stop laughing.

Katya’s cry is that of both dismay, shock and delight. It is almost worth it. Almost.

Francis regains his balance. This time, there is no more amusement upon his features.

“Leave her alone,” I spit through gritted teeth. Triumph and anticipation blur together as I inhale sharply. “Or you will regret it.”

He does not take my threat very graciously.

“What did you just say to me?” he growls.

He starts to advance. Katya pulls me backwards, but he is faster. Angrier. I ready myself to scream, to kick, to punch. To defend myself. He raises a fist.

Just before I can cover my head with my hands, a figure rushes in from out of nowhere.

Bodies collide with a loud, thud! A premature scream escapes my throat in the form of a startled yelp. The unknown assailant’s fist connects with Francis’ jaw.

Silence.

Damian staggers to his feet.

“She said.” He rubs at his knuckles and turns to eye the others. “Leave her alone.”

They freeze like startled deer. He barely bothers to assess them, as if they pose no threat, neither to him nor us. He turns and grabs ahold of my hand, as if we have been familiar for years. I, in turn, take Katya’s hand and allow him to lead us out onto another open road.

When we are finally clear of them, he drops my hand.

“Are you alright?” The anger in his voice has given way to worry.

I nod and look to Katya, whose face has blanched. The poor girl.

“Perhaps it might do her some good if you walk her home,” I tell him.

“Can I also accompany you to your destination?” he offers, eyebrows lifting under golden strands breaking free from the rest of his neatly-combed hair.

Smiling to assure him, I shake my head. Damian’s forehead crumples, but he nods anyway. Katya takes his arm and he murmurs something in a low tone to her, something which clearly seems to soothe her. They wait for me to walk in the other direction before turning to leave.

My father is dismissed from Doctor Erving’s watch as soon as I return. They seem to have spoken to one another about his condition, but I ensure I am debriefed thoroughly before I take my father home.

Before entering the examination room, I had caught a glimpse of the look they both shared from behind the open door. A moment of understanding passed between two ex-colleagues.

You know what happens after this, Doctor Erving had said.

When my father falls asleep after his lunch, I run out through the back door.