Page 24 of Little Doll

This was an elaborate stairwell. One that reminded me of Blackmoth House, but yet not one that I’d seen before in my home. It was a wide staircase of fine cherry wood, covered with an ornate red and gold woven rug which covered the center of each step. The soft feel of the rug was a relief after the cold stone on my feet.Polished cherry wood paneled the walls. Up and down the stairwell hung portraits tall as I was of people who had my same dark looks, and Fane’s, and Carmilla’s and my father’s. Yet, I did not know them, nor had I ever heard of family members outside those who lived in this house.

Perhaps these were the vampires.

“Nooooovvvvvaaaa…”

The little girl’s voice sounded closer. Gas wall sconces on either side of the steps made slight whooshing sounds and lit up, illuminating spider webs heavy with dust hanging from them and from the paintings.

One at a time, the sconces leading up the stairs lit up, like will-o’-the-wisps leading the way through a forest.

I lifted my toes to take the first step up.

And then I found myself standing outside a plain black door in a different corridor. A plainer corridor cast in darkness, dusty and dingy like a long-abandoned servant’s hall.

“Nova.” The voice whispered my name, but she sounded like she was right next to my ear.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” the voice said.

I stepped into an opulent windowless room that looked like a combination child’s bedroom and an antique toy store. The sheer lavishness of this room took me aback, but for the moment, one thing captured my attention.

A fire crackled in a fireplace about ten steps directly in front of me. In front of the fire was a rocking chair. In the chair was my brother Fane. Holding the most gorgeous child I had ever seen in my life.

With flawless pink lips drawn up like a heart, her face was round and rosy. Her eyes were huge and blue and a sea of wavy blonde hair that shone in the firelight framed the whole pretty picture of her. Her face was placid, her eyes trained on me.

She wore a dress of the finest silk, black with intricate lace details and embroidered iridescent beads. She looked like she could be nine or tenyears of age, but she was tiny, like a child much younger. Strange and beautiful was this creature. She looked like a… Little doll.

Fane gave me a wide and delighted smile even as he cuddled the child to his chest and rocked her. He held open a storybook in front of her as though he’d been reading to her.

My brother? Fane? Reading to a child?

“Wh… Who is this?” I asked.

I took tiny steps forward and although the girl’s facial expression never changed, not revealing any emotion or thought she might have, her wide, sparkling eyes remained trained on me.

“This is our sister, Astrid,” Fane said in a voice that swelled with pride. I gasped. He patted her shoulder. “Say hello to Nova, Astrid,” he prodded.

The child called Astrid gave a curt nod and extended her tiny hand politely. “Hello, sister. I am Astrid. I’m very pleased to meet you.” Her voice was the one that had haunted my dreams and the hallways of this home since my illness.

I reached her and took her hand, surrounding it in both of mine as I bent to my knees in front of her.

A sister.

My eyes pricked with the threat of tears. “I… How?” I stammered. So many questions raced through my mind. “It’s wonderful to meet you too, Astrid,” I murmured, mesmerized by her staring eyes. We stared at each other for a long time, what felt like half the night. I switched my attention to Fane, who, to my absolute shock, had tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Fane, are you crying?” I exclaimed.

He smiled. “I’m just overwhelmed, Nova,” he told me. “You have no idea how I’ve longed for this day.”

“How can it be true that we have a sister and yet I never knew?”

Fane stood, scooping Astrid up with him, and perched her on his hip. She still clung to my hand, so I stood as well and followed.

He crossed into a separate area of the room, a play area. Incredibly ornamented and sophisticated dollhouses surrounded it. There must have been ten of them, all looking painstakingly handmade and filled with tiny furnishings and beautiful dolls. Amongst the playthings was a settee upholstered in a pale pink. Fane placed Astrid down on the seat, then sat next to her. I took the seat on her other side.

We all situated ourselves together on the settee. Astrid leaned into me, reaching her tiny arms up delicately to encircle my neck. My heart pounded and swelled with warmth. I wrapped my arms around the little girl and held her close.

“Nova,” Fane said, his voice breaking with emotion. “Astrid is like you.”

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