Page 6 of A Vow of Shadows

“A better life, no more shadows, someone to love me, a family of my own,” I named all my reasons for fighting, for wanting to stay alive. “To see the world, to try new things…” The list went on with each new dream drowning out more of the bells.

My steps grew lighter, less hurried as I found that peace within myself. I still kept my head down to hide my muttering, but it was working. A smile ghosted across my lips seconds before I collided with a soft yet immovable wall.

I windmilled my arms to catch my balance as I careened backwards, my peaceful mantra coming to a sudden stop. Dishes clattered to the floor, food flying in all directions, but I managed to stay on my feet. The head cook glared at me from where I’d walked into her, mouth moving faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

The ringing resumed with a vengeance, but I didn’t have to hear her to know what she called me.Demon.

Her lips pulled up in a snarl as they shaped the word over and over.

I shrank under her hateful stare. My chest hollowed with every strike of her venomous words. Clapping my hands over my ears, I elbowed past her and fled to the sanctuary of my room.

Chapter 4

Katrin

Nothing I did for the rest of the evening managed to drive away the ringing. Every time I tried to focus, the cook’s hateful face would appear.

That night at dinner, I gripped the scraps of my sanity in one hand and my fork in the other. Again, no one made mention of the invasive song that nearly sent me to my knees. My parents conversed in quiet tones I strained to hear over the din. Even those serving appeared unaffected.

Perhaps Death wasn’t coming for me after all. Perhaps I was to be driven mad by botanical bells.

I glared at the open window and winced as an onslaught of sound accompanied the refreshing breeze.

The news of Rencourt’s death had sparked an ember of hope I’d thought long extinguished, but that fire waned the longer I waited. The sooner I could make my excuses and retire to my room, the better.

I’d changed into more socially acceptable attire for dinner. Though my stays had been loosely laced, I struggled to draw breath. Between the fabric crawling up my neck and the darkdepths of my skirts, I was reminded too much of my earlier encounter with the drowning shadows.

If I was more distracted than usual, my parents took no notice, too busy going over their plans for my birthday celebration the next day. The small feast was a far cry from the elegant soiree a person of my status could expect on such an occasion, but I’d insisted we keep the event informal and the guest list small. It was one thing for me to decline their pity invites. I couldn’t expect the same courtesy from everyone in town.

I was to be one and twenty, but I still felt like the thirteen year old girl who’d woken one morning to find her fingers dusky with shadow. Though years had passed since I’d removed myself from society, I constantly worked to conceal my mark. Even now, I sat with my body angled away from the candlelight, my hair swept in front of the left side of my face. I flexed my hand, certain I could see the blemished skin beneath the gloves I’d donned. Though I regretted the high neckline and long sleeves in this heat, without them, I was too exposed.

When the next breeze blew through, I leaned forward and blew out the candle in front of me, plunging me further into shadow. Mother’s gaze flitted my way and I stared back, daring her to comment. Her lips pursed, but she turned her attention back to Father without a word.

And so, we continued in a manner that perfectly encapsulated the past eight years of my life with my parents eagerly planning for my future, and me struggling to endure the simplest of day-to-day tasks.

When the plates were finally cleared, I pushed back my chair, drawing the eyes of both my parents.

“I think I’ll retire so I’m well rested for tomorrow’s excitement.” Judging by the confused glance that passed between them, I may have shouted.

My father's response was lost to the bells. When he nodded, I gave a quick curtsy and ran from the room. Only after I’d fled the room did I realize I’d wasted my one chance to say goodbye.

I almost turned back. My footsteps faltered in their hasty retreat, but I clung to the hope that I would see them again.

One day.

Three hours later, I regretted my choice to forgo farewells.

The sun had set, and the manor was quiet. My parents had presumably retired for the evening, and most of the servants had settled in for the night. Meanwhile, I trembled with unspent energy.

I’d spent some time gathering what I thought I’d need into a small satchel then paced the length of my room until I’d scored a path in the hardwood. My mind raced with all that could go wrong, but when I weighed each potential outcome, I came to the same conclusion. If I stayed, I’d only prolong the inevitable. This was my last chance to alter the course of my destiny.

Death was coming for me. The recent onslaught of bluebells had confirmed it. It might not be tomorrow, but it would be soon, and I refused to go willingly.

It was a fool’s hope, but I’d rather be a fool than a pawn. At least the fool had a choice, though my plan tonight was more of a last resort. Hard decisions came easier when the alternative was death.

I slipped through the house unnoticed, accustomed to wandering the dark corridors. Without a candle, I was just another shadow evading the dappled moonlight.

My fingers skimmed over familiar surfaces, the textured walls, the oiled banister. I’d committed every inch of this house to memory but had the inexplicable desire to leave pieces of myself embedded within it. I feared all evidence of my existence would be erased with my departure and I desperately needed a tether to this world.

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