Page 100 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
My mother would say those words as she tucked my hair behind my ears. Over and over, as if forging a blade. Building something within me, knowing perhaps I’d need those words when she couldn’t give them to me anymore.
I needed them tonight as my heavy hair, which refused to do anything but curl in unruly waves, was braided and pinned delicately. Dried flowers were woven into the hair at the side of my head. William was beyond excited to have something to do with his stash of preserved wildflowers.
Tiredness draped over my shoulder like a heavy cape, my hands still trembling despite how I balled them into fists.
I’d dealt with the Council lords before, but there was something different about being trapped in a house with them. A house surrounded by such horrid things.
My hands ran anxiously over the thick, lavender fabric of my dress. Thanks to Alma’s new impressive skill of manipulating fabrics that William had supplied, I was in a stunning dress. However, the colour would make my eyes stand out, and that was the last thing I needed at a lords’ dinner.
‘It’s so beautiful !’ Alma clasped her hands together in excitement as she made me turn before the mirror.
‘It’s too tight.’ I struggled to pull in a deep breath. My waist was much smaller than I remembered and my breasts suspiciously fuller as they almost spilled over the top of the bodice.
‘It’s supposed to be tight.’ She slapped my hands away as I tried to tug the bodice up before she began to mess with the underskirts.
‘Are you sure this is appropriate?’ I asked, the chill of the room seemed to nip at the top of my exposed breasts.
‘You know they have different rules for ladies at dinner,’ came her muffled reply from under a ridiculous number of petticoats.
‘The point is to fit in,’ I countered. A nice dark blue or grey would have sufficed. Formal and plain.
‘It hasn’t happened yet.’ She reemerged, grabbing my shoulders to turn me towards the large mirror she’d somehow dragged through the wardrobe with her.
The dress was wrapped beautifully around my fuller frame, the neckline just resting off my shoulders but covering enough of my back. It was trimmed with delicate lace, not garish at all. Simple and softly beautiful – almost fooling me into thinking I couldn’t possibly be the murderous, monstrous being I was.
Silver flowers were embroidered around the bodice and the tiny sleeves, curving around my waist and down the skirts. My gloved fingers traced the shape of the flowers before I really looked at myself.
Then came the pain. How for a moment I saw my mother looking back at me. My Kysillian features made it hard to see her sometimes, my lavender eyes and strange golden skintaking over everything else. Yet, with my unruly brown hair like this, a softness had come over me, my harsh fear of the world fading away so I could see her.
How her beautiful chestnut hair gleamed, the sharp wit in her eyes, the same freckles across her nose and the humorous nature to her smile. Despite all she’d endured, she didn’t wear it like I did.
Lanthor. Echoed in my mind, a word she had whispered on her deathbed as I held onto her.Forgive themin Kysillian. Her last request as she lay dying in my arms. Her punishment for daring to love my father being death.
Yet she still wanted me to forgive this world for its cruelty. The sadness of that grief consumed me viciously, gnawing at my very bones. A hollow ache taking up place in my chest, a longing for her that had never gone away.
‘Kat?’ Alma took my arm gently, worry in her expression.
‘I don’t want to go down there,’ I admitted, giving her part of the truth. She didn’t need to be burdened with my fears.
‘Emrys will be there.’ She took hold of my hand. Things really must be bad if Alma was putting her faith in Emrys.
He hadn’t sent any word about how the ruins had gone. Maybe he was already a dark fiend’s food by now, or whatever foulness lurked in those ruins.
Troll.That voice echoed through my mind, mocking me with the painful reminder of how far it had driven me to madness mere hours ago.
A knock came at the door, stopping any further wallowing.
‘It’ll be all right. I’ll be here when you get back.’ She squeezed my fingers in reassurance before rushing to the wardrobe. I waited for the doors to shut tightly before I opened the bedroom one, finding a male servant with a sour expression.
‘I’ve been sent to escort you, Miss.’ He bowed, stepped back, and walked down the hall before I was even ready.
I doubted he cared for my thanks as I shut my door and hurried after him, trying my best to keep my skirt pleats straight for Alma’s sake.
The way to the ballroom was nothing but a maze of warped hallways. Lamps flickered weakly against the walls, black smears where the smoke had stained the peeling wallpaper. The stench of old oil mixed with stale potpourri made my stomach churn.
The grand portraits seemed to sag on the walls, dust gathered in their corners and cobwebs strung above them on the mould-speckled ceiling. The garish dark wallpaper made my eyes hurt; the more I looked at the pattern, the more I saw things looking back at me.
The servant led me right to the grand glass doors of a ballroom. The echo of forced laughter, dull conversation and low music only solidified my dread.
