Page 2 of Sweet Silver Bells

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She was no longer the girl covered in dirt, running barefoot in the garden, letting soil stain her fingers as she planted her seeds and clipped roses.

No, now she was a woman who had spent hours being bathed, dressed, and styled by her mother and the maids, treated as if she were a living doll.

She supposed that’s what being a woman meant: to be looked at, to be wanted—but never glorified. Not like she glorified the moon when it was full and round. Not like when she whispered unknown words and danced immodestly before her window at night, gazing into the forest behind the estate—the forest that had long called to her.

And she hadn’t accepted its call—until now.

Until the moment she had to run.

She had to save everyone in that dance hall. They were likely frozen in place. Porcelain cups of champagne spilling down their wrists. Eyes wide. Staring.

You can belong here,she had told herself. The blue-eyed boy had pulled her onto the dance floor.

He belonged there, among beautiful women and wealthy families. They showed off their holiday spirit in ornamental skirts. Their shoes made music of their own. They added rhythm to the six-piece band with perfectly timed, choreographed steps.

The boy spun her. Olivia’s steps grew unsure. Then she was in his arms. One of his hands was on her lower back. The other clasped her left.

The butterflies inside her went wild. She had never been this close to someone who looked like him, who smiled like him, who smelled like him. His hand rested low. Her hips were only inches below.

"You are radiant tonight, Olivia," he said. She watched his lips move. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck. The thrill sent a shiver down her spine.

They were dancing. They were touching. Everyone watched. Her mother. Her father. All of them.

It felt illicit.

The thrill surged through her. She smiled so widely that her suitor leaned back slightly.

"I would like to think I could always make you smile like this," he said.

She started to laugh, but she held it in. Emotion was dangerous in polite society.

"When we were all little," he said, "there were stories about you. The wealthy babe who could speak to trees. You sounded like a goddess reborn."

"And do you believe in goddesses?" Olivia asked. The song was coming to an end. Her voice matched the melody of the violin.

"Well, I want to hear you sing," he said, bowing.

"I cannot sing," she replied. Her body froze. Her feet locked in place.

She wasn’t supposed to talk about singing. Even the music around them was too close not to feel dangerous—a current she could not afford to fall into.

"Why is that?"

"Because bad things happen." Olivia turned away. She scanned the crowd for her mother, who stood hand in hand with her father. They looked proud, their heads held high, as they presented their daughter to the world.

The band quieted. A small choir of children holding candles marched into the center of the room, still in their cloaks.

"She is a witch!"

It was a cruel joke.

A trap.

A way to mock the outcast.

Olivia’s body went rigid. The voice echoed over the hall. Her hand slipped away from her partner. The dance was over. She turned slowly as the room fell into murmurs and whispers.

The dance hall was enormous, especially to someone as small as Olivia. She had only seen it used a few times before, always for holiday gatherings. A large table stood in the corner, its chocolate and cheese platters untouched—servers glided by with empty trays.