Page 34 of Tangwystle
The strands on either side of my face were pinned back.
“I kept the braids loose, but they’re out of your face,” she said. “Hopefully not too loose. If I need to fix it during the day I can.” A warped mirror hung by the wardrobe. It was more wall decoration than anything, I used it so little.
But that morning, I glanced at it and surprised myself.
I liked my reflection.
I didn’t think of myself as a vain person. I kept clean, but I was a pale, mousy creature.
Thanks to Gretel, my hair was swept back prettily. I was still pale, but my cheeks were rosy, and for a moment, I thought my lips looked wine-stained.
Gretel snuck up closer and leaned her chin on my shoulder. “See, Wystle, I’m not so entirely useless like you think.”
I told her smirking reflection, “We need to start breakfast.”
eleven
Baz noticedmy hair the moment he came into the kitchen. “What’s this, fairy? No hair in your face.”
I’m afraid his teasing made me blush. You’d think I’d be more embarrassed about him touching me than I was about him noticing my hair. But his teasing meant he’d noticed how it hung in my face before, and I liked that.
He tugged at my strands.
“Gretel did it,” I admitted.
“Well done.” He turned to her, and I swear they shared a secret smile. It forced me to move, to grab my pinafore and start breakfast.
Baz took only a croissant and went back upstairs, leaving crumbs in his wake. Almost like he knew I needed time to get the Manor back in order and Gretel settled.
Gretel might have worked as a servant for years, but it should come as no surprise that I had high expectations. And I knew early on, Gretel needed minding.
She could cook and clean, but her movements could be lackadaisical. And don’t get me started on how she hummed and spun in circles as she swept. She spilled water when she moved her mop bucket around.
But that first day, more often than not, I caught her staring out the windows.
“You may as well start washing them,” I told her after lunch.
I caught her by surprise; her shoulders jerked. “It’s pretty outside.” Her fingers squeezed around the broom handle.
The window did need washing, but I squinted out. We were on the third floor, the window peeking out on the landscape I knew well. There was our garden and the gate, then the wide stretch of grass that sloped to the riverbank.
“It’s cloudy,” I stated. Normal weather for around here. Despite it being spring, a crisp chill in the air promised runny noses. But Gretel stared out dreamily.
“Do you ever have picnics outside?” she asked.
I snorted only to remember a second later the feel of Baz tugging my hand. We’d embarked on something of the sort the day we found her.
“I haven’t been outside,” Gretel said, and I believe she had just remembered this fact. “Not since I got here.”
With the dirty window, way high up, and facing this direction, it seemed safe for Gretel to look outside. But I already knew Gretel to be a risk taker.
“You can’t go outside,” I told her. I should’ve softened my voice, but that was a skill I’d never discovered.
Gretel bit her bottom lip, attracting my attention to her mouth. “But why not?”
“If somebody spots you.”
“They won’t.”
