2. Chapter 1

Cedric is the first to go. I can see him throw his bags into the back of one of the Father"s carriages. A dark-haired coachman is at the reins as my sisters say their goodbyes. Adriel pulls out her handkerchief to wipe away tears that are too far away for me to see. I don"t need to. After all, it"s not a rare sight. Her unending tears are as much a part of her appearance as her button nose.

Medla stands with her arms crossed. I can almost feel the anger from here. It drips off of her and onto those around her. That"s why I am far away, hiding behind the tall grass that has turned brown from the summer drought. Her signature scowl is meant to let Cedric know the hate that she feels for his decision. It"s not all that different from how her face normally looks. If anyone knows what hatred from Medla looks like, it"s me.

Cedric takes a step back and looks up at our once-grand castle.

Overgrown weeds now invade the garden, entangling the once pristine pathway leading to the door, which has long ceased to welcome guests. He places his hands on his hips, searching the windows. For me, I realize. Why, I do not know. He has never had a kind word to share with me, or anyone for that matter.

Maybe he wants one more jab, one more shove that throws me into the mud, reminding me that I do not belong.

I am not close enough to discern the words spoken between my brother and sisters. Adriel embraces our brother, and Medla stomps her way up the stairs without so much as a turn of her head. When both my sisters are inside, and the dark-haired man at the front of the carriage lets out a whistle demanding the oxen to pull, I sink down into the tall grass before rolling on my back to look up at the cloudless blue sky. Hoofed feet pass by. The knocking of wooden wheels against rock makes my heart race. When it fades away, I remain under the hot sun until my nose burns, and there is an ache behind my eyes.

One less person in this castle makes no difference. We lost our servants and maids long ago. The once tidy home now has a thin layer of dust covering all the furniture, tables, and grand paintings. White sheets cover fine pieces of art made of marble and porcelain. Father"s collection, gifted from noble men and women for his work in architecture. I close the front door, which I have not entered in so long that I had forgotten the disarray that lies within.

Scanning from left to right as I take it in, emptiness, quiet, calm. The small library past the foyer has books thrown on the floor and shoved into cushions of dirty couches. The table is full of old teacups and crumbs from when my sisters were happy and ignorant. Sunlight from the large window illuminates the intricate designs on the floor where my sisters used to host boring parties and gatherings for the other well-to-do people of Thorn Row. It"s so dark in the places that the sun doesn"t reach. I don"t dare stare too long. The Shadows have eyes and teeth, and sometimes, they whisper their complaints to me.

Rounding the corner, I head for the servants" stairs. These, too, need dusting. I run my finger along the wooden railing, it comes away with a perfect black circle of debris. The farther down I go, the colder it gets. The bottom floor holds no heat. Father does not care for the warmth of his servants. I swipe at my arms to get rid of the tiny bumps that have gathered there from the cold. Again, the darkness shifts and whispers to me as I take the final steps that I"ve memorized without having to look or think.

Lupita only stayed this long because she is the furthest away from Father, in her kitchen, the corner of the house that cannot be reached easily by the people who occupy the spaces above. I often find myself here, learning how to make bread and preserves. I do not enter. The whispers coming from within are not of the Shadows this time.

Medla talks quietly to Lupita, and without needing to listen to the entirety of the conversation, I know that Lupita will not be around much longer. This is of no surprise to me. When Medla says her final goodbyes, I take a step back into a dark corner, with the brooms and various cleaning supplies blending into the unwelcoming black.

A chill runs down my spine as my imagination gets the better of me. A trick of the mind, I say to myself as the darkness embraces me, almost making it impossible to part from. They are not real. Medla passes me and heads for the same stairwell. I trail her with my eyes for a moment as she goes, irritation on her red face and determination in her steps. I know who she truly seeks, I hope she never finds me. I"ve always been good at making myself invisible, or maybe Medla has always been good at ignoring me. Are you a boy or a girl today? Her voice pops into my head from a memory I wish to forget.

Lupita cut my hair short when she could no longer brush through it. Although it has grown well past my waist since then. I prefer trousers over dresses even now, my body not rounded yet as hers and Adriel"s, giving me a boyish figure. Now, my hips are wide, and although I haven"t grown much in my chest, I am unmistakably a woman. "Come on out girl" Lupita calls from the kitchen. I step through the door frame, feeling the heat from the oven and the smell of yeast and sugar from the bread. "Your steps are light as a feather, but you smell like a horse." She keeps her head down as she speaks, occupied by the carrots she peels.

"You"re leaving, yeah?" I say quietly as I make my way towards the oven, standing in front of it to warm my bones as I listen to the small hiss of fire. Lupita nods her head slowly but still does not look up at me. "I told your sister where to find everything. The preserves will last you a long while, and you know how to tend the garden." She finally lifts her head slightly and looks at me from the side. A strand of white hair falls from the fabric that holds her curls back. Her skin is so white I wonder if she"s ever seen the sun. Her left ear is missing a bit of flesh, a notch at the top, a perfectly round hole. I can see straight through it. It shows her status, low, a mark the same as every servant that has ever worked in Thorn Row.

She puts the knife down and finds a pot large enough for the stew she is concocting—the last meal that I will taste of hers, I guess. As it clangs against the counter, she continues to fill the pot with various vegetables as she instructs me on the how-tos of the kitchen and what to look for in the garden. I already know all of what she tells me. Still, I let her fill the silence as we spend our last moments together.

Her rambling comes to an end, or maybe I just stopped paying attention. "Take this," I say as I pull the cuff from my arm. It"s made of copper with a small yellow jewel on top. I"ve seen her eye it a time or two.

I never cared if servants stole my things. I didn"t have much to give but the amount of jewelry Adriel would gift me after she was done with it, I would purposely leave out and unattended. They were always missing the day before a maid would quit or the same night that servants were fired by Medla. They probably deserved such a raise after putting up with her.

Sweet Lupita would not steal. She is too good, that"s why I present her with this parting gift. "It will get you four gold at the markets, at least." I make a guess. Her hands do not move from the chore at hand, ignoring me. When I reach for her arm, she does not stop me. I watch a tear fall from her cheek. With my other hand, I open hers and place the cuff inside. She does not say thank you, but she holds my hand along with the cuff for a moment longer. I am unsure of the touch, fighting the urge to pull away from it.

When she finally clasps her hand around the jewelry and shoves it into her apron as if I might change my mind, I leave. Making sure she does not see the redness of my nose and the swell of tears in my eyes. Only when I pass the servants" quarters, empty as I walk to the back door which leads to the garden, do I let a tear drop to my boot.

That is the last time I saw her, and even though my own brother left only moments ago, this is much more devastating.

There is a knock at my door early in the morning, I know who it is before opening it. The overwhelming scent of lavender hits my nose before I can even reach for the brass knob. Medla stands there, a smile on her face, which is troubling. She only smiles when she wants something, and she never needs anything from me.

There are no harsh words about my long hair, which is unruly and hardly ever brushed, unlike hers. Surprisingly, she does not comment on how unkempt my room has become as she walks right in. She even steps right over my dirtied clothes, goes to my closet, grabs undergarments, and pushes them into my arms. With no explanation, she leaves the room.

Confused but assuming she will return, I strip off my own clothes and slip into the bright white petticoat and step into the stockings that I could have sworn I threw away. These will dirty quickly, I think to myself. I was planning on fishing on the far side of the lake today.

Medla returns with a long red dress and a leather corset hanging over her arms. I never met my Mother, but I do believe that these pieces belonged to her.

Medla then takes to dressing me, I could have done it myself, but one does not argue with Medla, so I hold my tongue as she pulls the fabric over my head. I haven"t worn a proper dress in a very long time, for church when I was young but soon my family attended without me. I stop myself from letting the memory creep to the front of my mind.

Medla goes on and on about the intricacies of ladyhood, how to dress and eat and sit and blah blah blah. These things do not pertain to me.

I remember all the times I was ushered out of the ballroom or told to wait in my room while my sisters took their etiquette classes. Has she forgotten? As Medla wraps the corset around my waist, I see the shape of me in the glass of the window. I look away quickly. I don"t recognize that body. It does not look the way it should. In my usual attire of trousers and long-sleeved white shirts that I snuck from Cedric"s closet from when he was a boy. Paired with black suspenders that Lupita brought me when the trousers that also belonged to my brother kept falling from my waist.

Medla then shows me a trick of tightening the corset myself. She pulls the string around the bedpost and tells me to hold the leather strip tight in my hand, then, "lean forward." she instructs. The air in my lungs is no longer there, and I cannot breathe it back in due to the pressure the corset puts on my chest.

I remember dresses alone being painfully uncomfortable. Now, with the addition of a corset, I see why Medla always has a pinched look on her face.

I don"t dare say anything as she looks me up and down, proud of her work. Something feels wrong, I think to myself, and it"s not the dress. I take a good look at my oldest sister as she fidgets with a tie on my left sleeve. We could not be more opposite.

Her long light-brown hair is always up in pins, and her dresses fit her curves perfectly. Her skin is fair, and freckles line her nose and cheeks, making her unique and sought-after. She always knows what to do and say in the presence of others, all while maintaining a cool exterior. Which must be hard because I have seen the orange molten anger of her insides. I used to wish I was more like her, but it"s all a fa?ade, just as this is.

Her silver eyes catch my black ones, another opposite of ours. She takes a step back to look at me fully, and I look down at myself as well, mostly to avoid her gaze. "You"re no longer a girl, Katsia." A fake smile contorts her features. Her fingers lightly pinch my cheeks. I often saw Adriel and Medla do this to their own faces to add a bit of pink to their appearances, but I never noticed the difference.

"Or a boy," I add, hoping to get under her icy layer. It remains unbroken, but she lets a breath go that I didn"t realize she had been holding. She reaches into her own hair and takes out two brass pins. Somehow, even with the loose pieces draping over her ears, making her not-so-perfect as usual, she is still beyond beautiful. And she knows it. Aphrodite must have played a part in her creation.

Medla reaches up and secures them on each side of my head, pulling the tangled strands of black out of my face. When she turns to the door in a wordless command to follow, I do.

My dress drags on the ground slightly as I descend the stairs. Adriel stares up at me as I follow behind my oldest sister. Adriel's head tilts slightly to the left as I come closer. She is hiding something. The last step groans as I land on it, as it always has.

Medla turns as if she wants to say something, but I push past her and gently grab Adriel by the chin, pulling her closer.

I inspect what I now see is a swollen eye. I run my fingers over her cheek and down to her shoulder, where her long blonde hair sticks to a scrap of fabric that drowns in blood. Her brow has a bead of sweat, and her once milky skin now has a greenish hue to it. My eyes fall further, down to her abdomen. There, just above her hips is another noticeable lump under her otherwise perfect dress. Another scrap of fabric, I assume, most likely tied around her slim waist and concealing another bloody gash.

Her blue eyes, ocean eyes, I had heard them called once. Eyes that once sparkled, are now dull and bloodshot. "You need a doctor," I tell her, as if she doesn"t already know. I look to Medla. "She needs a doctor," I repeat to my other sister. She nods her head in agreement.

Medla plays with a string attached to a bag at her feet before a man enters the front door. He begins to gather the luggage. "Two stops to make. We best hurry." His smile disappears when he sees the anger that heats my face.

"You"re leaving," I say it as a statement and not a question. I already know the answer. My eyes are still on the man, frozen as he waits for an answer. The man holds up a pathetically small bag. Those are my things I realize.

"No, Katsia, we are leaving." Adriel takes a step in my direction. I take a step back accordingly. She tries again, and I move away from my sister once more. I should have known, the dress, the talk, the fake smiles.

"Medla and I will go to Fredricks." Adriel blubbers. "He has offered to take us in,"" she says as tears fill her eyes. Fredrick, one of Medla"s many men that she has wrapped around her finger. One who would die for her, but she would hardly flinch if asked to do the same.

"And you will go to the nunnery, get a proper education" Medla cuts in. She cannot hide how pleased she is, happy that I will finally be far away, out of her hair. No doubt that part was her idea.

"Put those things down!" I shout at the man. "Don"t touch my things, I"m not going with them." I turn my attention to Medla. The bag hits the ground as the man stands tall, awaiting Medla"s orders.

"Father is soon to die. He isn"t well," She rambles off. I laugh, a crazy laugh that comes from deep in my stomach to express my disbelief that they were just going to leave him here, alone, to die.

"Go!" I Take one more look at Adriel, sweet sister. Her small acts of kindness were wasted on me. My eyes shift to Medla once more. She shrugs, as if it doesn"t matter if I stay or go, as long as she gets out of here. I laugh once more at the absurdity of it all. Then, I run.

Through the kitchen, past door after door of the once busy servant quarters. Into the garden, where the Shadows that live within the brick and mortar of House Luz cannot reach me. I don"t stop there, I make my way down a long row of trees, counting them as I pass. Twenty-one, Twenty-two. Peeling away the many layers of this damned dress as I go. The corset crashes to the ground, my ribs sing with relief once freed. But even though I"m no longer caged by that contraption, I still can"t breathe.