Chapter 30

A dark dining room on the top floor. The grandest dining room I have ever seen. A high ceiling of glass so I can see the night sky full of stars. A long black table decked out so beautifully. Rose petals scattered everywhere. Black candles, the flames tall and still. There isn't a wind in this room. There is no air at all. That must be why it feels difficult to breathe. Is the grand table for us to sit at? No, there are already people sitting there. People all in black. Black suits and black dresses, wearing black veils over their faces like curtains. Beside the table is a large glass tank of water, like an open aquarium or an aboveground swimming pool. Seems like the same water we walked beside when we were going up the winding stair two by two. Same blue-green shade. Same red jellies floating and pulsing within. So this must be the very top of that glass tank, where it ends, like our Beauty Journey, where it opens up, like a flower-shaped pool. The way the table is facing the aquarium, it seems like the aquarium is the main event, the show, and the table is the audience, with all the seats taken.

"But where will we sit, if these seats are taken?" I ask Lake. "Aren't we the honored guests?"

But Lake doesn't answer. She's mesmerized by all around her. Especially by the ones in black veils, staring and staring at us. "Who are they, Lake? Do you know them?"

"They?" Lake whispers. "The ones who architect our dreams, of course."

"Who give them their shapes and names," says a woman beside Lake, her skin so very dewy. "Their silky textures and wondrous colors and timeless scents. Bottle them in the prettiest of red jars."

"Make creams and sprays of them," Lake adds, "which they then sell, and which we are so lucky to buy."

"There is no price too high," agrees the dewy woman.

I look at the table of veiled ones. Their faces so shining, their pale eyes staring behind their black veils. "Well how exciting to dine with them, then," I say, though in my voice I hear fear. "Right, Lake? With the architects of our dreams? Who know their shapes and names?"

I look back at Lake. The empty tray is shaking in her hands. If she wouldn't grip it so tight, it wouldn't shake. All of the moonbright ones like us are standing along the walls, holding their empty silver trays like we are. Some moonbright hands are shaking like Lake's, their faces very still and smiling. Many are looking down into their trays. As we came through the black mouth, a Statue of Cold took the black circles off the trays, revealing their shiny surfaces. Mirrors they are, our trays, the Statues of Cold told us. The moonbright ones are staring down at their reflections now, smiling, many eyes leaking salt water, overcome by what must be joy. So happy with the results. "Beautiful, Brightened, Poreless," they whisper like a chant. But I don't dare look down into my mirror tray. It's something in how they're all looking down. Like they can never stop. Never look back up again. I feel my gold bracelet tingle on my wrist. I am watchful like its painted eye.

At each of the four corners of the long table stands a Statue of Cold. They are watching over the veiled guests, watching the roses and candles as if it is their job to monitor. They each hold a very big net like for catching butterflies. Or fish. Interesting. Perhaps what we are eating at this Feast will be fresh caught? Live?

"Will they kill it in front of us at the table?" I ask Lake. "Like they do in the finest restaurants and markets? That must be what this is."

"I hope not," Lake says. "I hate that."

"It's a very fancy way," I say.

"I don't want a fancy way. I want to go home now," Lake says. "My home on the hill. A house with thirteen windows. You'll help me find it."

"Yes, of course. It's just… I'm not sure where we are." I think of the long winding stair we just walked up. All those twisting corridors. We're on the top floor, that's clear by the night sky above, but I don't know how far down and away the exit is. It's comforting to look up at the night sky through the ceiling. To see the sky is to know something, however small, of where we are.

"There is sky up there at least," I say. "Look"—but Lake won't look. "Lake," I say. "There's sky up in the—"

A clearing of a throat. Then the Queen of Snow steps forward from the shadows. Smiles. I stand up straighter in my white-and-red dress. All of us moonbright ones do. It's like the Queen of Snow's smile has invisible threads connected to all of our spines. And when her lips curve, we straighten.

"We have a very special guest to welcome for tonight's Feast," she says. "One of our very best. Who has given us so much. Contributed so deeply to the Source, the wellspring of our Mission. One who has, over the ages, planted many a seed in many a Vessel and watched the Roses grow." And she gestures to us moonbright ones along the wall. We are the Roses, apparently. Or are we the Vessels?

"In fact, this guest planted one of the Roses here with us in this very room right now. Which is why we invited him to join us tonight."

One of us? Which one of us? I look at my fellow moonbright ones. But they are all too busy looking at themselves in their mirror trays. Even Lake is looking down now. Smiling at herself. "Beautiful," she is whispering. "Brightened." Salt water dripping from her eyes.

The veiled ones clap. Murmuring among them. Wonderful is a word I hear. "Oh, oh! A delightful surprise."

I see there's an empty seat at the head of the table. The Queen of Snow's gloved hands are resting on the back of this chair. The sort where a king or a queen might sit. The word throne appears in the pool of my mind. Probably this throne is for this honored guest.

"I wonder who this guest is," I whisper to Lake. "He sounds very impressive."

"I don't know, I don't know," Lake says, shaking her head, still staring at herself in the mirror tray. She says it like I'm bothering her. She's getting paler. The darkness around her eyes is blacker. I'm worried. Maybe she needs to eat something. Good thing we are at a feast. Hopefully once this honored guest arrives, they'll start severing us.

Applause as someone enters the room from the dark mouth. Another person in black. A man. He wears a black-horned mask. Though I don't see his face, the veiled ones sitting at the table seem to know who he is very well. The clapping gets much louder, is thunderous. All those black silk hands. Little gasps and squeals of delight behind the veils. The man bows slightly. I feel his smile in the back of my neck. He appreciates the claps. His stance says, Yes. I am all of this. There's something in his footsteps that's so familiar. I've heard those footsteps before in my life. Walking through the dark rooms of my life. Entering a door of glass. A door of glass?

A crashing sound. Someone has dropped their mirror tray. Me, I have dropped my mirror tray. What a sound it makes. A rattling and a rattling. And then what a sudden silence. All the ones in black are staring at me now. The Queen of Snow, too, she has murder on her face.

I am frozen, but the sound has snapped Lake out of her trance. She tries to bend down to pick up my tray for me, but the honored guest raises his gloved hand like stop. Allow him, please. He reaches down and picks it up like it's the most delicate thing. Smiles and hands it to me.

"Here you are, seedling," he whispers. A soft ripple of laughter among the veiled ones. He turns away from me, continues to make his way to the throne at the table's end where the Queen of Snow waits. As I watch him walk away, there is a pain in my heart, familiar and deep. This man is its shape. The hand beneath the black glove has stroked my hair in the dark. The mouth once spoke words like a cold breeze in my ear, making my heart drum and drum. The eyes behind the mask have looked into my eyes. Suddenly there is a name on my lips. It swims up like a quick, bright fish. "Tom," I say before I can think.

All is dead silent again. All the veiled ones look at me. Hands stop clapping. The Queen of Snow's face changes from murder to surprise. The man whom I called Tom stops walking to his throne, pauses in mid-step. I stare at the back of his white neck, a pale, smooth slash between the collar of his black suit and his waving dark hair. I stare so hard, salt water drips from my eyes.

"Tom Cruise," I whisper.

Laughter. From the veiled ones, from the Queen of Snow. They laugh and laugh, even the Statues of Cold chuckle. How funny are the words Tom Cruise that I have whispered. They repeat it to themselves. "Tom Cruise, Tom Cruise, the actor? Oh, Seth, Seth, how brilliant. Stroke of genius, really. And the resemblance is striking. Take my breath away."

I can't laugh with them. I can only stare at the back of Tom's neck. My fellow moonbright ones aren't laughing either. They also stare at the one I called Tom Cruise, whose name apparently is Seth, their faces full of the opposite of laughing.

Meanwhile Seth takes his throne, smiles indulgently at the laughing table. Yes, yes, says his white smile through the mask. "It serves its purpose, I suppose." He pretends not to look at me, but I feel him looking still. "Definitely it does."

The table's laughter at me makes him smile awhile, but then suddenly he doesn't like it anymore. He frowns, and the laughter stops immediately.

He raises his goblet.

"Thank you all so much for having us," he says. Us? I think. But aren't you only one? And then he turns to us moonbright ones along the wall. "But we are not the only honored guest, of course. The true guests of honor are all around us here. We are so happy to have you."

Some of the moonbright ones smile shyly. Most are still looking at themselves in their mirror trays, saying "Beautiful, Brightened, Poreless" over and over. Beside me, Lake is shaking. "I want to go home," she pleads. "Take me there, Moonbright."

Laughter again from the veiled ones, this time milder. Seth joins the laughter.

"Well"—he claps his hands—"shall we eat?"

Roaring applause.

"Oh thank god," I whisper. "Lake, we're going to eat now. They're finally severing."

Lake is shaking and shaking her head. "I don't want to eat in this room. There are too many red jellies in that tank. How ugly they are."

Two Statues of Cold step forward—the ones standing on either side of the tank, holding their nets. Now a great light shines down onto the tank water. It is the light of the full moon shining directly over the floating red jellies. Oh, it's beautiful.

"Isn't it beautiful, Lake?" I ask her.

"I want to go," Lake is whispering in my ear.

"But we're about to eat, Lake." And inside, I'm thinking, Eat what? Eat what, I wonder?

"I'm not hungry, I'm not hungry!" Lake cries.

The Queen of Snow is frowning. She hears us. "Why doesn't Tom select this evening's catch?" she shouts, looking right at me and Lake with a scolding face.

Laughter again from the veiled ones. "Yes, Tom. Why don't you?"

Seth isn't smiling. He's looking at me and Lake. Lake releasing a hand from her tray to clutch my arm. Telling me again that she isn't hungry right now. Her house has thirteen windows. It's on a hill, she believes. If I can only take her there.

"She," Seth says, pointing a gloved finger at Lake.

The Queen of Snow smiles. "Oh, a young one. Only just opened, just joined us. Perfect, I can assure you. Full of our favorite delicacies. But perhaps still requiring some… marination. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer—?"

"She," Seth says again. And he's looking at me as much as he's looking at Lake. With eyes cold and bright. With a smile that is movie-star white, blinding.

The Queen of Snow nods. She looks at the Statues of Cold and they smile. They begin to walk toward me and Lake, still gripping my arm. Her nails are sinking into my flesh but I do not scream for Lake's sake. But when they approach, she smiles suddenly. Lets go of me. Looks at the Statues of Cold. The ripple of longing is in her face again. It is a dangerous rippling. It says, I will go anywhere with you. The Statues are so extraordinarily beautiful up close.

"You have been Selected, Beautiful," they say. Their voices sound like an echoing music.

At the word Selected, all the moonbright ones look up from their mirror trays.

"Selected?" Lake repeats. Salt water in her eyes again. "Did you hear that, Moonbright? I've been Selected." She looks so terribly happy. Her happiness hurts to look at.

"Yes. I heard." And it's funny the feeling that comes over me then. A feeling full of shadows. A dark, aching want that consumes. A hate for Lake.

Lake sees it in my eyes and smiles. "I am sorry, Moonbright," Lake says to me, "that you weren't also Selected." But she isn't sorry, I can tell this. She's too happy to have been Selected herself.

"I am sorry too," I say. "But it seems like only one of us can be." I look at the Statues of Cold. They're smiling at each other. They reach out their hands to Lake. Not for her to take, her hands are full, holding her mirror tray. But for her to come away from me, away from the wall of moonbright ones. To follow them, please.

Lake follows them toward the open tank full of red jellies. This is her Final Destination, apparently. When she arrives there, one of the Statues of Cold takes her tray and hands her a net.

It seems like Lake will catch her own dinner. A fresh-caught dinner. Of jelly?

"This is a very intense buffet," I whisper to the woman beside me, a very white woman. She has the eyes of someone old, yet her sin is like a child's. It is strange to behold the old eyes in the child's face. "Perhaps the most intense seafood buffet I have ever witnessed, wouldn't you say?" But the woman is just staring at herself in her mirror tray like all the moonbright ones along the wall seem to be. All but me. The bracelet tingles on my wrist. I stare down at the painted eye glowing there in the dark. Watch, it seems to say.

I look back at Lake with her net. Another Statue of Cold gives Lake a handful of red petals. They whisper instructions to her. Lake listens, smiling. I have been Selected, her face says. I, among all the moonbright ones. Didn't she want to go home just a moment ago? But Lake seems to have forgotten all about home. I watch her drop the red petals into the water where the red jellies swim. Immediately one floats up to the surface, like a moth to a light. And the Statues of Cold smile, the veiled ones in black clap lightly. Lake squeals in delight like she did something so extraordinary. She coos at the creature. Is it my prince she's cooing at? My fairy godfish? If it's mine, I'll scream. Lake wouldn't catch what's mine, would she? A moment ago, I would have thought not, but her I have been Selected face is a different face, makes her a different Lake. Maybe this new Lake would steal what's mine. But no, it's another jelly that swims up to nibble Lake's flowers with a mouth I didn't know it had. It makes Lake smile and clap her hands. Water drips from her eyes. The look in them is strange. Don't know what it's made of, joy or sad or afraid. Maybe it's knowing. I know you, little one. I know this shape. It is the shape of something inside of me. Something essential.

Now the Statues of Cold point to the net Lake is already holding in her hands. She lowers it into the water and her jelly swims into it easily. Her jelly wants to be caught, to be with Lake. How can she eat it now? She lifts up the net, heavy with her creature, and all the veiled ones in black clap. All but Seth, who just watches as Lake lowers her wriggling catch onto her waiting silver tray. So this is what the tray was for. And then the tray is hers to carry, quite heavy, full of her very own red jelly. Thumping on the tray like a wildly beating heart, and Lake so happy as she brings it to the middle of the table where the veiled ones sit waiting. Their hunger is palpable. A panting breath. A shudder. Lake sets it down between the black candles and the rose petals. Sets it right down where the Queen of Snow waits with a carving knife and fork and such a smile on her face. But the Queen of Snow never gets to carve the jumping, wriggling thing. Because one of the veiled ones reaches a hand out and there is a ripping sound and then a scream. And all the black silk arms are reaching, descending upon Lake's creature, still wriggling as it is ripped apart by their tearing hands. I see it torn and thrashing between their bodies. I see mouths full of red between the black veils. Chewing and slurping up the many red tentacles of Lake's jelly. Dangling from their mouths like a bloody, alive spaghetti. Every mouth at the table and every gloved hand covered in blood and fish bits. And the Queen of Snow is smiling. Even as her white-as-snow face gets splattered with the reddest blood of Lake's jelly that they eat so violently. But the Queen of Snow doesn't seem to mind. She licks whatever blood splatter comes to her face with the tip of her long, pink, hunting tongue. Whatever bits she licks make her shudder with pleasure. Her eyes roll back into her head with the pleasure. Meanwhile someone is screaming and screaming. The wildest, loudest screams I have ever heard. Like they are being physically torn apart. Ripped wide open, and they are alive and seeing it at the same time. The screams deafen my ears, where are they coming from? Every mouth is too full of jelly to scream. Lake. Lake at the end of the table, standing between the two smiling Statues of Cold. Lake barely standing, the Statues of Cold are holding her up by her arms. Lake screaming as her jelly is eaten before her eyes. Screaming as if she is the one being eaten, even though she is not, it is only her jelly. But Lake's eyes are wide open and her screams bloom from the wide-open throat of her soul. The bloody thing on her dress looks like a stomach slashed open now more than ever before. The Statues of Cold keep holding her in place, each with a gloved hand. And the veiled ones keep eating and eating, making gasping, shuddering sounds of such pleasure, and will no one stop this? But the moonbright ones along the wall are all still looking into their mirror trays and smiling. "Beautiful, Brightened, Poreless," they chant over and over at their own reflected faces. I try to move to stop this. Lake is so upset, I must calm her down, but I find I cannot move. Something is holding me in place. I look down and see two thorny roses have come out of the wall behind me, oh my. They have slithered around my middle. They have made a tight knot at my waist with their blooms. When I try to move away from the wall again, I am stabbed by their thorns. "Lake," I say, "please. It's only your jelly they're eating." A jelly that won't seem to stop wriggling even as only pieces of it are still left on the table. Pieces that the veiled ones are fighting for, black silk hands wrenching it from other black silk hands. Everyone eats but the man who I thought was a man called Tom Cruise, but whom they call Seth. Seth sits at the head of his table on his throne. Watching it all. Watching the Feasting. And then he turns to me. He puts his gloved fingers to his lips. He looks at me, his eyes red now. And he kisses his fingers so tenderly. Blows this kiss to me. I feel it as the coolest breeze on my forehead. An ocean. Welling up behind my eyes, falling drop by drop. For what is being done to Lake that I can't stop. For the tenderness of Seth's kiss that cools me like a breeze in spite of myself. That soothes me in spite of myself. In spite. In spite.

He smiles. How he loves my ocean of drops. There is no food in the world that tastes as sweet as this ocean looks to his eyes.

The screaming has stopped. Lake has fallen between the two Statues of Cold, who carry her away now. Back through the black mouth of the door. I want to call after her, but the breeze of Seth's kiss has silenced me, has emptied me of all words. And the thorns hold me fast against the wall.

At the table where the veiled ones sit, Lake's creature is no more. Only sputtering black candles, scattered red petals. An empty silver tray smeared with blood. The ones in black murmur behind their veils. Dab at their mouths. Through their veils I see their sins shimmering like pearls. So radiant they are now. It's Lake's jelly, I realize, that's made their faces shimmer so wondrously as they do now. So lakesmooth and moonbright. They pick at their teeth.

"That was… fine," they murmur. "That was just fine. But. We are still quite… peckish. Yes, this peckishness. It is a most unfortunate thing. Malheureusement."

I feel dissatisfaction rising from them like a cloud of ink. Lake's creature has only whetted an appetite that is fathoms deep.

The Queen of Snow looks panicked. Looks at Seth, who says nothing. He's still looking at the ocean dripping from my eyes, getting his own sustenance.

"An amuse-bouche," the Queen of Snow declares. "Only an amuse-bouche to get things started. The true Feast is just beginning. And for this next course, the next two courses, rather—the pièce de résistance, so to speak—we owe so much to our most honored and esteemed guest." And here she touches Seth's shoulder. But he takes one look at her hand there on his shoulder and she lifts it immediately.

"He is responsible for tonight's main menu. Both the hors d'oeuvres and the entrée, n'est-ce pas?" And she laughs, but Seth does not laugh. The veiled ones make sounds of interest.

"Allow me to recount the story," the Queen of Snow begins, standing at the helm of the table. "We had a most surprising Catch of late, one of our most intriguing Roses to join the Depths. Not even a Perfect Candidate, if you can believe. A paying Vessel who walked willingly through our front doors in the light of day." Lake's blood spatter gleams on her white face.

"And yet, when we did the extractions, what we found was quite unexpected." She looks at me in the dark. "Quite an extraordinary story, quite a Rose we found hidden inside that Vessel." She smiles, licks some of Lake's blood spray from the corner of her mouth. "Of the intergenerational variety, no less. Repressed as we like it best. And chock-full of our very favorites." And here she winks at me—does she wink at me? "Délicieux."

The veiled ones make sounds of delight. "Chock-full. Repressed. Of the intergenerational variety. How succulent."

"Why we have always insisted on casting the widest of nets," the Queen of Snow jokes, winking at the Statues of Cold, who laugh a little, gripping their nets tight. Laughter too from the veiled ones.

"C'est ?a."

"Tout à fait."

"But unfortunately this Vessel," she sighs, "expired prior to the last Harvest. Wandered away from us as they sometimes are wont to do. Fell upon some rocks. Rendering its delectable Rose quite uncatchable, quite lost to the Depths, ever elusive to our nets and hands. Malheureusement." She makes a fake sad face at me. "As you well know, a Rose can only be caught by its own Vessel."

The veiled ones make sad sounds. "Ah oui. Too true. This travesty, this wastefulness occurs at times. And it really shouldn't."

"Stricter security has since been put in place, bien s?r," offers the Queen of Snow.

"Good, good."

"What we like to hear."

"But how lucky"—and now the Queen of Snow smiles—"how formidable for us that this prize Vessel had a daughter Vessel. And this daughter Vessel came to visit our little Maison most recently. Found its own way here. And it had a most delectable Rose too, did it not? A Rose that our most esteemed guest planted with his own hands."

She turns to Seth, who's staring at me.

"When we first glimpsed his signature, his mark upon its brow, you can imagine our great excitement. Hence our invitation to have him join us tonight. And he came most willingly, didn't you?"

Seth says nothing. Still staring at me.

"It grew into quite a flower." The Queen of Snow smiles. "Which we did manage to pluck. A Perfect Candidate, obviously, given its lineage. Repressed and full of our favorites, too. Positively brimming with them, just like its mother. Perhaps more than its mother. It has now joined the Depths. And it is our belief that this daughter Vessel should be able to catch both the mother and daughter Roses for us this evening. Ce soir! Two birds, one stone. Or rather two Roses, one Vessel. Or rather two fish, one net. Should make for a most unforgettable Feast. Inoubliable."

"Inoubliable," murmur the veiled ones delightedly. "A most happy turn of events." They applaud lightly.

A mother and daughter Rose, I think. "Well that is an interesting story. Very intéressante, isn't it, Lake? But what is this about the Roses being repressed? Full of our favorites, they said. What are the favorites, I wonder. What makes them so délicieux?"

But Lake isn't here anymore. She must have left or something? Which is a shame since we seem finally just about to eat. Feeling a little nervous now, can't say why exactly. Maybe it's the thorns around my waist. Also when I think the question What? What are we about to eat?

"A very interesting story," I say to the very white woman beside me, to cover the nerves. "About two Roses and one Vessel, the mother and daughter. Did you happen to hear?" But she, like all the moonbright ones, is still looking deep into her mirror tray with her old eyes. Smiling at her sin.

Two Statues of Cold are now walking toward me.

The flowers around my waist unfasten like a belt and go wriggling back into the wall when the Statues approach. Their faces are so extraordinarily beautiful up close that I can do nothing but stare. My breath is gone from my throat. My heart has stopped. I can only look upon these faces, smoother and more moonbright than mine or Lake's could ever dream of being. Than any face could ever dream of being. Everything I look at for the rest of my life will pale in comparison to these faces. Their eyes have universes in them, complete with forests and mountains and seas and starry skies and beyond, to the outer black. On either side of me, they lean in close. I smell what I know is heaven, stardust. The cold burning of the outer black.

"You have been Selected, Daughter," they say with their perfect shining lips. They have the voices of angels. I hear their words like a chorus not only in my ears but deep in my heart, making it Brighten.

"I have been Selected?"

"You," says one with their angel voice. Making me shiver.

"You," says the other.

"Oh my god," I whisper. "I."

They take my arms, one takes one and one the other, and it is the most perfect touch, the softest caress. The touch of these hands knows everything I have ever wanted. It's promising it to me as they lead me now, gently, slowly, to the water garden they call the Depths, full of red jellies or Roses floating. The most beautiful garden I've ever seen in my life, I realize, now that I'm really here. Now that I'm seeing it up close, standing right by the glass pool, my arms in their hands on either side of me. Under the moon still full and beaming its silver light down on us from the sky above.

"How beautiful," I whisper.

"Isn't it?" says one.

"Here," says the other. She releases one of my hands from the tray I'm gripping, and tips into my palm a handful of rose petals.

"Drop those into the water. Go ahead, Daughter."

I drop the red petals into the open throat of the tank, where they fall upon the blue-green water. For a moment we watch them float prettily on its very still surface.

"It's pretty," I say, turning to the Statues of Cold. But they won't turn their faces to me. They're still watching the water, waiting. For what?

I feel the waiting behind me too. A table of veiled ones waiting. The Queen of Snow waiting. Seth waiting. The waiting like a held breath. And then it happens. A red jelly swims up to the surface. Begins to nibble on the petals. It is a giant jelly. My jelly. The one Lake mocked, calling it my prince, my fairy godfish. The one that followed me along the corridor of water. How ugly it is, Lake said. But Lake was wrong. I would tell her, wherever she is. It is not ugly. It's not beautiful like the Statues of Cold either. What is it?

Mineis the word that comes.

"Mine," I say to the Statues, who just stare at the water. They still look like they are waiting.

And then a second, slightly smaller jelly swims up and begins to nibble the petals too. It swims right up beside the bigger jelly, the two now side by side. The big and the little. Like they know each other well. Maybe the big one is the parent of the little one. The mother and the daughter? That is sweet.

Behind me, I hear applause from the veiled ones at the table. "Excellent. Very good. Ah, a triumph."

And then a Statue is touching my hand. Handing me her big net. "To catch both your Roses with, Daughter," she says.

"My Roses?"

"Or if you like, your soul." They smile at each other. "However you like."

I look at the jellies both nibbling the petals. The mother and the daughter.

"Yours alone to catch. You'll find it very easy," the Statue says. But there is a note of uncertainty in her chime voice. "You'll find they want to be with you."

"You'll find they swim right in," the other says. And then they both smile at me. I am devastated by the effect. Undone in my blood. Whatever they ask of me, I will do. To the ends of the earth. I lean closer to the open throat of the tank. A hush behind me at the table. Seth's waiting silence like a roar. I lower my net into the Depths. I wait for them to swim into it like magic. But my Roses, my jellies, do not swim in. They stay exactly where they are, nibbling the petals. A cough behind me. A tapping of gloved fingernails upon the massacred table of petals and blood. I move the net closer to my jellies. And as I do, they drift farther away to the opposite side of the tank. The daughter one is very close to the mother one now. The Statues clear their throats. I hear one of them sigh. It is a distinctly human impatience. Not at all celestial.

"Come on, now, this is silly," I say. I move the net closer again. This time, something happens. The little jelly moves even closer to the big jelly, as if seeking protection. And the big jelly embraces the little one with its tentacles, seems to hold it so close. Then in one swoop, it takes it into itself. Absorbs it so there is no more little one, no more daughter. Only the mother now.

A gasp behind me at the table. Seth's silence is thunder. And then a growling voice: "Get. The. Other. Now."

"Catch your Rose, Daughter," sings a Statue beside me. "And become your Most Magnificent Self."

"Fulfill your Destiny," sings the other.

The mother jelly looks at me with its strange fish eyes. It's trying to say something. What?

"Catch your jelly, Daughter," the Statues sing at the same time now. Tugging my wrist where the bracelet tingles and the eye watches, as if to say, Careful, careful. I am here. I am with you.

The Statue's touch no longer feels like the perfect touch. It feels terribly cold. I hear a knife in each chime voice, pointed at my throat. I look at the mother jelly pulsing in the blue-green pool, looking up at me; her daughter's inside her jelly body somewhere. I remember Lake screaming. Red tentacles hanging from mouths at the table. Black silk hands ripping at the still-wriggling flesh.

"No," I say before I can think.

"What?"

"Help me," I whisper to the moonbright ones along the wall, all still looking at their silver trays like mirrors. Only one looks up. Old, pale eyes. Beautiful dark sin that looks far too Lifted, very Bright. She looks at me with the net in my hand. Shakes her head. "Selected," she hisses. When I'm so not worthy, her face says. She should have been Selected. As for helping me, well, I shouldn't need help now.

The veiled ones watch all of this, impatient. The Queen of Snow smiles nervously. "Theater," she says to them. "Just a bit of dinner theater for you to enjoy between courses." She looks at me. "What is this about, Daughter? You have been Selected. Do you not wish to reach your Apotheosis? To take the last crucial step on your Beauty Journey? To become your Most Magnificent Self?" There are still blood flecks on her very white face from Lake's jelly. I think of Lake. Screaming in her white-and-red silk. Her stomach looking slashed open. Used.

"No," I say. And then all the moonbright ones look up from their mirror trays. All the veiled ones at the table gasp. "What did she say?"

I look at the veiled ones, staring at me very silently. "No, merci. I'd prefer to… not."

The Queen of Snow's smile grows cold. "You'd prefer… to not?" She takes a step toward me and I feel myself take a step back. My red shoes feel awake now on my feet.

"I see," she says. She takes another step toward me. Again, my shoes take me a step back. I'll go with you, I tell them in my mind.

"Yes," I say to the Queen of Snow, backing away. "So sorry. Desolate. Désolée, I mean."

"Well. We are also désolée. Très désolée to hear that you are dissatisfied with your Beauty Journey. Particularly when you are so close to the End."

I nod like this is indeed a sham. Shame. "So if you'll just give me my purse, I'll pay you for your very wonderful severings thus far. And then I'll be on my way."

The veiled ones laugh now, uneasily. Ha. Theater, is this? Well, all right. We were not expecting to be entertained as well as fed. How charmant. Though the entertainment is a bit… willful? Obstinate for our taste. Pas à notre go?t. Speaking of taste, can we… eat?

The moonbright ones no longer look at their mirror trays. All shining eyes are on me. They cannot believe that I won't take this last crucial step in my Beauty Journey. When I have been Selected. When I am on the Cusp. They shake their heads. Whisper to one another. "She has been Selected and yet she will not take this last step, why? She is a fool. She is stupid. We would never be so stupid."

The Queen of Snow looks at me, and now her smile is ice. "You have been Selected." Another step forward.

"I don't want to be Selected." Another step back. Me and my red shoes take it together. "I did not ask to be Selected."

"You are on the Cusp." Another step forward.

"I don't want to be." Another step back, and I'm back up against the tank now. I feel the glass wall behind me, the railing digging into my low back. Behind me, I feel my red jelly float. The mother Rose who absorbed the daughter Rose into her body in an embrace of tentacles. She has not gone back down to the Depths. She's staying here with me even though I tried to catch her. Even though I tried to kill her, to feed her live to the veiled ones. She's not leaving me. She's still here. Trying to say something. What is she saying? Come with me.

"Well that is perfectly fine," the Queen of Snow says.

"It is?"

"Bien s?r. You are a free agent, after all. And the customer is always right, n'est-ce pas?"

Now the veiled ones really laugh.

And then the Queen of Snow nods at the Statues of Cold. They come toward me from both sides. How could I have ever thought they were beautiful? How could I have ever thought they were angels? They're smiling like they are going to kill me.

The black mouth of the door is behind them. The black mouth into which they dragged Lake, who was once beautiful, who is now no more. Along the wall, the moonbright ones regard me darkly. Not so moonbright-looking now. They're holding their mirror trays up like shields. At the table, Seth sits looking at me. No expression. His eyes are black holes.

Come with me, I hear from behind me in the pool.

I try to take one more step back, away from the Queen of Snow, away from the table of veiled ones. And there isn't a step to take, turns out. There is only falling. Backward falling.

And I'm in the tank.

I'm deep in the blue-green water.

Cold, very cold water.

Can't breathe, sinking.

Through the water and the glass I see the veiled ones silently screaming.

I see the moonbright ones drop their shields and wring their hands.

I see the Queen of Snow tear out her red hair.

I scream and water fills my mouth.

And then the mother is on me, its beating heart-head pressed against my chest, its tentacles wrapping around my neck like it's holding me fast. And we're sinking, down through a grand tunnel of water. Sinking or swimming? Don't know, but down we go. And I'm dying, I feel myself dying, my heart and lungs frozen in mid-spasm. And as we sink down through water, more and more red jellies wrap themselves around my body, legs, arms, chest, all of me covered in red jelly, all but my eyes wrapped entirely in jelly bodies as I sink or swim down. Then suddenly my lungs open, underwater they open, and I'm breathing underwater, covered in jellyfish; these are jellyfish. The jellyfish are breathing for me, or I am breathing through jellyfish? And we're not sinking, we're swimming, they're swimming me down the endless tunnel of water, through the many floors of this house. I can breathe and open my eyes and watch us swimming down. Through the water and warped glass, I see the grand hall where I danced and drank of the red stars, where people are dancing still. In horror, they watch us turning and swimming down. They bang their fists on the glass. I feel things being thrown at us. Champagne flutes. The sound of shattered glass like rain against the tank walls. We swim down faster, down to the very bottom of the tank. They know where they're going, these jellyfish. I hear what I think are voices all around me. Saying, Hurry. Saying, This way. We've reached the bottom of the Depths, which is a floor of glass. Through the floor, I see a dark room with a white massage table. The Treatment Room. Where I lay with Seth, I remember now. Where I grew my little jellyfish from a ghostly white wisp into a red creature like the ones wrapped all over me. The water down here feels so much colder, why? Where is the cold coming from?

The jellyfish swim my body toward a dark grate in the tank glass. The cold rushes in from the grate like a cool breeze from an open window. Except instead of a breeze, it's water. Darker, colder like the water of night. I feel the jellyfish sighing.

Ocean, all the voices say as one voice.

They swim me up to the grate. The cold water is a wind in my face. In all our faces. They sigh around me. Yes. Here. Gently, they guide my hands, covered in pulsating heads and tentacles, to the lock. They slide farther up my arms, leaving my hands suddenly empty, free of jelly. My fingers that can open the lock. That will open the lock for them, please. They who have no hands and fingers. Who can only swim me here. Up above, I hear shattering glass, oh god. Someone has broken the tank and the water is spilling out onto the floors above. I can see Seth at the very top. Standing in the open throat of the tank high above us, his body shimmering darkly. Watching the water flood, the glass break, I feel his eyes on me like voids. I see the Queen of Snow running down the stairs with her Statues of Cold. "After them. After them."

Hurry, hurry. Unlock, unlock, the creatures say.

But my fingers are slippery on the lock. Numb with cold on the cold metal lock, oh god, oh god.

Please hurry, Belle.

The water empties above us. The glass is raining down. The lock gives in my fingers. Opens.

And together we swim into a dark night of water.

I do know how to swim after all.