by Lani Lenore
Olivia gazed over at them–her family–as the driver urged the horses to move and the carriage began to roll down the frozen street. Two of her brothers beside her were quietly harassing a cricket they had smuggled inside. Young Elizabeth leaned against their mother, who sat stroking the girl’s hair.
“We’re going to have a fresh start,” Agatha said, though Olivia thought she was actually talking to herself. “Everything will be alright now.”
Yes; Olivia agreed. She was going to get a new start, and everything was going to be alright.
From beneath the spread of her coat and dress, she withdrew two dolls from the seat beside her. One was a pretty lady in a fancy dress. The other was an upright toy soldier. Olivia examined them closely. They looked back at her with false eyes. They did not speak.
“I’m sorry, Edmond,” she whispered quietly so that no one else could hear, “but you’ll have to deal with Madeline on your own from now on. I’m afraid we can’t be friends anymore.”
The dolls did not respond to her, but of course they did not. They were simple toys. Olivia seemed satisfied with their silence. She sighed, setting her resolve. She then took both dolls by their feet and tossed them out the window abandoning them in the snow.
3
The walls were white. The ceiling and floor were white. The new jacket she’d been given was white; wasn’t it lovely? Anne’s entire world was devoid of color.
There was a window near the top of the tiny room, but it was too high for her to see anything except a portion of sky. She knew when the day had turned to night and when the sun came up again. She knew when it snowed, but hadn’t been there long enough to see rain. It was still in the heart of winter. The sky was always black at night and always grey and dreary during the day, so eventually she’d stopped looking to the window at all.
She sat in the corner now, absently biting down on a strand of hair that had drifted into her mouth. It had been a month. One whole month–in and out of solitude, speaking to doctors who treated her like much less than they were, and dealing with orderlies who did not know where to keep their hands. She had thought that it would not take her long to convince the people here that she was not mad, but somehow they did not seem to care one way or the other. She was, apparently, criminally insane. Anne was never going to get out.
Was this sacrifice truly worth the guilt she might have felt? Was this what Armand had been telling her to do? Armand… Wherever he was now, she hoped he was happy. He must have been happier than she was.
She had not stopped thinking of his human face since she’d seen it in the vision she’d had. The way she had last seen his expression–looking so troubled and desperate as he reached out to her–was frozen in her mind. Could it be possible that he had known what was in store for her? He wanted her to come with him so that he could save her from this fate? Either way, it was too late now. She was alone.
At a sudden, tickling urge inside her, Anne giggled shortly. What was so funny? It was just that she had no idea why she was hanging onto her sanity anymore. Did it give her comfort? Perhaps just a bit. Would it save her? No.
No.
There was a cry from above that bounced off the walls of the room, shaking the woman and leading her to jerk her head up toward it. There sat the one that had come to visit her. It was a large crow.
The bird cawed at her, ruffling its feathers and dropping a few down into her cell. It looked all around itself, but it did not look in at her. The crow was not interested in her because she was caged. She did not know freedom anymore. Anne tired of the bird’s mocking presence quickly.
“Get away!” she screamed upward, her voice high and terrifying.
The crow uttered quite a few caws of complaint, but it did as she requested. However, it did not leave her alone. Anne was infuriated by the noise, but despite how she screeched back, the unwelcome bird would not flee. Something fell from the crow’s foot and dropped from the window, falling down, down, down, until it hit the floor next to Anne. She stared at it a moment, but it did not take her long to understand what it was.
It was a cloth arm with a porcelain hand attached, ripped carelessly from a doll’s shoulder. It was a tiny thing, and to most, this sight would not be bothersome, but because of what Anne had seen, the arm had a very different effect.
To Anne, this might as well have been a human limb. The stuffing fluffed out of the top was like blood and muscle. This is Olivia’s curse. Overcome, Anne screamed horribly, unable to use her arms because of the jacket restraining her, but using her feet to push herself away from the gruesome thing. She did not seem to realize that she was pressing as far against the wall as she could go.
If one had looked into the grey of her iris, they might have seen it crack like a mirror at the pitch of her scream. Pain prickled throughout her body, setting off her pores like fire. Tears streamed down her face as she closed her eyes to try and shut away the image. Blood swelled behind her face, turning her skin red and ringing her ears. Within her chest, her heart sped until it began to ache. She screamed until she could not breathe. What was happening? Her eyesight blurred out, closing in with a white cloud on all sides. It was cold.
It is so cold…
Anne awoke and everything was white, but she was not in the tiny room with the soft walls and the distant window. She was lying in the snow. She could feel it beneath her fingers and against her face. What was going on? She pulled herself off the ground.
There seemed to be a foggy haze over everything, and she could not see very far into the distance. Even so, Anne knew that she was in a garden. Snow covered everything, but there were vibrant red roses all around her. She noticed then that she was dressed in a white and silver gown, protected by a coat of white fur. A hood was around her face, and the soft fur tickled her skin. Her light hair was hanging in long, perfect ringlets down her body. Where was she? Why was she not locked away?
Is this another cruel dream?
“What are you doing out here? You’ll freeze!”
Anne turned her face toward the voice, knowing that she did not recognize it. It was a small voice, but powerful for its size. Out of the fog, she emerged, wrapped in furs herself with a hundred curls on her little head.
“Clara?” Anne asked hesitantly.
For a moment, Anne did not know what to say. Come to think of it, she was not even sure she had heard the sound of her own voice. She felt suddenly anxious, and she knew exactly why, but she was afraid for the girl to come too close. Afraid–because she thought she might discover that the girl was not actually there.
“Of course it is me,” the child insisted as if she had known the woman for ages.
Clara reached for her hand, and Anne almost drew away. She did not, only because she wanted to prove herself wrong. The girl gripped her hand. The touch was solid, and it was not cold.
“I saw you through the window. You should come inside. It’s freezing out here.”
Anne allowed herself to be led by the girl, stepping through the crunching snow until a stone wall and emerged through the haze. It was open slightly, and warm light poured out from within. They moved inside.
There was a man standing beside the door, short and a bit elderly.
“May I take your coats?” he asked politely.
“Thank you, Franz,” Clara said, allowing him to help her with her furs. Anne, on the other hand, was much too busy staring at the interior.
The structure around her was like an old castle that she’d only read about in storybooks. There were thick rugs and an enormous chandelier overhead with long candles. There were paintings on the walls–exquisite art–but there was still one thing that bothered her. Within the walls, the haze still stood.
“Is something wrong?” Clara asked her. It did not occur to Anne that Clara was speaking in a language she did not know, yet she understood the girl perfectly.
“Am I dead?” she blurted.
The child gazed up at her as if it was a perfectly normal questi
on.
“Perhaps you are dead,” the child considered. “Or perhaps you have died in a different place.”
Anne did not understand. “Is this heaven?”
“Mmm…I don’t think so,” Clara said with a short shake of her head. “There are no angels. I have certainly looked about.”
“I see…”
Clara’s large blue eyes became very concerned. “Do you feel dead?”
Anne paused, dwelling a moment. Everything was so real here. The feel of the air, the smell of the fire. She smelled food in a distant part of the castle. The child’s voice was so clear. Nothing about this place felt dead.
“No,” she said finally. “I actually feel very much alive.”
Clara seemed to be pleased with this answer. She took Anne’s hand again and began to pull her further into the castle.
“I like to call this place the Land of Snow and Sweets.” The child giggled. “Because sometimes the snow reminds me of sugar and I never know which are snowflakes and which are sweets!”
The girl led her into a larger chamber. There were several people moving about inside–servants, she would assume. They were busy with their own business, but they all nodded to her and smiled politely as she passed. If this was heaven, she could not imagine how unfortunate it would be to end up as a servant.
They moved into another room, and the first things Anne noticed were the many animal heads mounted on the wall. The second was the chair that rested before the fireplace. There was someone sitting in that chair with his back to her. She was certain of that.
Anne looked down to Clara for some sort of guidance, as if she could not decide on her own. The child smiled and gave her a short nod, letting her know it was alright to go forward.
Anne’s heart pumped faster with every step closer to the chair. She listened to her own footsteps against the rug. She was nervous and somewhat afraid, even though she knew what she would find there.
Before she had the opportunity to fully pass in front of that nicely upholstered seat, the one in the chair stood.
He stood to his full height, wearing a dark jacket and pants, made of fine linens. Gold buttons. Polished boots. His hair was very long and unbound, waving slightly down his back. It was fair, but not white.
“I was just thinking,” a familiar voice said, “about mice. Perhaps finding a cat would not be a poor investment of my time.”
He turned back to look at her then, firmly aware that she had approached. There was a slight smile on his lips as he looked at her, and this time she was certain that he saw her, for now he had eyes. He looked just as she had known him, only made of flesh. And those eyes… So blue. Anne could never have imagined their true beauty.
“Armand,” she sighed. She was unaware that she was shaking as he moved forward to embrace her.
He was solid against her. Even though the haze was there, he was not part of it. He was warm beneath her fingers. She could smell his skin and hair. His heart was beating, pumping blood throughout his veins.
“I saw you through the fog,” he said quietly, pulling her back to him from her thoughts. “I tried to reach you, but I couldn’t step forward.”
“I was pulled away.”
“I didn’t know if you would find your way here,” he said, but his concern soon lifted and showed relief.
Anne looked up at him from beneath his chin.
“Armand, what is this place?”
He shook his head, his eyes searching, but he could not grasp the answer.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but it is what we have been given.”
Anne considered those words. Had she truly gone insane? Had she lost herself so deeply that she was imagining all of this? Or had she died and slipped into some different world–a place where she was free to be with Armand and share in his happiness with Clara? She thought over both of those things until she finally came to a conclusion.
She did not care.
Either way, she was here, and this was exactly where she wanted to be. Anne chose to believe this truth. It was no dream. She was here in his arms, and there was no need to dwell on anything else. The woman held her prince tighter.
“This is real, isn’t it?” she confirmed, a tear rolling down into her forming smile. The trail should have been warm, but she did not feel it at all.
Armand smiled gently back at her, lowering his head to whisper in her ear.
“Glad you decided to join me,” he said.
~ ~
About the Author
Lani Lenore is a writer of gothic horrors and dark fantasies. In addition to rewriting well-known fairytales with a twist, she also writes original stories in a style she calls ‘dark fairytale’, which uses fairytale elements to build horror and fantasy stories. Most of her tales, though horror, have a subplot of romance. She loves to keep readers on the edge of their seat, spook them, and immerse them in worlds of beauty and terror.
She is currently continuing work on the Nevermor trilogy. If you’re a fan, check out these links to get connected with news and info.
Visit the Project Nevermor blog to get more information on the series http://projectnevermor.wordpress.com/
Follow Lani Lenore on Twitter https://twitter.com/MissLenore for information about upcoming works!
Like Nevermor on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/pages/Nevermor-by-Lani-Lenore/553358604674836
Find Lani on Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/MissLenore
