Hazel

by Rita Stradling

  “Have you lost your wits, Eda?” Hester called. When I looked to the housekeeper, her expression had transformed from abject horror to disdain. “Why did you bring me out here for this display of madness when such a tragedy has occurred in the manor?”

  Eda looked between her filthy hands and her sister. “I could not say,” she mumbled as her gaze returned to her hands. “Perhaps you are right, and I am somewhat unhinged from today’s horrific events.”

  “That is no excuse with so much work required of us. And now we have both ruined our uniform. Gather that blanket and return to the manor.” Spinning on her heel, the housekeeper paced toward the sprawling manor.

  Eda looked once more to her hands. “I’ve lost my senses,” she mumbled.

  “I think I have, too. All my color—and—I—I can’t… understand what’s happening. Everything is confusing. My parents—can you take me to where they are, please? I’d need to see for myself,” I whispered.

  Eda didn’t look at me as she stood. Instead, she brushed off her gown, smearing the dirt further.

  I thought perhaps she needed a moment to gather herself. She’d loved my parents nearly as much as I did. I wasn’t sure if I had imagined the last few minutes—the strange occurrence with the color—or what was happening. Perhaps she would look up and inform me that it was all a dream. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for Eda to gather the blanket.

  After folding it, she paused. She examined the length of the grounds as two lines creased up her forehead. When her gaze fell my way, it did not so much pass over me as pass through me.

  “I’ve lost my senses,” she repeated before shaking her head. She turned to follow behind her sister, her pace just short of a run.

  “Eda?” I called, but she didn’t turn.

  She gave no sign at all that she heard me.

  “Eda! Where are my parents—where are their bodies? There could have been a mistake!”

  Still nothing.

  “What is going on?” I screamed. I sprinted after her, my breathing heavy and harsh. When I was within reach, I grabbed for her, but only caught the blanket.

  She kept walking, the blanket feeding out behind her. As it stretched between us, beige globs of what looked like paint rained from the material, dripping onto the grass. Rivulets of green streamed from the embroidery, mixing into the beige drops. From where my hand had fisted in the blanket, grayness spread.

  I gasped and halted, releasing the material.

  A moment later, Eda dropped the blanket, leaving it splayed over the grass, now an ashen gray color.

  A sob tore through my chest, but I refused to cry—not until I knew the truth. Mud sprayed around me as I sprinted toward the manor. As I ran, the meadow grew sinister around me. The once-beautiful butterflies flapped at me like a swarm of death moths. The grass blades were a sea of spikes, stretching between me and the manor.

  I stumbled onto the loose stone path that surrounded the east wing, my pulse pounding in my ears.

  When I reached the manor, I grabbed onto the doorframe for support and threw open the east wing’s heavy door. My bare feet slapped the marble as I charged inside.

  “Mother! Father!” My yell echoed down the vast empty hallway.

  No one answered.

  In my haste, I banged into the walls, my shoulder hitting hard on the corner at the stairwell.

  At the top of the stairs, I grabbed onto the banister, looking toward the door of my parents’ chamber. “Father?” I meant to yell, but the word came out in a broken whisper.

  The walls blurred, the color dripping down, as I made my way forward.

  At my parents’ chamber door, I hesitated.

  A giant wet glob fell onto my shoulder, trickling down my side.

  “I’m losing my mind,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted it to be true or not, for if my mind was gone, my parents might be in this room, whole and hearty. If it could only be true, I would gladly accept madness.

  The paint of the ivory walls dripped down around me, a pearlescent sludge pooling at my feet, rising to my ankles, and then draining away. In its place, the walls stretched out in an ashen expanse.

  I must have lost my mind—or perhaps I was caught in the most life-like nightmare I’d ever experienced. If it could only be true.

  The metal was cool on my fingers as I turned the knob and pushed the heavy door open. As I entered, the walls and ceiling oozed their color, raining down on the furnishings of my parents’ private sitting chamber. Streams of ivory funneled down between the heavy gilded frames of the paintings that stretched across every wall.

  The color poured down in their bedroom as well, and I waded through the white sludge until it sank between my toes into the now-ashen floor.

  The room’s furnishings, bed, and paintings remained vibrant, as the room around them decayed to a drab, matte gray.

  From a glance, I knew my parents weren’t here. The bed had been stripped to its mattress, as if even that sign of life had been cut out of the room.

  “Empty,” I whispered to the cavernous room. Catching movement at the corner of my eye, I spun, but found only my parent’s free-standing cheval mirror in the corner of the room. Upon catching my reflection in it, I jumped back, flinching away. Framed in the mirror, a girl stared back at me. She possessed my shape and height, but she was transformed. When I moved, she moved as well, walking toward the mirror.

  Reaching up, I touched my cheek and the girl in the mirror touched hers. I looked down at myself, and then back at the mirror, finding no color on me or my reflection. My deep-olive complexion, cinnamon-brown hair, peach gown—even the mud clinging to my feet and ankles—were all the color of fresh ash. The room too, all but the furnishings, had lost its color—we were identical in our unnaturalness.

  I had no explanation for it. But I, along with my surroundings, had transformed.

  Turning, I staggered back through the east wing, finding that the colorlessness had spread to every wall. And when I staggered out and looked back, I found that the outside of the east wing was also the pale, ashy color.

  No one came to find me again, not on that day or in the long weeks that followed it. No one entered the east wing again, either.

  The entirety of the east wing of Hope Manor, including its occupant, had been forgotten, and for three weeks, no person remembered or saw us again.

  This is the end of the sneak peek. Purchase Colorless on:

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  About the Author

  Rita Stradling is the author of Making Bad Choices, The Deception Dance series, the Dakota Kekoa series and The Fourteen Day Soul Detox Serial. She has a BA in Art History and a particular love for modern and medieval art.

  Rita lives with her husband and son in Northern California.

  She has an insatiable novel addiction and mostly reads young adult and adult romance, paranormal, urban fantasy and high fantasy.

  Read More from Rita Stradling

  AUTHOR WEBSITE – Rita Stradling Books