by Ophelia Silk
She gave up on remembering it. It was in silence that she began to gather the clothes and blankets that would need to be washed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Voice Calling
“JANE.”
The sound of her name dragged her from sleep. Adelaide’s arms were wrapped around her, her bare skin warm against Jane’s own. For a moment, she thought it was Adelaide who had called her. But Adelaide’s face was still and peaceful, her eyes closed.
Perhaps she had only dreamed it. She curled closer into Adelaide’s embrace, settling in…
And the voice came again.
“Jane, Jane. Where have you gone?”
The voice sounded like her mother’s voice, like her father’s voice, both younger and remembered from childhood, before their expectations had become so burdensome. The voice of the girl who sometimes came to feed their horses, who she had enjoyed speaking with. The kind merchant man who always accepted her haggled prices with a smile.
No single voice could sound like all of these people, she knew. These were just the beasts, trying to lure her out again. She buried her face in Adelaide’s neck, ignoring them. She wouldn’t rush out into the snow tonight.
“Don’t you miss us, Jane?”
“No,” she hissed, before clenching her teeth together. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Adelaide stirred a little in her sleep but didn’t waken.
The beasts heard her, though. They repeated her, voices rippling around as though a crowd of judging familiars stood right outside the window.
“No.”
“No.”
“No.”
“She says no.”
“The witch has tricked her.”
“She thinks she’ll be happy there.”
“The witch has fooled her.”
That’s not true, Jane thought… but didn’t say. It didn’t matter, what those voices were saying. They weren’t real. They were just trying to convince her to put herself in danger. They didn’t want her to rejoin society. They just wanted her to walk away from the safe cottage to her death.
And yet, the words stuck with her. She thinks she’ll be happy there. Happy in the cottage, happy cut off from everyone else. Happy with this life, one that denied her so much, but the only one that felt available to her without denying everything that she truly was.
Perhaps the beasts could hear her thoughts, or smell her fear on the air. Or, perhaps, she was just predictable.
“Do you really think you could be happy here, Jane?” A voice crooned on the wind. “Is this really what you want? To be shut up away in a cabin for the rest of your days?”
“We did have fun, Jane,” another voice said. This one sounded a little like William. “Sure, you’ll have to sacrifice some things. But can you say that you won’t be sacrificing anything if you stay with her?”
“Adelaide cannot be your everything, Jane.” This voice was soft, understanding. It reminded her of Florence, smiling and helping her fend William off. “You need other people. Our approval. You need that structure to show you how life is.”
Despite herself, she slipped from Adelaide’s arms, going to the window. Shadows lurked in the trees, twiggy angular creatures that didn’t quite manage to step into the moonlight. “You’re wrong,” Jane whispered. “I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”
“Poor, poor Jane,” one of the voices hissed. “Trapped between isolation and conformity. Neither of them are truly good options. Are you sure you’re making the right choice?”
Jane curled her hands into fists. “I’m happy with Adelaide. She makes me feel happy. She makes me feel free.”
“For now,” another sighed. “She’s trying now, trying to be polite. But it isn’t in her nature, Jane. She’s going to slip, again and again. And so will you. Back into your nature.”
“You’re wrong.”
“You’ll run home.”
“You’re wrong!”
Jane slammed her fists against the windowpane, then jumped, looking guiltily over her shoulder. Adelaide still slept. Jane let out a quiet breath of relief.
“You can’t deny who you truly are, Jane.”
Jane looked back out into the forest. “Foul things. I’ve been denying who I truly am for twenty years.”
“The polite girl is part of you, too,” the voices chanted, falling over each other. “The girl who likes parties, and dancing, and mingling with other people. Perhaps you wouldn’t be happy as a man’s wife. But can you be happy here, as Adelaide’s prisoner?”
“I’m not a prisoner!”
“She’ll never leave here. She’s happy with this life. And you won’t be. Doesn’t that make you a prisoner?”
“I…” Jane looked down at her fists, curled against the wood of the windowpane.
“You’re still denying pieces of yourself, Jane,” they said. “Now you’re just doing it for her instead of your family. But is it really any different?”
Jane thought of the parties. She thought of the comfort of being in a room full of people, quiet and observing, all the more sweeter when sandwiched between stressful conversations gone well. She thought about having to give all of that up, and her heart ached.
But the idea of giving Adelaide up made her ache far worse. “I can find a way to be happy here,” she said, almost pleading. “There has to be something in the middle, something to make both of us happy. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“That isn’t the way the world is, Jane.” The voices sounded almost sympathetic. “You’ll become unhappy… Adelaide will stop trying… your heart will break, piece by piece, and then you’ll return home a husk. Why not skip that altogether? Run home now, Jane. Run home.”
And for a moment, even knowing what she did, she almost considered it.
She backed away slowly from the window, shaking her head back and forth. “You and I both know that you have no intention of letting me reach home.”
The voices hissed in the mockery of a laugh. “Clever girl. Too bad you’re hiding from the truth.”
“Say what you will. But I am not leaving this cabin tonight just to fall into your clutches.”
The voices sighed. And then they started up again, nearly mocking, as if they’d given up luring her out and now only sought to cause her pain.
“We miss you so much, Jane.”
“Parties aren’t the same without you, Jane.”
“There’s still a place for you here, Jane.”
Nonsense. All nonsense. But Jane’s chest still felt very hollow as she sat on the edge of the bed, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to lay down. It wasn’t as though she would be able to sleep with those horrid voices taunting her, anyway.
Was this really what she wanted? She wanted Adelaide—she was sure of that, had never been surer of anything in her life. Adelaide made her feel like no one else did, like no one else could. She had awakened powerful things in her that she never dared to believe that she could feel.
But she could not just choose Adelaide. She had to choose everything Adelaide was, everything about her life.
She tried to imagine it differently, a life where she lived with her parents on the farm but then snuck to Adelaide. But that just wouldn’t do. For one thing, it would make her no different than the others who snuck to Adelaide’s cabin at night, seeking something. And for another, her parents would expect her to marry William—marry some man, at any rate. She didn’t think she could do it now, even as a sham, knowing that she had true desire and love waiting for her.
As long as Adelaide loved her, as long as she loved Adelaide, she would stay.
Jane laid down, curling into Adelaide’s embrace. Perhaps her grip was too tight, or maybe Adelaide could feel her trembling, but she stirred, arms going a little tighter.
“Jane? You’re awake?”
Her voice was cracked, still fuzzy with sleep. Jane pressed her face into the warmth of Adelaide’s breast, taking a deep breath.
“The beasts are whisperin
g outside again. You can’t hear them?”
“Mmm.” Adelaide made a soft, dissenting noise, wrapping her arms around Jane’s waist. Jane was able to take a bit of comfort in the embrace. “They don’t bother with me. Realized it isn’t worth the effort. Glad I didn’t have to come get you out of the snow this time.”
She huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. But Jane didn’t feel much like laughing. In fact, the comment stung, striking her as quite cruel. Even as Adelaide slipped back into sleep, the voices of the beasts haunted her.
She’s trying now, trying to be polite. But it isn’t in her nature, Jane. She’s going to slip, again and again.
Your heart will break, piece by piece, and then you’ll return home a husk.
It wasn’t true. Adelaide’s comment hurt her feelings, and perhaps she was looking for a bit more comfort. But Adelaide hadn’t meant it in a cruel way. Jane was quite certain of that. It was just that she was tired, not really aware. She couldn’t see that Jane was upset, or she would’ve been gentler.
It isn’t in her nature.
Jane squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, wishing and wishing for sleep to come even as the voices outside whispered. But even as they faded, and the sun began to brighten the window, she stayed awake, taunts and jeers and fears echoing through her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Tired Morning
“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, Jane?”
Jane blinked, looking up from her plate. Adelaide’s gaze was soft, worry creasing her brow.
“You’re very quiet,” she said. “And you’ve hardly made eye contact with me all morning.”
“I’m just tired.” And she was. But that wasn’t all. She couldn’t help but think of how quickly Adelaide had brushed her off last night. It wasn’t fair to be upset with her—she hadn’t even really been awake to do it—but Jane couldn’t get it out of her head.
Adelaide hummed. “Were the beasts that frustrating? Usually they let off when they realize you aren’t leaving.”
“Well, I made quite a display last time. Inconveniencing you and all that,” Jane said, more bitter than she meant to. Adelaide clearly noticed it, because she gave Jane a look of surprise. Jane looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry. I really am very tired.”
“Jane,” Adelaide said, her voice even. “Are you upset with me?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. It was the right answer, the polite answer. “No, I’m being completely irrational, I’m being—”
“I don’t recall asking about your judgement of your own mental state, Jane,” Adelaide said, and the tone grated against Jane’s nerves. It was somewhere between annoyed and amused. “If you’re going to be upset with me, I hope you’d at least tell me.”
“Who said this was about you?” Jane snapped. “Not everything in my life has to revolve around you, no matter how limited my social circle is now.”
Adelaide stared.
Jane hung her head. “I am sorry. I’m just… unnerved.”
“By the voices in the forest?” Adelaide’s brow furrowed. “They aren’t real, Jane.”
“No, but what they say targets me specifically!” Jane pressed a palm flat against the counter, not quite hitting it. “I just spent the entire night listening to voices shouting terrible things at me, things from my darkest fears! I would think you might be a bit more sympathetic!”
Silence seemed to echo after just how loud her voice was. Jane wanted to run and hide, but there was nowhere for her to go. This entire house belonged to Adelaide, and she couldn’t just hide in the barn like she would at her family’s home.
“Is that what this is about?” Adelaide’s voice was soft, but it was clearly forced. She was keeping her annoyance in check, but only barely. “I wasn’t sympathetic enough?”
Jane sighed. “Maybe. But I really am tired.”
Adelaide huffed. “You should have just told me. We agreed that you would be honest.”
“I know that!” Jane gripped her skirts in her hands. “I’m… I’m trying, Adelaide. But it’s hard, alright? You can’t expect me to get it right all the time. That’s not fair.”
She’s going to slip, again and again. And so will you. Back into your nature.
Was this really all she was? Unable to ever speak up when it mattered, when it counted? Would she become the woman she always dreaded becoming with William? Silent and unable to do anything but bow down to the will of her lover?
Adelaide sighed and stood, going around and wrapping her arms around Jane’s neck. “I don’t want to fight.”
“Neither do I. So let’s just drop it.” In spite of herself, Jane leaned into the embrace. Maybe Adelaide was frustrating, but right now she was all Jane had. And she was being silly. She was letting those words get into her head.
Adelaide hummed. “We should talk about it.”
Jane grit her teeth. This would never happen back home. Back home you could just ignore it when things got uncomfortable, because talking further was impolite.
And, of course, later punishment would come, even if they tried to pretend it was over something else. But at least she wasn’t questioned, prodded, always forced to look within herself and try to become better. She was comfortable.
She leaned further into Adelaide’s arms. “Adelaide, please. I can’t be like you right now.”
“Like me?”
“So… objective about myself. So honest about my faults. I don’t know.” She felt like crying, and it showed in the waver of her voice. “Please don’t make me do this right now. I don’t want to think.”
There was a long pause. Then Adelaide sighed. “Fine.” She didn’t let go of Jane, but her voice was tense, and she’d stopped rubbing circles against Jane’s hip.
“You’re disappointed in me,” Jane accused.
“Do you really want a response to that?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Jane rubbed her eyes. “I think I need to be alone for a moment. I can’t get my thoughts in order.”
Adelaide let her go, her expression cool. This was not the response she wanted, clearly. “Alright.”
Jane stood and went to the garden.
She worried, for a moment, that even this would be ruined for her. That she’d look out at the forest and remember the eyes that had glared out at her the night before.
But the branches hardly looked the same in the light of day, even if the sunlight beyond the garden was a bit paler and less vibrant in comparison. Jane inhaled deep, letting the sweetness of the flowers fill up her lungs.
Carefully, she went to the patch of Edelweiss flowers, stroking the petals. Knowing that these were special to her, belonged to her, made her feel better. She plucked a few of them, holding them in her cupped palms.
“Elvare,” Jane said. “Clysidium.”
The flowers glowed, turning to protective petals in her palms. The Old Words on her lips felt comforting, powerful. The discomfort in her chest seemed to ease a little when she put the petals in her pocket. These, at least, were hers and hers alone. Something she didn’t know before coming here.
She picked a few more, repeating the incantation. And more. And more. The repetition was oddly soothing, something else to focus on, something that made her veins come alive. And they were proof, in a way, that she wasn’t lying again. That she wasn’t slipping back into her own habits, as the voices had accused her of.
There would be things about town that she missed. And things could not be all perfect with Adelaide. But she didn’t want to leave. She still wanted to cherish Adelaide, to stay by her side. To choose her. And choosing her would require sacrifice, just as choosing town would require sacrifice.
Was that what it meant to be happy? To accept the things you couldn’t change?
Jane stood, her pockets overflowing with dried, gently glowing petals. She wasn’t sure how long she had stayed out here in the sun, but her mind felt a bit clearer, at least. Slightly more at ease. She still felt weary down to her bones, but
no longer so brittle that she might snap.
She walked back into the cabin. Adelaide’s eyes flicked down to her pockets, and her eyebrow climbed up her forehead. Jane wasn’t sure what caused the reaction until she spoke. “Planning a trip, Jane?”
Jane looked down at her pockets, flushing. “No. Nothing like that. I just liked making them.”
“I see.” Adelaide looked down at her book. But Jane saw the way her brow tightened, her knuckles turning slightly white against the dark cover.
Adelaide didn’t believe her.
Part of her was ashamed. She’d told Adelaide that she’d tried to be honest, and Adelaide had caught her in a lie. And maybe a part of her had been comforted by the idea that the flowers would allow her to leave the house without having to worry about the beasts. She couldn’t yet, of course, she was still taking medicine. But having the option was comforting.
Another part of her was angry. Would it be like this every time she slipped up, would there be doubt and annoyance and rudeness until she proved herself enough to deserve kindness? It reminded her a bit too much of her parents for comfort.
Jane opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t know how to explain it in a way that was productive, in a way that would keep them from starting another argument. She didn’t know the right thing to say. This wasn’t like back home, where there was a social script to follow.
She walked across the room slowly, kneeling and leaning her head against Adelaide’s knees. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, quiet. “I’ve made my choice.”
She didn’t look up at Adelaide to see her expression. But when the witch’s fingers began to thread through her hair, she closed her eyes, soaking in the gentle touch.
“Okay,” Adelaide said, her voice finally, mercifully softening, like ice thawing. “Okay, Jane.”
And then there was silence between them. Jane felt, for the first time that day, comfort in Adelaide’s presence.
But the fact remained that every time she opened her eyes, she would see the cabin. And for the first time, it felt very small.
