She has a secret. She hides it under the long sleeves of her robes, under thick sweaters that are hot and itch against her skin. Her accomplice is buried in a drawer, beneath stacks of papers and random trinkets.
She smiles during the day. She laughs. Loudly. So forced that it sounds like the breaking of glass to her ears. But no one seems to notice. At night, she slips away. She has discovered a room in the castle that fits her needs perfectly. Quiet. Dark. And empty. Just like her.
At home, it is more difficult. Her family is so loving that it is nearly suffocating. She is forced to wait until the dead of night, until she is sure that no one will burst in and discover her. She pulls out the blade and draws it across her skin, biting her lip to keep from gasping. The pain is sharp and can still bring it tears to her eyes. It is followed by the cool flow of blood, and she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and smiles.
~*~
One warm summer night, her heart nearly stops when she hears the floor outside creak. She pulls the blade away from her skin and has it concealed under the blanket when the door opens and her brother enters.
His red hair is disheveled, his clumsy movements making it obvious that he is not fully awake. He rubs one hand over his eyes and gives her a sleepy smile that makes her heart do funny things and her stomach twist with guilt. She asks him what he is doing here and he replies that he couldn't sleep. Harry is having nightmares again.
He moves toward her bed and she, realizing her arms are exposed, rushes to tug down her sleeves. But she is not fast enough. His eyes widen and then narrow. He glances up at her questioningly and she fights to keep her face impassive even as tears sting her eyes.
He reaches out and pushes her sleeve up to her elbow. Even in the dim light, she can see his face pale as he takes in the scarlet gashes and old scars running diagonally across her wrists. He is wide awake now. When he starts to move the other sleeve, she pulls her arms away and stares down at her hands.
Why, he asks. Why would she do this to herself? She is beautiful and loved–
No, she bursts out. They love an illusion. Does he really think they would love her if they knew? She tries to be what they want, she tries so hard. But she can't. She is never enough.
His arms wrap around her and he pulls her close, stroking her hair. He whispers that she is, that she is more than enough. He pulls back to look at her, his brown eyes burning into hers. Her heart flutters inside her chest as he reaches up his hand to brush a stray tear from her cheek. He leans his face closer. His mouth brushes hers and she closes her eyes, surrendering to it. There are no thoughts of why this is wrong, only of all the reasons that it is right.
As quickly as it begins, he breaks away. His cheeks are flushed. I'm sorry, he says. She places a hand on his shoulder and whispers, Don't be. He raises his eyes to her face. I told you you were loved, he says. A small smile touches her lips, but falls when he jumps to his feet and walks to the door.
I'll see you in the morning, he says, raking a hand through his hair.
And then he is gone, with the soft click of the door. She sighs and falls back on her bed, her hand wrapping around the knife. She lifts it and examines it, but somehow the cool glint of steel does not seem as welcoming anymore. With another sigh, she lays her head against the pillow and closes her eyes.