29
I smile as I wake up. My dream has somehow revealed the perfect way to break Cecily Temple into a weak, defenseless thing that no one will want. After all, we had been former friends, hadn't we? And friends share secrets.
"Gem, how are you?" I whisper as I shake her awake. Her red curls are all messed up.
Her eyes open. I wince from the startling green of them, but recover myself. It's silly that I've been friends with her for a year, yet I can't get used to her eyes. "Oh, it's you, Fee."
The smile is still strong, the idea bright, my eyes mischievous. "And Ann," I add. "Now, listen, I've the perfect way to ruin Cecily."
"How?" Ann asks, breathless. I steal a look at her dress. The fabric is straining at the seams, though her corset minimizes her waist.
"That would be contradictory to the point, wouldn't it? Now, dress, Gemma. We've got a mission to do." I lift my arms and twirl around in the bedroom, as if I were drunk in the caves like last year. I am floating free, my mind clear. I suddenly stop, aware of looking foolish. "Hurry, up, Gem!"
She slithers out of the sheets and puts on her corset, though she can't lace them up. "Felicity, help please." I yank the strings until her waist is small, though not as small as Pippa's used to be. For an odd reason, Gemma doesn't breathe like a labored horse.
"Your waist's grown smaller," I remark.
"Really?" she says.
"Ann!" I bark. "Get your measuring tape."
The waist measures eighteen inches, not one bit above or below. "Congratulations," I say.
During breakfast, Ann gobbles greedily two sausages, a big slab of bacon, some porridge (ugh, nasty glop of food) and a couple of muffins. Gemma and I are stuffed after eating one sausage, a medium-sized piece of bacon, no porridge, and one or two muffins at the most. "Good heavens, Ann, how do you eat that much?" I ask.
I pray desperately that my plan will work.
She suddenly stops, the fork three inches away from her mouth, and sets the fork on her plate. Her face turns crimson. Ann hangs her head.
Cecily, the idiot and vile creature that she is, speaks in a nasally tone. "She's a pig, that's why she eats so much." Turning to Ann, she scoffs and points her nose up.
"A pig," the other girls snicker.
I can feel a naughty smile work its way into my eyes, and I cock my head a little. "Speaking of pigs, Cecily, wasn't your great-grandfather a farmer? It was only when he married your great-grandmother did he earn a seat in Parliament," I say, my voice oozing with sweetness and charm. "It's only the truth, after all. Friends don't deny truths."
Cecily can do nothing. An insult is one thing, but the secret that your family used to be lower class is another thing, enough to laugh you out of school. Her mouth flies open, then her eyes fill with tears. "You promised not to tell!" she screeches.
"Oh, that was terrific," Gemma whispers, in awe. "She'll be laughed out of school."
"Well, even if she doesn't, close enough," I smile. "Oh, this is marvelous, didn't I tell you?"
"Marvelous," Gemma grins.
Ann is angry at us. Actually, she's less angry at Gemma and more at me. "You used me," she says quietly. "I hate it when people do that."
I fly into a rage. Didn't I bring down Cecily Temple's family like a house of cards delicately stacked, only to have the wind blow it away? Didn't I stand up for Ann and Gemma, especially Ann? "Well, if you don't want me to defend you from her, fine," I hear myself say, "you can stop being friends with me and stop being something besides a ghost at this school, you can stop being a singer and you can stop your chances of staying here with whatever friends you have left and be a governess. And you can give me back that Christmas present I gave you. You might as well stop being beautiful." In the realms, I add in my head.
Ann's nearly in tears. Her eyes begin to water and her bottom lip begins to shake. As for me, my heart pounds like a drum, and it is a miracle that no one hears it pounding away.
"Fee…you didn't have to be so mean to Ann…"Gemma says, biting her lip after speaking.
"You aren't my mother, are you?" I demand. "No? Then stop telling me what to do, Gemma Doyle!"
Mrs. Nightwing looms over us, and in her stern voice, exclaims, "What is going on here, ladies?"
I smile. "Oh, nothing. It was Cecily who cried out. I think she is a little indisposed," I say cleverly.
"Well, if that's the case, Miss Temple, off to bed."
"But—but," she stutters. Cecily has a paper due, and if she misses, she'll be dead to Mademoiselle LeFarge.
"Off—to—bed," Mrs. Nightwing commands. "Ladies, it's time for lessons."
The day is so boring. Cecily Temple and her snobby friends, of course, have abandoned me, and Ann has chosen to ignore me, and Gemma is sulking. It is only when Ann sings her lovely solo in music class I actually pay attention.
"I must flit and fly like a whisper of a thing, a bird, flying high about…" Ann warbles sweetly. Her voice lifts and it is clear, no cracks, no breaks, and the highest note in the crescendo is strong, strangely sweet, and powerful.
The lyrics are strangely what I am expected to do…flit and fly like a whisper of a thing, not caring about lower class. But Ann is lower class. I care about her.
But the song, sweet and seductive, pushes the thoughts out of my head.
At night, Gemma invites me to her room to talk. But I think of a better place. "My tent by the fire, during free time," I hiss. "Meet me as soon as possible. I will be there."
So, I wait in the tent for what seems like hours but is only one minute. The colorful scarves annoy me today.
At last, Gemma crawls through the opening and finds me sitting there calmly, cross-legged like a "Turk," as Jane Eyre would say. But all sorts of thoughts run wild in my head. What if Ann doesn't forgive me? What if Gemma abandons me? What if I am powerless?
"Fee, I had a vision."
A vision. I crave to know about the visions. They offer me power in the realms, a chance to take control of everything. I have nothing right now but frightening dreams of Pippa…beautiful Pippa. But she is now no longer beautiful.
"Tell me about it," I reply so calmly that it surprises me.
"Very well. Pippa was there. She looked beautiful, but then she turned into those…things of darkness…her eyes were all wrong, her face distorted and ugly, her hands into claws…" Gemma's eyes grow huge and her fear is now strong in my body, and now I know that the fear is into my eyes. "What if Pippa has gone wrong?"
I interrupt. "Take us back into the realms."
A tear flows down Gemma's cheek. It shines, like the glimmer of hope disguised as despair. Actually, it is. Gemma will eventually get enough courage. "I can't."
"You must," I half-beg. "I want to see her again, no matter what." I desperately want Pippa again. Gemma is no match for Pippa's beauty. Ann is no match for Pippa's beauty. They aren't shallow, which is what I need at times.
She swallows a sob. "We'll see," she says, her voice breaking. "I'm scared."
"We aren't scared." I make myself tough and merciless. "We are indestructible. We can face whatever comes, can't we?"
To this, Gemma's reply is a small sob. Then the answer comes so quietly, I have to lean forward. "Yes."
In my bed, the question that I am indestructible and can face whatever comes may whirls around in my head and refuses to let go. What is the answer to this, I ask myself. And finally, something surfaces to my consciousness. No, I am destructible. I can be weakened and broken down.
In the darkness, my memories of childhood burst free from the back of my mind, where I've forced them to be. And now, they run loose in my head.
"Papa, no, please, don't!"
"No choice, darling. You make me do this. You bring it out in me. It's your fault," he whispers, caressing my face. I turn away.
I whimper. My mind goes off somewhere else, my body somewhere else, anywhere—Hell. Just not here.
"I don't want this," I sob. "Stop!" His hands stray to my shoulders. I shiver and try to resist. No use. It goes to my breasts, my arms, my legs. I weep and weep, while inside my mind, I skitter away, hidden. His breath, hot on my face, is unwelcome. "Stop this!" I cry. A sob chokes me, then another. My sobs grow louder, until I am nearly hoarse but I keep crying. It goes on, unrestrained, until Mama comes and he goes to her.
I look at the door, and Mama doesn't comfort me. She doesn't even glance my way.
The door is closed and darkness surrounds me.
I weep until I fall asleep, my mind tortured as well as my body.
My heart feels like it's torn in two. It hurts so much.
I lay there in my warm bed, thinking hard.
Ann continues to ignore me, but I notice that her wrists have new marks on them. I feel guilty for causing them. She only does this to feel something besides nothing and despair. Despair, sadness, and pent-up emotions have turned neutral. Happiness rarely comes her way.
When Gemma comes my way, I tell her, "I'm sorry about Ann. I never meant it. Pass it on to Ann."
She looks at me. I don't normally say sorry. Then she shifts where she's sitting, in the window seat, besides me. "All right," she answers cautiously. "I'll tell her."
During prayers, Ann nudges me with her elbow. "I forgive you," she whispers, her breath hot on my cheek.
I simply close my eyes and pray to God. Thank you.
Days and weeks fly by. Soon, it is time for the summer ball, and for me to go home. I kiss Gemma on the cheek good-bye for now, though in truth we will be meeting as soon as we get to our places.
But what about poor Ann? She is staying with the Wharton's as a governess to the spoiled girls. A tear slides down my cheek as I step up the stairs and into my compartment.
Gemma has left a day earlier.
The view of Spence disappears into the lush, green hills as the train pulls away from Victoria Station. A new view of cities arrives, the polluted, busy, bustling London. I faintly see a station, with a building for tickets and a wooden platform, like all others, only it says Paddington on the sign.
The bumpy train jostles and jerks. With each jerk, the sick feeling in my stomach intensifies. At last, it arrives at Paddington station, near my town house. Papa and Mama are there to greet me, and Polly is waving innocently from her place beside the governess.
At Papa's face, a strong, handsome one with muddy blond hair, I feel my heart turn cold and into stone. Mama's image, ridiculous and pompous and vain, makes my eyes turn hot and my mouth set in a grimace. But at Polly, my eyes shine with pity.
The train stops with a big jerk, and then I get off. Mama and Papa do not run to greet me; only Polly sprints and hugs my waist. "Cousin Felicity," she cries out.
I ignore her. At Mama, I glance at her coldly and at Papa, I cross my arms over my chest and slump my shoulders. I put on a prideful look.
As soon as I get back, Gemma is waiting in the parlor. The sunshine reflects her smile. The red plush chairs with mahogany wood are a threat. Her smile is bright, though not as bright as it used to be. It is weighed down with worries. The smile is only a mask for proper society, not for feelings. "Fee, I've missed you so," she says warmly.
I cast my eyes down to show that I am not in a good mood. Then I sit down. As soon as Shames the butler has left us alone, I begin to talk. "I hate Papa. And Mama. I don't know who I hate more." Something swells inside my heart, something bitter, and I turn my face away from her to wipe my tears, disguised as a yawn.
Gemma is trying to conceal her hurt. Her mother passed away last year, from the dark things of Circe. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."
My nerves are raw and hurt. "Don't say you're sorry," I snap. "You don't truly mean it. It's just a face of piety, displaying virtues."
She's still looking at me. Her eyes are full of tears, but her stare is unnerving. "I'm sorry if I offended you in any way."
We sit stiffly, like dolls in society, displaying virtues and manners.
I clear my throat to break the silence. "Let's go to the realms at the ball tomorrow," I suggest. "Ann will be there. After all, the little girls are going too."
She takes a deep breath. "I'll try to be brave."
This means she has forgiven me—a little bit. I smile. But it isn't a kind one.
At night, after the harsh and foreign dinner, comes the parlor. I sit and read, Polly plays with her dolls, Papa glances at the newspaper, and Mama does embroidery. The fire clicks and crackles, the only thing filling the silence between me and my parents.
Mama clears her throat after ages. "So, Felicity," she says coldly. "How is school?"
"Fine," I mutter. "I have friends."
"Friends who no doubt are of high class, unlike that Bradshaw girl, I hope?"
This gives my heart a lurch. Mama doesn't know that I am friends with Ann even though she is low class, and Mama's hatred of Ann is insulting. "Yes, I have friends of good virtues," I say. It is not lying.
Papa just looks at me.
Polly yawns, and the governess takes her up to bed. But I intervene first. "Oh, Papa, may I take her up to bed?" I interrupt hastily.
"Yes…" he replies absentmindedly.
The stairs are steep, and Polly is tired. But I do not help her. My nerves are on fire and my stomach feels like it will empty its contents any moment. I climb the banister and soon reach Polly's room. I turn Polly to face me. "Polly, have you been locking your door every night?"
"Yes," she answers innocently. "But sometimes Uncle says that he will sprinkle fairy dust."
I am afraid for her. I do not want Polly to suffer the same fate that I did. I don't want her to be scared all the time. I don't want her to feel abandoned. Like I did. "Now, you must lock your door every night, you hear?" I say slowly. I glance back to make sure no one is listening. "Even if Uncle wants to sprinkle you with fairy dust."
She nods. I wait for her to click the lock, and then I go downstairs. My heart pounds. What if Papa tries to do what he did to me many years ago? I can't even call him a father, much less a gentleman.
When I go to bed, Papa trails behind. At my bedroom door, he grabs my wrist. A sharp pain shoots up my arm. His other hand goes to my head. He's pulling my hair! My scalp is sore. "Stop," I choke. My heart rises to my throat. Dear God, let me die, I pray inside my head. Let me die rather than endure what he did to me again. "Stop, I don't want this!"
"You will pay," he mutters with clenched teeth. Then he lets go of my wrist and my hair, and I am left alone on the floor. But all is not over. He turns back and gives me a slap on the cheek. It stings so much I nearly cry. Blood can be tasted in my mouth. I have to swallow it or choke. The swallow is torture for me. As soon as I've swallowed, I put out my hand and spit, to see if it truly is blood. Crimson-red liquid pools in the palm of my hand. The inside of my cheek is bleeding. The crack rings loud in my ears long after it is gone.
My bedroom is my sanctuary, my safe place. I lock the door and bolt it. The golden light of the lamp is warm and inviting. Safe at last, I sit on my chair, looking at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess. My blue-gray eyes are teary. There is a small bruise where he slapped me.
Like so many other nights when Papa hurt me, tears come. I can't stand to look at myself in the mirror anymore. I don't know who I am.
A sob comes, then another chokes the previous one. I change into my white nightgown, and dive into the blankets on my bed.
The covers over my head are good for hiding any sounds of weeping.
Gemma has come over to help me decide on what dress to the ball. My heart is chilly again, and I know an ice-cold look has come into my ice-colored eyes. A proud expression sits on my face.
She sees my bruise as soon as she comes in.
"Not now," I warn her. "In my dressing-room."
Once we reach the safe place, I sigh with relief.
"What happened to you, Fee?" Gemma asks.
My voice cracks. "He slapped me and pulled my hair and threatened me." I turn to her. "I'm frightened."
"I am too. Father is not doing well. He is like a skeleton. And Pippa is corrupted." She puts her elbows on the table, hangs her head so that her hands support her forehead. It looks as if she is tired and has a headache. There are dark circles around the bottom of her eyes.
I rub my own eyes and notice that I have dark circles too. My head throbs and aches. No thought comes to my head.
Something is missing.
"Ann and Pippa," I sigh. "Well, let's try on dresses."
We pretend to be shallow then, laughing, giggling at the latest scandal stories and gossiping about who's going to get married and who did what. But after a while, I remember that my mother is considered a scandal, having run off with a French lover. "Let's stop gossiping. I'm rather tired of it," I plead.
She catches on quickly and nods her head. "Well, what are you going to wear?"
I look at the dresses laid out messily on my bed. "The light blue Parisian silk one with cream-colored lace and flounces," I decide. "What about you?"
Gemma picks up a light, dull green silk with embroidery and the purest white lace one can find. "That one."
"Splendid choice."
Something hangs in the air, a loss, sadness over losing something. We're all sad, I say to myself. I lost my childhood and the reassurance of parents. I lost what could have been a pure mother. I look like I have everything but in truth have nothing. Gemma—she's lost her mother, innocence, her favorite teacher, Pippa, her father… The list in every one of us is long. What we've lost is a great deal of what could be.
We put the dresses on, yanking our corset-laces so that we can scarcely breathe. My gold hair is curled into long ringlets and forget-me-nots placed into my chignon. Gemma's golden-red hair is coiled into an elaborate chignon with a bunch of obedient ringlets (somehow she has tamed her hair) by the side of her face, olive leaves and delicate blossoms placed into her hair. We no longer recognize ourselves.
The sound of carriages can be heard through our windows as soon as we are done primping. Gemma gets up, her head proud, and walks as gracefully as she can out the door and into the ballroom. I stay in the dressing room for a while, my stomach churning and fear rising fast in my heart. I take a deep breath and walk out.
The ballroom is grand, as usual, and I am called to greet the lords and ladies and every member of high society. I make my way beside Papa, but my spine stiffens and I ignore his bonhomie and charm.
"Good day…good night, I mean, Mr. Warwick," Papa laughs.
I suddenly spot Ann. She is dressed suitably, but the dress is modest and plain, good enough for looking over Charlotte and the other girl. "Miss Brad—,"
Ann interrupts and corrects me. "It's Miss Washbrad," she says, using her code name in our little Order.
I curtsy. "Miss Washbrad, then. Would you mind meeting me at the dressing room?"
Ann can't say no.
When I am waltzing, as I pass by Gemma, I whisper, "Meet me there," pointing at the bench with my eyes. She nods to make sure she is correct.
Unfortunately, my dancing partner is very ungraceful and has two left feet. My feet suffer tortures each time he steps. "Ow," I whisper.
"Eh, what's that?" General Quimble—what a hideous name—asks.
"Nothing," I smile charmingly.
At last the waltz is over, and I walk over to the bench in the north corner of the ballroom. "Go to the dressing room with me," I say in a hushed voice. "Ann will be there."
Gemma's smile is tinged with sadness, for we are reminded that Ann cannot leave long, just enough to say that her gown has a rip and the maids to attend to it.
We stand up, and making an excuse that my hair needs to be curled again and that her dress has a tear, we make our way to our private dressing room.
Ann smiles and hugs me, then Gemma as we walk in. "Oh, I've missed you so," she laughs, tears in her puppy eyes.
"Let's go to the realms," I command. We take our positions once more, holding hands and concentrating on a door of light.
Gemma's hand opens the door, and we are no reminded of the once-lovely-and-restored beauty of the realms. My mind strays to the first day we came here.
"It smells like the sea. And hot cross buns. We used to have it every time Papa came home."
Back in reality, I still smell the same things. Sea salt and hot cross buns are strong in the air, but hope and redemption are there also. I breathe in the welcome fragrance.
Gemma is weeping. Her tears sparkle like dew for a second on the grass where we stand, and then they turn into jasmine blossoms. I run to her and put my hands on her face. "Don't cry," I soothe. "Don't cry."
That is what my mother should have done while I was in torture. But she didn't. I want to make myself better than a whore, which is exactly what my mother is.
She is surprised by my act of motherly kindness, for I am not usually kind at all. But the fragrance keeps hope alive in me, hope that I will escape and have power over myself.
Eventually, her tears stop and we begin to walk, cautiously, towards the Winterlands.
We might meet Pippa, the Poppy Warriors, Asha, Philon…who knows?
The hideous gorgon with the snake's head awaits the river. To Gemma, she bows her head. "Where do you wish to go, Most High?"
Her voice is weak for a moment, on seeing the unexpected hideousness of the startling gorgon. "I wish for you to take me to the Winterlands."
"Get on the boat, companions of Most High."
We stop at the part where the gorgon cannot go any further, and we let Gemma's amulet take us to the Winterlands. The right path gleams like silver pavement when the rain-slick sidewalks are met with the sun.
But we go the wrong way, and find ourselves in the doomed cathedral. The skeletons are not a new sight, but they hold the same terror. Skulls look at us ominously, their eyes blazing, the bones and ribs a warning of what could have happened to us last time we went here. I find Gemma stuck on the floor, and Ann backing away. She bumps into me, and she jumps, though I don't.
"I want to get out of here," Ann whimpers.
"No, let's stay here," I say fiercely.
"Are you mad?" Gemma exclaims. "The Poppy Warriors could be here to take our heads."
"Let's get out!"
"No!"
Gemma tugs on my hand. The echoes grow louder, circling around us, and then it happens.
Crack.
The skeletons crumble, creating an avalanche. It is a warning: Stay out if you do not want to be decapitated or killed in a gruesome way. The noise overwhelms us, and then our basic instinct wakens. We all run, as fast as we can in our ridiculous gowns, until we reach the river whence we came. And where is the gorgon?
"Here!" Gemma yelps. Ann and I run after her, and we go on the boat simply to not be crushed by the weight of the skeletons.
The skeletons spill out but they do not enter the water. "Strange that they should be afraid of water, seeing as they're already dead," I joke.
She's obviously irritated. "I've seen Pippa in my dreams. But why are the realms so beautiful? This doesn't fit." Her green gown hem has been touched by the magical water. She moves away from the side of the boat. So does Ann. Especially Ann, who was traumatized by the water nymphs last year.
As soon as we are sure it's safe to go back, we go. The gorgon glides on the water, smooth and calm. As for Gemma, she sits down and closes her eyes briefly, then snaps them open again. "Pippa!" she gasps.
I frown. "What, has she suddenly appeared and married your beloved Simon? Or is it something else?"
She shakes her head. "No. But Pippa is beautiful again. Every time I close my eyes, I see her, distorted and gruesome, with yellow teeth and black, soulless eyes. But this time, I saw her as she used to be. Black, ringleted hair, the palest complexion with roses in her cheeks, and the clear violet eyes; she's restored."
Something makes the hair stand up on the back of my neck…if it hasn't been coiffed up, that is. "Maybe it's an illusion, a trick. For all you know, Circe could be fooling you. We know Pippa's already corrupted."
We three just sit there, in silence, remembering the terrible sight Pippa was when we last saw her.
"It's done, but I'm still here."
I jump as my heart gives a lurch. So do Gemma and Ann. I look up first. "Pippa, you're back!" I cry out. "Oh, Pippa." s
She is so beautiful, an ethereal light shining through her; the beautiful features achingly, immensely gorgeous now, the blue eyes shining clear, her black hair glossy and clean, the pale, snow-white complexion with roses, the most fresh roses in her cheeks, her graceful limbs practically floating. I forget Gemma and Ann, and rush to Pippa.
"I've missed you so much," Pippa whispers.
I give her a great big grin. "You always say that." Pippa laughs and gives me a hug that nearly topples me over. Most of the time, it's me who does that.
I suddenly pull back and join Gemma. "What if you're corrupted?" I ask, all at once nervous, wary, and scared—a strange mix of emotions. "I can't tell if you have been taken over."
Gemma doesn't believe me. Neither does Ann. They are absolutely thunderstruck by Pippa's gorgeousness, the clear light shining beneath her, like some fallen angel.
A fallen angel.
Then Gemma tugs at my hand. "Felicity's right. How do we know you're not corrupted? You were partly when we last left you."
Pippa's eyes now go wrong. The clear blue now turns to black, the deepest black, and her mouth…
They are cracked and bloody, the red liquid streaming down her chin, and the teeth jagged and sharp. "Too late. I am corrupted already." Her voice is harsh and cold, each bit of sound in a three-part harmony, but the noise can hardly be called harmony.
I can hardly breathe. My heart pounds again, my limbs stiff, my mouth open, ready to scream bloody murder. But no one will hear.
Pip turns to Gemma. "Those dreams…I was with you all the while. I was in your world. You weren't dreaming when you walked down the stairs and saw me. I was real. And Felicity," she snarls. "Your dreams are real, too. I walked out of this place to be with you. I miss you."
"You can't be missing me if you torture me," I scream. "You aren't Pippa! Who are you?"
Gemma screeches to the Gorgon, "Get us away from here, Gorgon! Can nothing be done?"
The snakes slither. "Nothing can be done. She is on the boat, and the nets will not affect her in any way."
Pippa laughs in a frightening way, like the rasping of silk upon silk. Fear can be sensed in the air. "It was your fault. You bring this out in me. You made me corrupt, while you could have saved me,' the blood-red mouth rasps.
It was your fault…you bring this out in me…
Those lines are so familiar.
"You chose to stay here, Pippa! Don't blame me," Gemma quavers. "You chose to be corrupted by not crossing over."
Everybody is scared. The Gorgon moves as quickly as she can, so that we may escape as soon as possible.
Then, just as suddenly as Pippa turned monstrous, she becomes a beautiful thing of light again. The lips are full and unharmed. Her eyes clear back to a wonderful blue shade. The hair, previously tangled and matted, turns full and glossy, reflecting light. She faints and falls on the floor of the ship with a thud. "Pip!" I run to her and cradle her head.
Gemma and Ann crowd over Pippa as well; Ann holds Pippa's right hand, and Gemma helps me lift Pip's heavy head. Even the Gorgon has stopped in alarm.
Pippa's cheeks are pale as they can be, paper-white, until she takes a small breath, and color floods those scarily white cheeks. She twists her head away from us and moans. "Oh, no, no, don't come near me! No, Circe, you promised!" she screams, without opening her eyes.
Gemma raises her head, eyes big in fear. "What did Circe do?"
Ann bites her lower lip until blood comes. She's torturing herself unconsciously.
I put my hands on Pippa. Please, I want to help Pippa come back alive again, I plead—to no one.
My hands glow. Pippa starts breathing regularly again, but I feel tired…no, exhausted. But something in me makes me stay strong and help Pip get well.
Gemma's expression is unreadable. Her hands are glowing, too. I glance at Ann. Her pudgy fingers are glowing with light as well. What made all of us help Pippa get well?
"What are you all doing here?" Pippa asks. Then we all hug her, toppling her over. "My goodness," she laughs. "You must have missed me terribly so."
"But—but," Gemma stammers. "Don't you remember what happened during the last hour?"
Even when she frowns, she is still unbelievably gorgeous and wonderful. "Oh, no. I don't remember a thing."
Gemma looks at me; I look at Ann; Ann stares back at us and keeps sitting down and smoothing Pippa's hair, though it is perfect as it is.
We reach the garden. Everything is hideously bright, for some reason; all of us, even Pippa, shield our eyes with our hands and squint under the shade. The grass is such a vivid shade, the sky an ugly bright blue; everything looks as if it could glow in the dark. "There's something horribly wrong with here," Pippa gasps. "Everything's grotesque."
"The magic isn't running wild…is it?" Gemma asks. "Well, we have to go, Pip, or else everybody will start to miss us."
I run and hug Pippa. Her hands and face are warm, just like any of us. "Good-bye, Pip, we'll visit you again," I promise.
"I'll miss all of you," she says mournfully. "I haven't been to a ball just yet, and I want to see the honorable Simon Middleton you talked about last time you visited. Oh, it has been so long, an eternity since I've seen you!" Pippa closes her eyes and makes herself a new ball-gown. It is the deepest shade, midnight blue, made of velvet and has lace that loops all over and contrasts beautifully with the blue. Her eyes seem to glow with delight.
"Good-bye," we all shout. But Ann is extremely reluctant to leave, since it is here she is beautiful. She sings a whisper of a song, and with each note, her hair is glossier, her complexion smoother, her figure slimmer, and her eyes brighter. She is happy here. It is so cruel to leave her beautiful self behind here.
When Gemma makes the door of light appear, something inside me, bitter and strong, starts to take over me. All of the sudden, I know what it is that I have wanted ever since birth.
True Power.
True power is what Gemma has, and I don't. Does she even have power itself, or is it just an illusion?
Back in the ballroom, Ann cries. "I want to go back there," she sniffles. "I want to be beautiful."
I want to as well. I have power to turn anything in any direction. I have no power here, back at home, with Mama and Papa. "Shut up," I snap. "You're not the only one with broken hopes."
Gemma looks at me, her eyes shining with pity.
"What are you looking at?" I screech. I'm afraid that she knows too much about me. Gemma knows my worst secret. She knows that if she starts to make me feel afraid, I will lose control of myself and not be able to control my memories.
"What would you know of broken hopes?" Ann mutters. "It's not as if you're the one penniless, the one being teased, the one without the perfect waist, the one without any choice to become who she wants to be for real. You don't need to work for your cousin who's scandalous. You don't need to earn your wages. In fact, I'm betting you have millions of pounds! At least my mother is dead and not a whore."
I slap her. Ann stumbles and falls to the ground, but gets back up again, walking away, far away from me, the daughter of a—a courtesan. Nobody wants to be a daughter of a courtesan, even though the mother is beautiful and lovely and perfect, and nobody wants a terrible father, nobody wants a friend who not only is fat, chubby, imperfect; nobody wants another friend who was so beautiful but had epilepsy, a terrible "affliction."