Sometimes it feels weird... waking up and realising the things I see aren't real. That they're just my imagination – illusions. That these dreams mean nothing, do anything and can't, can't be kept.
But nor can they be lost.
"Alice! Alice!" my sister, Harriet, bounds towards me, tripping on her frilly dress and crashing to the ground. She scrambles to her feet "Alice you have to come right away! Father wants to see you in his study!"
"Well this is unusual." I sigh. My father became such a recluse after my mother died – burying himself in his work, locked inside his study attempting to vanquish his grief, or at least mask it. "I guess I have to go then." I cast Harriet a smile before getting up and dusting down my apron which is doing an unsuccessful job of keeping my blue dress clean though it's my own fault. I chose to conceal myself amongst the roses again, immersed in my own childish wanderings.
Why is the sky blue?
Why is the earth flat?
Do I have a purpose?
Is mother looking down on me?
"What could father possibly want?" I think aloud as I climb the steps from the gardens to our manor house. Many describe our manor as handsome but personally I find it gaunt – too big, angular and far too bright. The ivory stone glistens in the sunlight blinding me.
"Miss!" a maid crosses the entrance hall, bed linen in her hands "The master-
"- yes Greta, I have been told. Thank you." She smiles and adjusts the sheets "Would you like some help?"
"Oh yes! Thank you very much!" I take some of the load and we walk together up the marble staircase and through the rich, carpeted hallways. I used to be so frightened of the paintings – they seemed to follow me with their eyes. Many of these works of art have been in the family for centuries... or so I've been told.
"That painting is so unusual." I hear Greta mutter. Indeed it was. It looked so out of place against all of the other countryside landscapes and dulled portraits. It was of a cat – pink in colour and striped with purple. Most unusual.
"Thank you ever so much miss! Your kindness matches only your beauty!" Greta curtseys and bounds away after we drop off the sheets in one of the many guest bedrooms.
I sigh. So happy – Greta is. Many people look down on the common folk but I just think you can't be cruel to someone like her; she reminds me of my sister. I pass the large mirror in the east wing, elaborately decorated with gold.
"My beauty?" I think, staring at my pale face, mousey hair and the dark bags under my eyes "What a joke."
The east wing is so silent because hardly anyone ever comes here. It's not bustling with servants, maids and housekeepers don't even visit. It's the place where they must remember their place otherwise they will be out on the streets and starving within a heartbeat. This is my father's wing and those who disturb him are punished.
This is why me and my father are no longer close.
The East wing is basically a long, dusty corridor panelled in dark mahogany. No carpet, no pictures – just and old rusty clock above the long door panelled in a slightly lighter wood of which I cannot recall the name. Exotic I think. When my mother was alive I remember asking him one day when we were together 'Why is your study area so dark and scary?' to which he replied 'It's not dark and scary! Nothing is really scary Alice – it's just how we view a situation. If you learn to contain your fear it will become a great asset to you. I'm sure of it.'
So I never really found out the answer.
I knock thrice on the door before he calls for me to come in.
"Alice." He gestures for me to take a seat by the fire.
The only thing I have ever found interesting about this room is it's shape: circular. A perfect circle with cream walls, a dark mahogany floor, fireplace, desk and oil lamps for when father works late into the night. Even the seat I'm sitting on now it boring – an armchair that could be considered the most uncomfortable chair in the world.
"It has become rather overcast lately, don't you agree?" He's making polite conversation as he pours my tea. He must have something terrible to tell me otherwise he wouldn't be putting himself out so much.
To be honest I feel betrayed by my father. He left me and my sister after my mother died – not physically but mentally he wasn't there and has never returned. Never returned to hold us and tell us we don't have to be strong – especially me.
"Thank you." I take the tea graciously and sip it slowly, avoiding looking at him directly.
"Alice your dress is filthy. It is not becoming for a lady to be dressed in such a manner."
"I'm hardly a lady father, I only just turned sixteen. Besides, it's mainly my apron that's dirty and that's what they're for."
we are silent once more.
He sighs and sits back in his chair (which looks far more comfortable than mine.) "Alice the whole reason I'm saying this now is because you've turned fifteen."
That didn't make any sense, but I steal myself in saying so and await more of an explanation.
"I," he continues "As do many nobles, agree sixteen is an appropriate time for one to marry."
"You and mother got married at 18." my heart is thumping. He cannot possibly mean...
"Well, your circumstance is different. I think it's time we found you a suitable husband"
Oh yes he can.
"Father!" I jump, knocking my tea cup to the floor "You can't possibly... that is..." I take a deep breath "I don't believe myself to be ready."
"Alice we both know this is necessary – not only will it allow you to live somewhere of your own it will most certainly improve my business relationships as all marriages of the daughter of a prestigious family should."
"But Father!"
"Sit down Alice."
I obey, feeling shaky and so much less composed as usual.
"This matter is not up for discussion. I have arranged for Lord Wen to take you out this evening on his Pony and trap – a marvellous contraption, I'm sure you will find it most interesting. Return to your room and I will send for Miss Roseanne to change you into something more suitable.
"Can't Greta-"
"-No. And I must also add; I find it disrespectful for you to be treating our servants with such an informal attitude. You will not treat them like that again. Do you understand?"
My throat is dry. I want to argue. To run away but I am not a coward. I am not weak-willed but I will follow this order through to the end and maybe... maybe father will start to love Harriet more. With me gone perhaps he will feel obliged to give Harriet company... to look after her...
"Of course, Father."
When one can look into a mirror and not recognise themselves I think it's a sad day. To look and know that the person staring back at you isn't who you really are but a masked figure – an imposter, neither friend nor foe.
"You look most appropriate."
I nod with sullen demeanour. I am dressed in a pale blue dress that falls to my ankles, fitted at the bodice with buttons lining the back. A white petticoat lies underneath and small, shiny black heels poke out beneath the blue. My hair has been moulded into ringlets but held back off of my face with a black ribbon. The bags under my eyes remain dark but Roseanne has pinched my cheeks giving them a some-what healthy glow.
"Lord Wen is waiting for you outside."
I do not dislike Roseanne, however, I find she takes her job too seriously and only ever speaks when necessary.
I descend the steps as slowly as I dare and pray for a good man – a young one at least.
"Well Miss Liddell, a pleasure it is indeed." who I assume can only be Lord Wen flashes me a smile. Young but most certainly older than me, dark hair, perfect white teeth and eyes that twinkle.
"The pleasure is mine Lord Wen" I give a slightly strained smile and small curtsey.
"Shall we be off then?" he holds his arm out which I gratefully take, I find it most difficult to walk in heels at the best of times.
Outside a dazzling pony (or should I say horse?) awaited of the deepest ebony I had ever seen. The cart itself gleamed to perfection and seated us both perfectly as the Lord took the velvet red reins.
There was no one to wave me off as we took off away from the manor into the many country roads beyond, it almost saddened me more than my current predicament – I strongly believe you should always wish one goodbye as you never know when you might see them again; after all, time can be a mysterious thing.
"It's getting dark already." Lord Wen proclaimed and I was taken away from my thoughts into the beautiful sunset.
"It's so pretty." I say, leaning over the cart as if to get closer.
"Careful Miss. Liddell." He encircled his arm around my waist and pulled me closer to him "It would be terrible if you fell out – you would ruin your lovely dress." I can't be sure, but I'm sure a smirk was playing at his lips. "Why don't we get out here?"
We are on the edge of a large, grim-looking forest. I wriggle away from his ensnaring arm and jump out myself, splashing my shoes with mud, and stare at the dark woods with an attempt at a blank expression that really masks fear. I don't like dark, closed in spaces and the spectacle is making me uneasy as though the brief joy given by the sunset has instantly washed away.
"Something the matter Miss Liddell?" Lord Wen is examining my face. I do not wish to impress this man in the slightest, although I will not have anyone brand me as a coward. Not now.
"Just stories... about bandits that lurk in these woods - nothing more." I am not lying. There is many a tale of the escaped criminals that hide in forests such as these, not that they have ever bothered me.
"Ah, a rather childish thing to be afraid of. For there are far worse things to fear... am I not correct?" definitely a smirk this time. And he's taken a step closer to me, twirling the whip he used on the pony in his hands. I must admit the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at his slow approach and I'm forced to take a step back and mentally steady myself.
"Indeed... perhaps..." I take another step. He's closer and I can see those perfect features of his clearer "Perhaps we should be heading back... it's really getting so... so late." he's so close now. So close as the final rays of sunlight disappear.
"Do you want to get away from me... are you afraid of me... Alice?" There's a hungry gleam in his eyes as he strokes my hair gently, then in contrast wrenches my hand forwards so I am pressed up against him. I have never been so afraid of another human being before. Never so frightened as he pulls down one of the sleeves of my dress off of my shoulder...
My hand appears out of no where and slaps him square across the jaw. The shock momentarily paralyses him and I run towards the opposite field desperate to get away... to reach anywhere... anywhere away from him! But I don't get very far before the whip catches me across my left arm and sends me to the floor, bleeding.
I don't get time to scramble to my feet before I feel the sickening thud on my head surely caused by the butt of the whip. As if the pain from the lash on my arm wasn't disorientating enough this is sending me into the subconscious at a greater pace. Someone... somewhere is rolling me onto my back... and the last thing I see are those dangerously gleaming eyes directly above me and my own blood, spread across the grass.