The next day, I gained a new respect for serv-droids.
They weren't as boring and personality-less as I had always assumed. As we continued cleaning the house, the trio babbled on about any subject, from the state of the house to the queen to the latest celebrity gossip, and I was glad for the distraction. I didn't want to think about the events of the previous evening. Even the thought of Mr. Tier was unwelcome.
The day wore on quickly, and it was mid-afternoon by the time we finished scouring yet another guest bedroom, and I asked, "Was that the last room to be cleaned, or have we missed some?"
The androids huddled together and spoke in low voices for a few seconds, then Chip exclaimed, with an excited light in his eyes, "Follow me, Miss Bell!" He swiveled around and zipped away. He led Pots, Lumi, and me to an ornate set of double doors and pushed them open grandly. The room inside was dark, but Chip entered, and a few seconds later, a wide curtain drew back, flooding light across a dusty expanse.
Despite the musty air, I couldn't help but gasp. We had entered a ballroom, stately and grand. A broad rectangular room covered in cobwebs, the ballroom still shimmered with the light that shone from the glass ornaments embedded in the walls and ceiling. A high balcony circumscribed the hall, reached by two staircases: one on the left wall, one on the right. The window opposite the door offered a sparkling view across the lake and toward the palace. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting rainbows upon the walls, defying the dust which dulled its shine.
"Do you like it, Miss Bell?" Chip asked, his electronic eyes wide.
"Yes," I breathed. "I like it very much." Planting my hands on my hips, I looked down at the droids and added, "And I'll like it even more when it's been cleaned. Let's get to work."
Before long, the marble floor was so polished it became a mirror, the long, red curtains had been shampooed to their former velvety selves, and every jewel on the chandelier had been cleared of its mask of dust. Every surface glittered in the evening golds melting through the window.
I stood in the middle of the room and spun slowly, admiring our work. Violet would have killed just to catch a glimpse of a real-life ballroom such as this. It radiated a magnificence I'd never seen back home, save for in my own imagination. A smile tugged at my lips. It was beautiful, just like something out of a fairytale.
"I'll fetch you when dinner's ready," Pots told me, and she and her compatriots withdrew from the room, leaving me alone.
With no one else around, I couldn't help but daydream. In that shining heaven, I could almost imagine myself to be in one of my books.
I wore a long, flowing ball gown; my hair was tied up elegantly. A tall, handsome gentleman awaited me at the other end of the room. I swept gracefully through the dancing pairs and took his proffered arm as he led me in a waltz. We swayed to the violin, twirled to the flute. He was a prince, and I was his princess.
No. No, my life wasn't like that at all, and there was no point in pretending it was. I stopped dancing and looked around again. The ballroom now looked dull, old, tiresome. With a sigh, I ran a hand through my hair and let my head fall back.
As I did, something caught my eye: a plain, unassuming door on the balcony, to the right of the window. My curiosity was piqued. I hurried up the stairs and to the door. Glancing across the room, I realized there were two more doors opening off of the balcony on the opposite wall. The droids had cleaned the balconies, which might have explained why I hadn't noticed the doors earlier.
I'll get to those later, I told myself, and I turned the handle.
Inside was a narrow staircase of undecorated white marble leading upwards and around a corner. Unsurprisingly, each stair held a thick coat of dust. However, each stair also bore two footprints: one going up, and one going down.
My curiosity heightened, a golden spark setting off a series of questions in my brain. I slowly followed the footsteps, careful to put my foot exactly within the one in the dust. At the top of the stairs was a dark, neglected room–practically an attic. In the dim light of a single small, square window, I could see a pile of boxes sitting in one corner, while old rugs and lamps adorned another. Two or three smashed portscreens lay in random places around the room. My eyes wandered for a moment before being drawn to a red glow at the opposite end of the attic.
I took a couple tentative steps, squinting through the musty darkness. There, hanging against the wall, was a mirror. An ornate frame of silver surrounded the oval looking-glass, shining hauntingly in the light from the window. In the middle of the glass, a number glowed red: fifteen. I drew closer, intrigued. The mirror was the one thing in this room that wasn't dusty. Not a speck marred its perfect reflection. It had been hung with care on its own wall, for when I looked around, I noticed that nothing else even brushed the wall on which it perched.
A sharp noise from downstairs made me jump, and I told myself I would only take a quick look, then I would leave. I approached the mirror cautiously, afraid of causing any sound. Holding my breath, I reached out a hand and brushed my fingers against the silver frame. A loud beep came from the mirror, and I leapt back. The number had changed to fourteen.
"What are you doing here?" a voice roared behind me, and I spun around to find Mr. Tier looming at the top of the stairs. "Get out!"
"I'm sorry!" I squeaked. "I didn't–"
"Out!"
He didn't have to use his glamour to convince me. I squeezed past him and fled down the stairs. In my scramble to leave, I slipped on the newly waxed floor of the ballroom, but with ice-cold fear to spur me on, I couldn't stay down for long. I raced through the mansion to my room. I slammed the door behind me and gripped the door handle. The tighter I held it, the more slippery my fingers became.
When I could no longer keep a hold on the handle, I huddled on my bed and rocked back and forth, hugging my knees and squeezing my eyes closed, terrified that at any moment I would hear Mr. Tier's stormy approach. I had to get out of there.
I threw myself off the bed and snatched up my bag. Throwing caution to the wind, I unlocked the door and fled down the hallway. Mr. Tier was nowhere to be seen. The false light was rapidly fading outside, and the house appeared grim and shady, just like the night I'd arrived. The feeling of panic hadn't changed since then, either. The only sign it was a different night was the chemical smell of cleaning supplies wafting through each room I passed.
I dashed past Chip and Lumi, accidentally whacking them with my bag as they stared at me in bewilderment.
"Where are you going, miss?" they cried after me.
"I'm leaving," I muttered, not caring whether or not they heard me.
I swept down the stairs of the foyer and across the polished floor to the grand front door that I'd so timidly pushed open only two days ago. Now I tugged it open with all my might and let it crash against the wall. I stopped in the doorway and looked back. Mr. Tier stood at the top of the stairs, watching me with a strangely blank expression. My panic began to fade, and a hesitance slipped into my head. No, that hesitance didn't belong to me. It was glamour.
Anger–true, natural anger–washed over me, and I ran out the door. Down the steps, past the rosebush, out the gate. I ran and ran through the streets of Artemisia without a care where I ended up. My bag bumped against my legs with every slap of my shoes against the shining, crowded pavement as I disappeared into the city.