We return from the realms, each of us trying not to touch the cold, smooth metal, each of us secretly knowing that we have to. We have to trust it. Even Fee.
Pippa collapses into Ann's arms the moment we arrive back. The locket is left in a pool of silver snaking around on the marble floor. I do not know what to do with it.
Felicity is watching me. She does not speak, she does not approach. She simply watches. And then all of a sudden, she is gone, leaving behind a scent of her skin and a ghostly whisper of a laugh.
"Pippa, I love you. You know that. It must have been the magic, I swear, Pip, just the magic. I don't know what made me say that. But we can't go back anymore."
She does not complain. She is too lost for that. Ann supports her upstairs, guides her into their bedroom, empty and eerie and completely devoid of Felicity. I slide my fingers across the familiar worn door, feel the dents where the wood has been banged and slammed from arguments and insolence from years past.
Perhaps some of them are Felicity.
They probably are.
Ann does not speak to me as we make our way back to our own, infinitely more modest, bedroom. Then, at the door, she stops, her hand caressing the cold metal of the doorknob. I can see how nervous she is, she how much this hurts her. But she knows she has to do it.
"How could you talk to her like that?" The words are not accusing – they are little more that a whisper. But, curiously enough, they sting more than a thousand insults from Felicity.
"I … I don't know. It hurt me as much as it hurt her. As it hurt anyone."
But Ann turns withering eyes upon me, withering, watery, furious eyes, and enters the bedroom. And I am left out here alone.
I stand for a very long time, simply staring at the wood of the closed door in front of me. I know it is blindingly simple – there is no lock, young ladies not allowed their privacy in this day and age. I could simply turn the handle and walk in. But something stops me. I think it is the realisation that I am not wanted in there. Ann does not wish to see me, to have to force her lips to spill forth idle chitchat that numbs our burning minds. She does not want me. And it stings so.
I slide down the door, my dress already grass stained and snagged, and becoming dusty and musty as I collapse. My head in is my hands and I am crying before I can atop myself. Becoming enraged at my own weakness, I try to control my ragged breathing, but all that I achieve is to end up breathing furiously, lightly and harshly. I can hear footsteps, undoubtedly some teacher or another come to check on the sobbing sounds emanating from the floor below. I stand, my hand flying to the doorknob, but with a flutter of relief in my chest, I realise that it is nothing more threatening that Felicity.
Some people may argue that there is nothing more threatening in this world that Felicity. I will leave it up to them.
She notices my tears, kisses them away and bites at my bottom lip. I sink into the kiss, grateful that for once I will have solace and comfort when I need it. Her fingers are on my corset strings, gently tugging them away from my lungs, and at last I can breathe. My dress falls to the ground, but I do not notice it, so in love am I with Felicity.
She breaks off, giggles, wipes her bottom lip with her thumb in a way that is irresistible. She knows it to be so. She knows everything there is to know, and I am ignorant.
"Gemma, Gemma, come with me. Let's steal away to somewhere else."
She is leading me around corners and down stairways, the hem of her dress enticingly close. I am standing in my petticoats, whispering and laughing as we rebel against everything we have ever known, rebel together, forever and always. Her arm is around my waist, her lips in my hair and on my mouth, and I want to kiss her back, trail my swollen mouth along her milky white neck, her porcelain pale thigh.
I want to kiss her.
I do not notice where she is leading me until we arrive there, and when we do I almost laugh aloud. The crevice in which we shared our first fevered kiss.
It is so much more than that now. We are addicted, and we love every second of it.
She draws me in, her breathy whisper a warm tickle on my collarbone. "Remember?"
"How could I forget?"
Her nimble fingers undress me, her lips all over my flesh and I lie back, with someone who loves me and who I love back. It is almost as good as being with Kartik. And twice as forbidden. I can feel her pearly teeth nip seductively along the inside of my naked thigh. I am with her.
And then we hear a sound and she sits up, her eyes wide with something that is not fear, but not amusement either. We see the flicker of candlelight, warm and yet it chills me to the bone. I can see the shadow approach us before I see the flesh and blood intruder. We make no effort to dress – it is far too late now, and anyway, we can hardly see our discarded clothing. And the footsteps draw closer, each ringing out what feels like my funeral march.