When Lucette asked about her brother, Parfait and Delora exchanged uncomfortable looks.
Lucette's eyes narrowed.
'You know something,' she stated.
Parfait sighed, suddenly seeming even more tired than before.
'Well...' she began.
Lucette stood in silence in the middle of the room, letting the fairy's words wash over her.
So. Lucien was cursed. Just like she was.
He was here, at the Marchen. Near her.
Lucien was right there.
'I need to see him. Where is he?'
Delora stood and walked to the door, motioning for her to follow.
'It's best if you see for yourself.'
With a slow dread freezing her veins, Lucette followed the witch to a room at the end of corridor. It was dark, the curtains drawn so as to not let a single ray of light through. So dark that at first she did not see the coffin made of glass, or the figure laying in it. She leaned closer to get a better look and barely swallowed a shriek of horror.
Instead of a bed, or any other furniture for that matter, there was a single glass coffin in the middle of the room. Beautifully carved glass, as cold and impersonal as Lucien himself.
Lucien, who was unmoving and still, paler than a corpse.