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The door to the mansion burst open. A young woman, chin-length silver hair flying in the wind, flew out of the entrance, leaving behind two outraged maids and trailing behind her the cloth of an untied dress ribbon. She made her way through the tall rushes and abundant flowers, taking a path through the wildlife that was familiar only to her. Through the rustling of the plants and the chirps of disturbed birds she heard the women scrambling about, crying out her name in frustration.
The rushes would not cover her fully; she was tall for her age. Instead, she found a familiar dry stone to sit upon, one that neighbored a tiny, bubbling stream and had a marvelous view of the nearby forest. They'd give up soon enough. She removed the tight satin baby-blue shoes that they had been making her stand in for what felt like half a day. They plopped delightfully in a nearly mud puddle. The shoes were pretty, she had to admit, but oh so uncomfortable. Sighing, she wiggled her toes in her stockings. A pair of men's soft leather boots would have done just as well, in her opinion.
After several minutes of quietly waiting, one of the maids uttered a profanity, adding that Allen could come out and find his own blasted sister. Celena sighed in relief, and walked shoeless towards the woods. It had taken much well-planned wiggling and an "accidental" trip to get out of that one. Some dinner Allen wanted to take her to. Some people her age he wanted her to meet. "Be more social!" He would laugh. "You keep cooped up here so long I might start thinking you want to become a nun."
Celena stuck out her tongue at the mansion in the distance as she backstepped into the woods. So what if she wanted to stay cooped at home? She'd already dragged herself to a few of those little social gatherings. They always began with the formal introductions and usual pish-posh: My Lord Allen, how good of you to come! Who is this? Your sister is it? What a fine young woman, with such an unusual look! Really now Allen, why haven't you brought this delightful creature here before? Shy is it? Sickly? Well she absolutely must be introduced to my son. No? Too early to think of things such as that? You do realize how old you both are. Oh I suppose I will have to let you go.
"Well, damn him and damn all of them!" she cried, hurling the remains of the dress tie into a nearby bush. Why did she put herself through that drivel? If only
If only Allen didn't smile when she put on those dresses. If only he wouldn't be so kind to her all the time. If only he wasn't so patient, so loving, so caring. If only she could forget that he'd rescued her and brought her home. If only there was someone else who could ease the pain of a tortured, stolen childhood
Celena shook her head against some painful, half-forgotten memory, and smiled a little. All right, she decided. She would go to another damnable social gathering. Time to brush up on the fake smiles and prepare that little shield that protected her from the stares and the whispers. She stood up, brushing the back of the dirtied dress (only to find the process smeared the mud instead of removing it), and prepared to turn herself in rather than wait out being found.
A burning pain rushed up the right side of her cheek.
She fell onto her knees and elbows, her breath caught in her throat, one hand clutching her stomach and the other grasping desperately at the earth and grass before her. Her teeth were clenched tight, though her lungs screamed for air, while the rest of her face contorted in an expression of staggering agony. Nausea coupled itself with searing, tearing pain, as if all of her muscles were trying to break themselves away from her bones. With a practise born from a year's worth of experience she held herself back from retching and bit back her screams. When it passed, she swallowed a few gulps of precious air and stood, pale and shaking uncontrollably. She waited a bit while her color returned, then adjusted her clothing and her hair. No one would know of this, or any other, of these episodes.
Nor would anyone know of the Voice that had pierced her head with its outraged screams.
"I'm sorry."
"You've ruined the dress! And look at your feet!"
"I'm sorry."
"And where are those shoes? I spent hours pondering over the exact ones that would go with this splendid outfit!"
"I'm sorry."
The head maid stomped her foot. Celena's bowed head hid her quivering lip corners. The reddish-purplish (not to mention flopping) cheeks of the elder, fatter woman would have set her off into a fit of giggles.
"That would be enough, Eliste."
Celena looked up at the man in the doorway. Resplendant in his Asturian Honour Guard's uniform, long blonde hair swept down over shoulders and back, slightly dusty from the lengthy ride back from the palace, stood Allen Schezar. His eyes bore down on the only other pair on Gaea to share such an astonishingly beautiful blue, while his other handsome features were marred by a reproachful frown. Despite this, Celena found she was unable to help herself.
"Allen!" she exclaimed, a smile brightening her face as she rushed to clasp him around the chest. Allen's lungs released a slight oomph in objection, but his face lightened in response to her tight squeeze. He smoothed back stray locks of her hair.
"Sir Allen! If you are going to let your sister run wild like a little boy then you'll have everyone up in arms about the Schezar tomboy! Think of the public disaster! It's just like that disturbing princess, Millerna!" Eliste punctuated each sentence with a sharp strike to the air with an gnarled, liver-spotted hand.
At that, Allen frowned. "That would be enough, Eliste."
Eliste drew in another heaving breath to protest. Allen interrupted in a tone that was gentle, but demanded a finality to the matter. "I said, that would be enough."
Celena snuck a peek at the frustrated woman. Nose high in the air, Eliste made a small, perfunctory curtsey, and flounced out of the room, murmuring her dissention. Once the door had closed, and she and her brother were alone, Celena flung herself out of Allen's grasp and plopped into a chair.
"Oh, Allen!" she wailed, "I hate this! I hate these stockings-" which she pulled and tossed, "I hate these ribbons-" brilliant blue ribbons that hung stubbornly to the ends of a few strands of hair were also pulled and dropped, "Why? Why do you make me do these things when you know what I was and what I've done?"
While she threw her fit, Allen removed his gloves and shrugged out of his vest. At her last statement he looked at her sharply, eyes wide and mouth slightly open in shock and anger. Celena noticed the quick, startled look and cringed. "I'm sorry."
"Was that an answer for Eliste or myself?" was his soft reply. He sat down in the plush chair next to her and grasped her hands. "You still haven't come to terms with it, have you?"
Celena sighed, her eyes stinging with unwanted tears. Allen gathered her to his breast.
Let me out! LET ME OUT! You know damn well you can't shut me away forever!
Celena squeezed her eyes shut, clamping both the Voice and her tears. Her grip on her brother's shirt whitened her knuckles. Allen winced, helpless against a pain that he would never fully understand. He sighed and smiled softly. "You can pick your own clothes next time. You're probably getting old enough to choose for yourself."
Celena loosened her grip on her brother's tunic. "I'll go to your party." She cast a hopeful look up at him. "Can I wear some boots with my dress instead?"
He smiled down at her. "I'll see what I can do."
Celena smiled brightly back up at him and let loose a whoop of joy. "Thank you!" she cried, prior to planting a quick kiss to his cheek. A minute later she was streaking out the door, a triangular smudge of brown on her bottom revealing to her brother where she'd been hiding herself. Celena continued a run down the hallways, proclaiming her good fortune.
Allen listened to her fading voice. His smile fell as he reached into his pockets and pulled out a document bearing Asturia's Royal Family Crest.