part one: red like roses
Today, it has been twelve years since the incident.
Nobody knows, because nobody remembers the date. Nobody but me.
Mother dearest, she only knows it was around this area of time. This week. And she has been properly sober for the occasion, only getting drunk once since Sunday. But today is Friday, and even if she knows that I must be 'mourning,' Friday's are the nights of her parties. She has an important reputation to uphold after all. It's not like her guests know about what happened anyway.
I almost hate her for it. Almost.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to come out to the white room with everyone else?" Whitely asks. He's standing in the doorway of my room, maybe fifteen feet away from where I stand in front of my mirror. "I assure you, you look just as decent as always." Normal Whitely, never one to give out a real compliment. Decent. I look better than decent, and we both know it.
The Schnee family is not just known for their wealth. We're known for our beauty as well.
I turn to him. Whitely, as much as I wish I didn't have to admit it, is a perfect example. Tall, slim, he has a sharp chin and slanted blue eyes. The girls go crazy over him, partly for his looks, and mostly for his fortune. He, of course, also has the trademark Schnee feature. Bright, white hair. We aren't allowed to dye it, and us girls aren't allowed to cut it past our shoulders. Our white hair is a symbol of Schnee pride. To hide it would be to disrespect our family.
I try waving him away, but he only walks in further, taking a place beside me. "Here," he says, frowning as he pulls a hair tie from a nearby dresser, wrapping my hair into a high ponytail, "I don't know much about hair, but I can do this. Mother will have a fit if you come out having done nothing with your hair. You'll make the impression that us Schnee's lack sophistication." I know that, of course, but the woman who usually does my hair, Cora, called in sick. Which is a blatant lie, everyone knows she's been running around with some poor fellow she met at a bar. I'd bet my life that's she's out with him tonight. Abandoning her duties, not I'd ever expect anything less from a middle class parasite. But Whitely doesn't keep up with my appointments, so of course he knows nothing about her recent abandonment. He just assumes I made no plans. And I wish I could tell him, I wish I could talk to him about her. Complain a little.
Sometimes, I really fucking hate being mute.
"There," he stands back. My hair looks fine. It's a ponytail, so it's not exactly spectacular, but there's no bumps and it gives off a modern, working-girl vibe. Trendy, or at least I can manage to make it look trendy. I nod and smile. A smile he doesn't return. He pats my shoulder once, and walks out of the room without another word.
I know he doesn't want anything to do with me. No proud family wants a disabled member, it makes the bloodline look weak. And maybe he's thinking about how it's been twelve years since the incident. I wonder if he remembers what my voice sounded like. I don't.
When I leave my room, the hallway is dark. It's usually dark, nobody ever walks down it but me, and that's only to get to my room. Every door leads to a room that's unused. One bathroom, two guest bedrooms, a study, and a storage room, none of which have been properly used in twelve years. Lining the wall across from the entrance to my room, are five large portraits, taken by a once famous photographer, whom's name has escaped me. One picture of each member of my family. Taken when I was four, they reflect our youths. The time before the incident. Two pictures hang in black frames, a tradition for the dead. Father and Winter, I can barely remember either of them.
Looking at the pictures is like looking into the eyes of fate.
I can remember the way I looked at these pictures, when I was younger. Winter, the wall. My sudden responsibility as her replacement.
It's only by chance that my frame is gold and not black.
I quickly exit the hallway and head to the white room.
The white room is one of our greatest entertainment spaces. It's large, built like a Victorian ballroom, with a door leading in on each of the four walls. A large chandelier, modeled after the ones in A. L. Webber's famous performances, hangs at the top of a cover ceiling. Across from the north entrance that I walk through, I can see a long dinner table covered in tonight's dishes. At the corner of the west and north walls, a set of a dozen tables are pulled out for guests to eat at. In the middle, a group of people dance to waltz music. The most striking feature, however, is the pure white color of every object in the room. The walls, the ceiling, the tablecloths and floor tiles. True to it's name, Father had this room built to reflect the hair color of the Schnee family, just another remark on our proud heritage. As such, it's the room we use when hosting our more powerful guests. I can already see general Ironwood, one of the country's most prominent military leaders, speaking the my mother across the room.
"Ah, dear Weiss." Hei Xiong is quick to approach me. It seems he hasn't changed.
I smile at him as he approaches me. Hei, better known by his friends as 'Junior,' is seen in the media as the owner of a chain of bars and restaurants, gaining fame for a playboy lifestyle. To our family, however, he is a valuable source of information.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" I nod. "I see the uh.. ponytail you've chosen to wear tonight. Very modern."
Fuck off. Junior's never been one for smooth-talking.
I just nod at him again.
"Care to dance?" He extends his hand.
I don't want to dance with Hei Xiong, but I don't exactly have a choice either. I grit my teeth, smile once again, and take his hand.
Dancing is easy. I'm better than him at it, but I allow him to lead as we move slowly across the floor. The music, at least, is pleasant. Slow, gentle, and admittedly quite repetitive. It's a little bit claustrophobic, both the large group of people dancing around me, and trying to move in the restrictive, pearly white dress I'm wearing.
He leans in closer to me, "You know, there's been whispers going around about the Schnee family."
I tense up.
Somewhere else in the world entirely, a band begins to warm up before a great performance. This both does and doesn't have anything to do with me.
"They say that some of the Schnee family's old... connections... are reappearing."
Something in me immediately wants to push him away. To run. Run, girl, run away. My throat feels closed up, and suddenly I am being suffocated by the air around me.
"I don't know the credibility of these rumors, but keep a look out. We don't want something like that car crash happening again."
Fuck. You. Fuck you so much, Hei.
He leans away, putting a normal amount of distance in between us. He doesn't show any emotion on his face, it's as unreadable as stone.
The song we dance to last's ten minute in total, in traditional pretentious fashion. We don't speak through the rest of it, just move together. I've lost my gracefulness, I'm stiff as the song finishes, and he lets me go.
I don't give him a chance to say goodbye. I leave. I exit once more through the same doors and walk away. Through one hall, take a right, to the next hall. Past wandering chefs and performers, all of whole stare at me as I walk past. They know who I am, but they don't stop to see if I'm alright. I'm sure they can read some expression on my face, something that tells them to stay away. But they are only half-real as I walk past them, just fast enough to not be running.
I don't even know how I end up here. In my hall. In front of the five pictures.
I stare at my four-year-old face. Round, smiling, pale. She doesn't know anything. She's a little kid.
Winter, she's to my left on the wall. She died months after these pictures were taken, when she was seven. Why do I still think of her as older?
Whitely on my right. We used to be close.
Mother, beside Winter. She is smiling, with the new teeth that Father bought her.
Father. Black frame. He looks menacing, even in photographs.
I'm staring into his eyes. Im staring into the eyes of fate. I am afraid.
And then, somewhere a few yards away, I hear music. Nothing traditional, with class. This music is loud and angry. Rock music, the type my mother absolutely hates. I haven't heard that type of music in so long. Quickly, I turn to the direction of the music, to see it's source.
And there are these moments, when the world around you changes. You make a decision without realizing it's repercussions, without realizing how it will change you. But in these moments, you don't know what happening. You just live through them. You just look at the source of the music, sitting on the floor a small distance from you, her head hung low. And you walk over to her.
She's got black hair that I can see, with large headphones on, the volume so loud that I can hear it. I tap her on the shoulder, and she looks up at me. She has silver eyes.
Somewhere else in the world entirely, a band begins to play its opening number.