"No, no, it's the fork first. Work inwards, remember, dear?"

I cringed as the Imperial woman spoke again, guiding my hands back to fold primly in my lap and rearranging the silverware I so venomously despised.

"Now, try again. Shoulders back, good posture. Napkin folded in your lap, elbows off the table - and don't muss your dress. Go on."

"I don't want to." I growled, crossing my arms and biting back a curse that had already made my bottom sore once. My nurse tutted behind me.

"Good ladies do as they are told."

"I don't wanna be a good lady!" I snapped, staring at the center of the plate as though I could turn it to ashes if I stared hard enough. Miss Tucket frowned, clucking her tongue in only a way a nurse can and sinking her nails into my shoulder, spinning me around.

"So you want to be a bad lady? Lonely and unmarried, mm?" She moved her hands on her hips, silver brow raised. "A poor old spinster like me?"

Bad? I looked my nurse over - her plump, rouged cheeks, lips pursed, her hair whipped into a tight bun perched gingerly on her head. Long nails that terrified me, a wrinkled brow, wide and stout and plain. Were you ever bad?

At the thought of becoming like her I grimaced, shifting back in my seat and turning to the table. Not quite able to ignore the sour taste in my mouth, I resumed my dreaded manners lesson. Distantly, I felt a longing - for beast hide and flickering light - and pushed it away as Miss Tucket's voice pressed on.

I whooped when the lesson ended, lifting up my skirts and racing down the echoing halls. I pressed against the study door, creeping into the only place I dared call home. The smells of oiled leather and age welcomed me, books with fine bindings peering down upon the intruder as I moved past. I dragged my fingers over their spines, relishing their textures and feel, sliding two away and gathering them in my arms.

Sovngarde and Song of the Alchemists. I smiled, cradling them close like precious children and jumping into my stepfather's chair.

Stepfather - Toltette. I refused to call him anything else. My mother's marriage to him was a betrayal to me. I took what little comfort I could in solitude, in skipping lessons on poise and tucking myself into the worlds Falrung and Papa introduced me to so long ago. I spent hours there, whispering spells, memorizing ingredients, stumbling over words and tracing the greying sketches of Nordic gods.

"Gabriel!"

"Damn!" I leapt up, gathering my treasures and glancing wildly around the room. I could her the click of mum's feet in the hall, her calls for me that I scurried from. Under the desk? No, she caught me last time. I dashed to a shelf, slipping between it and the wall and wincing at the hollow thud as my back landed against it.

Hollow?

"Come, Gabby, don't keep Miss Tucket waiting!"

I pursed my lips, slipping onto my knees and dragging my hands over the wall section. There - my finger slipped on the tiniest crack. A panel! I caught my breath, pulling back, a flush of excitement dancing through my chest.

"Gabriel Anna Dust Toltette, open this door!"

Well, now or never. Grinning, I moved my books under my arm and pried the panel open. On hands and knees I clambered inside, closing the wall behind me just as the door outside burst open.

"Gabby?"

Darkness. I crept inside, listening, shaking cobwebs that tangled in my hair. There wasn't much room - just enough to tuck myself against the wall, my knees bent just so with my feet perched against the wall. A perfect sanctuary. A haven, a -

A hideaway.

I felt a sweet shiver as my father's words echoed in me, the smell of wormwood and illness leaving me as soon as it came. A hideaway. Papa's had been a place of learning and healing, where he fostered my love for alchemy and the unknown, raised me amongst dried rosemary sprigs and glass bottles.

Maybe...

I tapped my fingers against my knee, the spell blooming in my mouth and flooding the nook with light. I squinted, drawing my book open with the other tucked at my side. Mum at last relented, the sound of her footsteps fading as I fingered the crisp pages of parchment.

Hiding.

Sneezing as dust swirled around me, I spread Song of the Alchemists on my lap and began.

"When King Maraneon's alchemist had yet to leave his station..."

Good and glorious Nine, girl, what have you done?"

Mum fretted over me as I sat by her side at dinner, fluffing my hair and grimacing at the puff of dust that fell from it. "Did you go cobweb hunting? You missed your dancing lesson, too. Your father won't be pleased."

I frowned. He isn't my father.

"That's so gross, Gabby." My sister pouted, glaring at me by my side. "We eat here. You're going to get dust everywhere."

I opened my mouth to protest but mum spoke first, a shiver sliding down my skin at her words, her soft and bittersweet laugh.

"Dusty Dust. Just like your father's name."

My real father, Jacques Dust. I mouthed the name. Dust.

... I'll never take Toltette's name.

It was then, with my breath caught, that I knew.

"Good evening, Abelle." I glanced up as Toltette swept past, followed by the scent of wax as he lay a chaste kiss on her brow. His gaze swept over us, eyes landing on me with a frown. "Children. Gabriel Toltette, why are you so filthy? Go and clean immediately."

Toltette.

I bit my lip, digging my nails into my palms until the word burst hot and sickly from my throat.

"No!"

"No isn't an option, young lady."

"Don't call me Toltette. I'm Dust."

I heard mum's sharp intake of breath behind me, Toltette's brow raised and lips pursed.

"Your father's filthy name?" He whispered, dangerously quiet before his voice rose. "You would call yourself after a backwards -" his face flushed. "A dick-sucking -"

"Davide!" Mum gasped, putting her hands over my ears as I went slack jawed. Anya had told me what a dick was, and -

"She needs to be dealt with, Abelle!" Toltette hissed, eyes piercing through me. "He was a filthy scoundrel, dragging your sweet mother into poverty, tossing her away for a heathen Nord."

Nord?

Falrung.

I shuddered, turning wide-eyed to my mum who watched Toltette go on with harsh breath. Her hands clenched, nails raking down my arms before she snapped. "Enough!"

The room went silent. Anya gaped, a forkful of mutton dangling over her mouth. Toltette's face turned a shade of sour milk.

"I apologize, dear. I lost my temper." He paused, gazing at mum with an aching stare before taking his place at the table. "I simply hoped the child I raised would respect me more than her sire."

"It's just a phase," mum murmured before we all went quiet again, our inner turmoil concealed in a family dinner.

Mum thought it was a phase.

It wasn't.

I named myself, began to run away from my nurse every day, from my lessons. I read as thought starved, lyrical words my sweet nourishment. When I asked mum the truth, she relented - papa, my dear father and Falrung were lovers in hiding. I wasn't too young to understand love, that my papa had somehow betrayed mum. That my childhood heros were entwined with deciet.

Slowly, painfully, I began to extract myself from them. A new name. A new understanding. A new life. Gabriel Toltette had never existed, and Gabby died when she woke in Falrung's cold lap. Dust was my new name, one I kept close to my heart as I felt I could little else.

I was eleven.