"For someone who looks sleep deprived, you sure do keep your strength." Cassandra bitterly grunts as she pushes herself back onto her feet.

Standing over her, with her sickle in my hand, I fold my arms and roll my neck. "I have to be. It's how my father taught me. He never wanted me to be left at a disadvantage, so he trained me for almost every scenario he could imagine."

We've been training for only an hour now, the sun reaching its peak – and from the window here in the castle's training room, it looks almost like it's getting skewered by one of the castle spires. I rub my face in one hand while the other gives Cassandra back her sickle.

I hadn't gotten much sleep last night thanks to Lady Dimitrescu's blood oath initiation, and my nightmares were filled with the sounds and sights of those creatures lurking in the castle dungeons, of Rachel's slaughtered corpse crawling into my bed to strangle me. When I was finally able to sleep, it felt like only moments later when Helga had come knocking on my door because I had overslept for my morning hunt.

I was less prosperous today – only a few rabbits and squirrels who happened to be foraging. It was a colder morning today, a bit of frost sprinkling along the ground and trees; encouraging the deer to stay huddled down in their dens and wait for the warmer temperatures to reveal grass stalks and berry buds. Thankfully, I've nearly stuffed the pantry with former game: ducks and rabbits and boars and deer and fish and fruits from around the castle gardens and game parks. So, hopefully, Lady Dimitrescu won't mind if I didn't have the most plentiful bounty this far into the season.

I catch a glimpse of the newest scar set at the inside of my wrist – proof of my oath to Lady Dimitrescu. And a constant reminder of what happened afterwards.

I'd seen it this morning when I finally dragged myself from bed to the bathroom. It's as long as my pointer finger, the white skin already raised and in the early steps of healing. At least my wrist mobility hadn't been affected. At least she didn't nick an important artery.

Once Cassandra is up on her feet, I order her to get into her stance. She obeys, and I get in mine. In a matter of seconds, she charges me again, and a swift kick to her shin has her collapsing.

Of course, there's no small amount of pride in my heart at the fact that I can still kick her ass half-asleep. Though I will give her credit: the doors have been open all morning, allowing the stinging cold breeze to fill the training room, and she's been holding enough of her own that I'm starting to believe she might actually be training during my off hours.

That and, I can see it in her eyes – that determination to overcome the challenge; the excitement to learn something new, to gain advantage over an opponent.

Respectable, despite how she might use it in the future. But still, she falls onto her back for the tenth time, only to recover quicker than before.

Progress, in its simplest form.

"Gods, I can't believe this is how you trained with your father." She says between panted breaths.

"It works, doesn't it?"

He trained me for every scenario that involved putting me at a disadvantage, including keeping me awake for almost five days straight. Running on a few hours of sleep will be child's play.

He told me to never show mercy to another man, because they will never show mercy to me. A woman well . . . that was tricker ground; probably because he didn't want me starting a fight with the other high-class daughters. My mother probably would've flogged me.

"You could be a little more considerate and hold back a little." She begins to walk the perimeter of the white circle.

"That's not how the real-world works, Cassandra." I say gravely. "You opponent isn't going to go easy on you. Their goal is to take you down. When we train, I'm assuming you're coming at me with everything you've got, otherwise, what's the point?"

Her eyes only widen. Baffled.

"You may be gifted, but don't forget you're still a woman. A man will always have some advantage over you, so you need to be better, quicker, and faster." I can hear my father's voice within my tone, repeating the same harsh reality to my twelve-year-old self.

She lifts a brow and pouts, but I see my words ripple in her golden eyes. "You know, you talk awful about men a lot."

I stare at her blankly; and after a moment, I say, "There's a reason for that."

And despite my better instincts, I let my wall down just an inch. I let her see my vulnerability. Let her see the pain and agony that I might not ever escape, no matter how much train, or run, or work my body and mind into exhaustion.

She blinks once. Twice. And to my surprise, she only says in a quiet tone, "Okay."

A feathering muscle in my jaw is the only sign of surprise before I turn away from her and aim for the weapon's rack I'd filled with wooden replicas. Bought at a discount no less, thanks to Duke's first-class customer service.

And because I like to think I'm one of his favorites, if not his most frequented customer.

In a shifting turn of her mood, I hear Cassandra skip up behind me. "So, how are things in your new room?"

I've just grabbed a wooden dagger when I pause to look at her, confused. "What?"

She shrugs her shoulders, her hands behind her back with impish innocence. "Just wondering. After your first room was . . . ruined, you had moved in with Bela, but that didn't seem to last long."

"No. It didn't." I state, eyes wandering for a bit at the open air. "I just assumed it was because of her entertaining that suitor."

Cassandra snorts. "Entertaining."

To be honest, it doesn't really feel like I stayed with her at all. Not enough to leave an imprint – a memory – on my brain. It doesn't help that I had been sent away to Miss Donna's estate shortly after that dinner incident. And . . . I was pretty happy about it, all things considered. I didn't want to leave Bela, but she had her mother to protect her from Miranda. I had, nothing. And after the rocky start, spending time at Donna's estate was pretty relaxing.

After I had gotten back, Bela had already been entertaining that man – probably had been during the time I was gone. I'd returned to her room only to find my stuff already gone. I had to track down Helga to ask where it had gone, or worse, if it had all been stolen. That was when she showed me to my new room.

It didn't pass me that the location of my new room was tucked away within the castle, away from the daily traffic of the halls for both servants and visitors alike.

"If I can ask, how long is this going to go on, for her?"

A feline smile. "Why?"

"Because she seems miserable."

And the idea of someone else touching her, someone she despises, makes me want to castrate that man with my bare hands.

Cassandra only shrugs her shoulders. "Don't know. I think until Mother has their investments in hand."

"Investments?"

Another shrug, pulling her raven black hair into a ponytail that rests at the top knob of her spine. "Money, wine, some riches. Most likely something from their coffers before she kills them."

My heart drops, but only for a moment before rebounding back up. It's not the same feeling I had that night at the masquerade party in the opera hall. Back then, though I despised such people, it felt wrong to let them die and be tortured by this family.

An image of Rachel flashes before my eyes, and I quickly blink before spinning the wooden dagger between my fingers.

I don't feel the same way I did that night in the opera hall. And I'm not stupid enough to deny it – it's because my feelings towards Bela have changed. I've seen some semblance of humanity behind the killer, I've seen glimpses of the human she once was before being experimented on.

Maybe that's a part of it too – now that I know she truly had no choice into what she had become, it adds another piece to the admittedly complicated puzzle of who she is. It's not really an excuse – no, Lady Dimitrescu raised them to be who they are; raised them like her actual blood daughters, despite who they were before, and what they became after.

Besides, the world – and its women – would be better off with a man like him and his father gone. I've seen enough faces of men throughout the village to read one's intention. And his might as well had been painted in bright colors.

I can't stand the idea of Bela having to suffer at the hands of such a –

Cassandra's hand grabs mine in an attempt to yank the dagger from my grasp. But through trained instinct, I counter by following the momentum and bringing my leg to swipe her ankle out from under her, sending her flopping onto her back. Without realizing much, I've straddled her chest, but I'm focused on holding the tip of the wooden dagger just centimeters from her neck. Her one hand grabs my wrist to keep it aloft, arms trembling to prevent me from fulfilling the final, deadly blow."

"Dammit," she grunts through grit teeth.

"Sneaky." I admit, and I give her a shit-eating grin. "Tactical, but cheap."

She pokes her tongue out me, and I let her up. I roll my shoulders again and turn to face her, about to get into instructions on defense techniques, when the door to the training room opens.

For the shortest of seconds, I hope it might be Bela, but I see a glimpse of red and black, and grey, and I can't hold back my surprise when Bianca, Gretta, and Helga all walk into the room together. The two scullery maids having more hop in their step than usual. Their genuine joy brings a smile to my lips. Even Helga can't seem to hide her content, the corners of her mouth turned upwards. But she quickly squares her shoulders as she approaches the middle daughter, remembering her place as housekeeper.

"Pardon the intrusion, Lady Cassandra." She says with a deep curtsey as she stops a couple of feet from the Dimitrescu daughter. I like the deep plum purple color of her dress, its style matching that of other before it: a turtleneck with long, pointed sleeves. Only this time, this dress has a gleaming Tiger's Eye just at the base of her throat. "But your mother has asked for some of the maids to go shopping; fetch some supplies for the party, and for the festival."

"Festival?" The word is a whisper of breath from my lips. Loud enough that everyone looks to me with confusion, but I just stare at Helga.

She nods. "Seleenwoche. Remember?"

"Barely." I admit.

All Souls' Week. A holiday celebrated by remembering loved ones that have passed away. To leave bread, water, and a lamp on a table before going to bed in bidding welcome to the dead souls.

Then on the evening of the first of November, All Saints' Day – when ancestors' souls are believed to gather – families get together and walk to the graveyards with lanterns, which are later left behind with the aim of guiding the dead through the dark.

The next day, a special church service is held where we pray for the dead, and ask the Black God to send them to the Great Ones.

My father equated it to a holiday he said was celebrated in the outside world – a day of dressing in costumes and going door to door asking for candy. I thought it sounded a bit greedy when he first told me, but apparently it was customary.

What did he call it? All Hollow's Eve?

I vaguely remember Seleenwoche, with my mother having been born and raised here in the village. There are some memories involving the holiday's traditions, but it's like trying to peer through a frosted window.

I have some recollection of roaming the village graveyard, and I clutched my mother's skirt because I was so scared of something popping up out of the ground, or worse, some drunkard barreling towards us.

Even in death, some choose to still drink with their family.

But after my father's passing, we never celebrated for him. I never had time. And we were never together.

Though Luiza still tried for me and Lacy – bringing offerings and extra candles; even offering to take us to the graveyard to see him, but I refused. And Lacy being the ever-obedient sister, denied as well.

I didn't want to take that from her; it was her choice. But I was her influence.

And our father's last words to her were to listen to me, and to follow my orders.

I run my fingers through my hair as my heart begins to sink – each memory pelting me like pebbles. Dishonoring my father, robbing Lacy of her chances to at least attempt to be with him in the thinnest of forms. Maybe Luiza will take her now that I've left.

"I assume she wants Erika to go as well?" Cassandra asks, folding her arms.

I perk up and look past Helga to Bianca and Gretta. Their faces are respectably neutral. Thought they do give the smallest of smiles. I look to Helga and Cassandra – the former's spine as stiff and strong as steel.

"It's more of a sort of, protection, as she described. A wanting to keep an eye on them."

"Wait, I'm going?" I interject.

It wasn't directed at anyone – I wouldn't even know who to ask. But I look to Cassandra, arguably the person with the most influence in this room.

She shrugs. "I guess so."

"She trusts me enough to send me out?"

"She sends you out hunting, doesn't she?"

"Only as means to earn my keep here."

"Likely she doesn't trust these two" – she gives a pointed glare to the scullery maids, who shrivel beneath its weight – "and she wants you to make sure they don't run off. Or that they don't get attacked."

I casually step over towards Bianca and Gretta. "Do the villagers attack us when we leave the castle property?"

Another shrug as she says, "I've heard some things, but they're far and few in between. Besides, if someone does try, they'd have to face Mother's wrath; and maybe Mother Mirandas. So, most likely no."

Bianca and Gretta will tell me the truth later. But for now –

Outside.

I'm going outside the castle walls. My first time since the summer.

"We are on a bit of a time crunch." Helga interjects, "Louis would like these two back before dinner, the latest. We're still hosting some guests, don't forget."

Right. Strictly business. If I so much as even think of looking for my family, I'll be down in the dungeon strung up against the wall, just like Rachel.

I look to the scar on the inside of my wrist. "Yes. Yes, of course."

The housekeeper claps her hands. "Then come along. You'll need your cloak; it's getting colder out there."

As the three of them leave, I turn to Cassandra. "Have you or your sisters ever gone into the marketplace? Or even into the village?"

Cassandra resumes her place at the center of the white circle. "Sometimes in the warmer months. It gets lonely here when it's cold."

I bite my lip. "Does anyone ever . . . do anything?"

A moment of contemplation, her body going unnaturally stiff. "We get stares, sometimes, but no one ever does anything. Again, they'd have to face the wrath of my mother, who is a lord of said village, and second to Mother Miranda."

"Second?"

Her head snaps in my direction. "Who else would it be?"

Tread carefully . . . "I didn't think Mother Miranda had rankings among her 'family.'"

"Maybe she doesn't, but my mother has known her the longest. It would make sense if she was."

"Known her the longest?"

"According to her. She was around before the other lords. So she's like the eldest sibling." Cassandra winks, "Also explains why she's so bitter against Lord Heisenberg. At least when the priestess seems to show favor to him over her."

Maybe Alcina isn't as conniving as I had thought. The only way she could become so tall, so threatening is –

Three days since Treatment

If she's known Miranda the longest, she had to have been lured into the same trap as Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela. Was she possibly experimented on too . . .?

"What's the matter with you?" she asks.

I blink, realizing I've been staring off into space. I clear my throat. "Nothing, just . . . can't believe I'll be back in the village, if only for a moment."

"You really miss it that much?"

"I miss my sister." I correct, unable to stop the softening of my features whenever I think of her. "I know I left her in capable hands, but still; I miss giving her hugs, and goodnight kisses. She's still so young, and I should still be there for her. Be a part of her life, but . . . I made my choice. For her and her securing her future."

I half expect Cassandra to ridicule me, but she of all people must understand the bond between sisters.

She then says, "Don't let yourself get too hopeful. It's poisonous."

With that, she turns her back to me and resumes going through the motions I've taught her on close combat; the dagger becoming an extension of her arm.

She really has been paying attention. I don't know why it makes my heart light.

But she doesn't pay me any more mind, so I take my leave. My cheeks flush a little red when I see the three women still standing in the hallway waiting for me. So I put an extra pace in my stride as I step through the threshold.

Once the doors are closed, I barely get a word out before Bianca is wrapping her arms around my neck in a bone-crushing hug. She giggles into my neck while hopping on the balls of her feet, forcing me to follow with her. Gretta follows her after, and I can only wrap my right arm around her back, while my left is cradling Bianca.

"What's that for?" I ask.

Bianca pulls back, her gold flecked, midnight eyes glittering like stars. "I'm just so excited to be going. This are rare occasions."

"Rare? How?"

Helga silently motions us to keep walking. I follow after her, Gretta and Bianca flanking my sides.

Gretta says, "The Mistress rarely ever lets us go shopping in the colder seasons – because her daughters can't go with us. She usually orders in advance from The Duke so she doesn't have to send us out." She picks up her pace to do a little skip before falling back in line with us.

"I assume she doesn't send you out because you'd probably run off?" I ask.

"Some have certainly thought about it." says Bianca. "But it'd end poorly regardless. Likely no one would believe us, or do anything about it. And we'd probably be hunted like cattle if we tried to flee."

"Even outside the village?"

"I wouldn't put it past Mother Miranda." Gretta says, a shadow of sadness darkening her freckled features. She quickly banishes is with a bright smile and another skip of joy. "But this is so exciting! I've been working on this new recipe for a dessert dish, and of course I never had to courage to ask Helga to buy them for me –"

Though she continues on, I tune her out as we approach the Hall of the Four. Helga ushers me into Duke's usual room, where I arm myself with a small assortment of small weapons, including a handgun and plenty of daggers. Likely I won't need them; but I wouldn't put it past the universe to make something happen the very day that I'm supposed to be escorting them.

Helga distributes cloaks to us: Bianca's a deep velvet red, Gretta's as white as a snow rabbit, and mine a darkened pine-green. We pull the hoods over our heads, and she guides us to the entrance hall, opening the doors to lead out to the carriage gate.

Gods, I haven't set foot in this hall for months.

"Remember: you're just shopping, and that's it. You have duties to attend to when you come back." Helga gravely reminds. "No distractions. No detours. No excuses."

"Yes ma'am." Gretta and Bianca layer in unison. I just give a dip of my chin, tucking a strand of my cornsilk hair beneath the hood of the cloak.

As though waiting for her word, the portcullis gate rises, allowing us access to the front metal doors.

Gretta pushes one open, stepping into the colorful autumn backdrop. Bianca follows after, looking back at me as she holds the door open. Sections of her midnight hair slip from her hood, the sun haloing it until she's practically glowing like a goddess.

I step over the threshold and look back at Helga one more time. She nods.

I take step after step until the door slips from my hand, slowly closing soundlessly behind us.

I barely have time to process the chilly autumn breeze before Gretta and Bianca link arms with me, and the three of us begin our walk down the lone road wending through the leaf-covered vineyards, towards the gate of the castle walls.

To the village.

To my home.

Hard to believe it's only been a few months since I'd left this place behind me in the pursuit of something . . . better.

The stone houses of the village are ordinary and dull, made grimmer by the bleakness of today. A rainy autumn day leaves even trees sluggish as their empty boughs sway lazily in the breeze, as if mourning. But it is market day, which means the tiny square in the center of town will be full of whatever vendors had braved the brisk morning.

No one pays us any mind, safe for those who saw us exit through the castle gates.

From a block away, the scent of hot food wafts by—spices that tug on the edge of my memory, beckoning. Gretta lets out a low moan behind me. Spices, salt, sugar—rare commodities for most of our village, impossible for my family to afford.

"I wish Louis had given me free reign on the grocery list." Gretta moans. "I've been dying to try this new herb I've been hearing – supposed to add such flavor to soups and meats."

"You're a bit late on begging," says Bianca with an impish grin. "I had already worn her down on convincing her to let me buy some fresh vanilla for desserts."

Gretta pokes her tongue out at Bianca, taunting the latter to pinch the former's side, getting me nearly caught in the crossfire.

Perhaps I could spare some of my own currency to buy us something delicious. I open my mouth to suggest it, but we turn the corner and nearly stumble into one another as we all halt.

"The hands of fate are twining now. Silver threads turned opalescent; knitting and sewing and binding and sealing." says the dark-robed hag directly in our path.

Gretta and Bianca click their tongues; I stifle a groan. Perfect. Exactly what I need, to have The Hag in town on market day, distracting and riling everyone. The village elders usually allow her to stay for only a few hours, but the sheer presence of the fanatic fool – who walks around with a staff adorned with human skulls, and deer antlers – makes people edgy. Makes me edgy.

The old woman extended her sickly-gray hands in a gesture of greeting, bracelets of silver — real silver— and multicolored beads tinkling at her wrist. "But look too closely, and you'll miss the spider weaving a means to trap. You might be caught, lest you stand and praise to Mother Miranda."

"Not now," I sneer, ignoring the woman's hands and nudging Bianca and Gretta into a walk. "We're busy."

The old woman's unbound, bone white hair gleams in the afternoon light, and her silver slated eyes glow as she smiled grotesquely. "You are a wonderous treasure. Born of steel and wildfire. Perhaps your talents might be better spent at the side of Mother Miranda." the woman says, stepping into my path.

I think back to my mother, and how it was impressive—truly impressive—to see her go ramrod straight, to square her shoulders and look down her nose at the old hag whenever we encountered her, a queen without a throne.

I lower my tone as I level a glare at the old woman. "Go spew your fanatic nonsense to some ninny. You'll find no converts here."

The old woman shrinks back, a shadow flickering in her silver eyes. I rein in my wince. Perhaps not the best way to deal with her, since she could become a true nuisance if agitated—

"Our benevolent master would never harm you. Should she bless you with her attention, you would be glad to live amongst her."

Bianca rolls her eyes. Gretta is shooting glances between us and the market ahead—to the villagers now watching, too. Time to go.

"Go preach in another town," I spit, giving both women a gentle push to get them walking.

I could feel the hag's attention still fixed on us as we strode into the busy market square, but I don't look back. She'll be gone soon enough. We may have to take the long way out of the village to avoid her.

When we are far enough away, I glance over a shoulder at the two of them. Gretta's face remains set in a wince, but Bianca's eyes are stormy, her lips thin. I wondered if she'd stomp back to the girl and pick a fight.

But the two of them stay on my heels as merge into the crowded square.

It takes us ten minutes total to find the farmer's stand, and for Gretta to buy everything needed on our list; Bianca purchasing a pound of fresh vanilla, too. I spare a few Lei of my own to buy each of them a little snack – Bianca having convinced me to try this fried dough snack sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. I also spared a few Lei to Gretta to buy whatever herb she had been talking about. She had sucked in a breath, but only spared a quick hug before running back to the farmer's stand.

We had done our job quicker than anticipated, and collectively agreed it would be worth the risk to browse other goods that are available today.

We've wandered into the arts section of stands and tables, earthenware pots and bowls mingling with paintings and jewelry. A weapon's table caught my eye, but a quick glance had me confirming I'm better off with that I have – though I did double back for a better look at some of their arrows.

I'm now standing behind Bianca as she browses a series of colored scarves, nibbling on her pointer finger as her eyes scan each color. I'm about to roll my eyes and huff in annoyance for the fifth time. Each one prior earned me a hiss and a sharp stare, and I only grinned back like a menace. I shouldn't be so stingy; I'd be the same if we happened to stop by a dress shop –

"Elena, over here! Look at all the paint!"

Something in my chest breaks at Lacy's voice.

At the sweetness and youth and kindness, untouched by cruelty, unaware of what I'd done, become—

I back away a step, looking over my shoulder like a frantic doe.

I can't do this. Can't bear for her to see me like this.

Then Elena's face emerges from the crowd, pulled by her fingers that are clutched in my sister's hand.

Beautiful—she's always been the most beautiful in the village. Soft and lovely, like a summer dawn.

Elena is exactly as I remember her, the way I made myself remember her during those nights of drowning in pity and despair.

Elena's golden-brown hair is half up, her pale skin creamy and flushed with color, and her eyes, like molten quicksilver, are wide as they take me in.

They fill with tears and silently overrun, spilling down those lovely cheeks.

She looks to Lacy, then to me.

But she doesn't yield an inch.

Elena lifts a slender hand to her mouth as her body shakes with a sob.

"Elena," I mouth.

"Look at this color, Elena!" Lacy chirps, picking up a bright magenta.

The paint nearly matches the dress she's wearing. It's a new one – I don't recognize it; two large black buttons sit at the front, mimicking the style of an overcoat. A white-collar peeks over the neckline, and the buckled shoes on her feet are freshly polished. Those are probably new too. Did that come from me, or from Luiza?

Lacy looks . . . brighter, then when I had left. I had sure she was well fed before, but now she looks as fully flushed as I am, having filled into her body, banishing the two years of starvation we faced. She looks youthful and, alive.

Elena snaps out of her trance, quickly putting on a bright smile and wiping her cheeks before kneeling down to nod at Lacy. She faints exaggerated shock as Lacy holds up another paint – an opaque sunset orange. Lacy giggles and hops with glee, setting the two braids of her dandelion hair flailing.

While Lacy continues to browse thanks to the patience of the elderly vendor, Elena rises back to her feet, staring at me; a protective hand on Lacy. She looks tempted to just bring Lacy over – to have her see me a smile at what would be a touching reunion.

But I give her an inconspicuous shake of my head.

Because I know my sister, and she won't want to leave me again if she sees me outside of the castle. And I can't bear to put her through the pain of another goodbye.

Elena nods; a sad smile on her thin lips. She still looks wanting to step over to me – to greet me, to hug me, to cry for me.

I pull my hood back before she can continue.

I watch her take a rattling inhale as she notices my scar. My eyes that are still lined with purple, my fuller hips and rounded figure—the face that is undeniably marked.

I lift the hood back up before anyone else can recognize me.

More tears fill Elena's eyes, and I can see her bottom lip quivering.

That's fine. Let her mind conjure – so long if it helps her stay away from me.

"Thank you," I hear Bianca smile towards the vendor, turning to me. "Okay, I think that should –"

She quietly gasps.

She steps up to my side, a strong, grounding presence. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear, though the ends still spill from the hood.

It's strange, to see Elena and Bianca in the same space – like a meeting of two different worlds. Two different stars orbiting me.

"Is that –?"

"Yeah," I whimper.

Elena looks between Bianca and I, and something that I can only familiarize with hurt, glistens within her tears. She steps around Lacy, blocking her line of sight to us, hands still on her little shoulders. Ready to guide her away from me.

"She's beautiful."

Something like a whimper breaks past my lips, and I can feel my body take a step forwards.

Only to be pinched on my forearm, and Bianca wrapping both of her arms around mine, mimicking a couple about the market.

Elena looks back at me one last time, her lips flattening into a saddened but disproving line.

For what? Bianca? No, Elena isn't that kind of person. Perhaps it's just pity, masked from her focus on making sure Lacy doesn't see me.

Her head turns down, Lacy no doubt showing her another paint color, and then I watch Elena's body shift and move, faintly hear her tell Lacy that there are some delicious snacks that they can get before heading back home to Luiza's.

My little sister hops with joy once more, setting her braids bouncing before Elena briskly pays for the paints and begins guiding her back into the throng of the crowd. Guiding her back to the safety of Luiza's house.

My body seizes and I try to take another step forward, but Bianca holds firm, lacing her fingers with mine to let me know she's there.

I watch as Elena guides Lacy away from me. And for the briefest of seconds, I am selfish; and I hope and pray and beg and plead with the Black God, with any gods to force Lacy to turn around.

To see me, to run to me, and let me embrace her for the thinnest of seconds. Just something to remind me that my sacrifices and abuses were not in vain. That I am doing the right thing by staying in the castle, walking my life on a thin rope just so it would mean another coin in my pocket towards Lacy's future.

But Lacy doesn't turn around. Nor does Elena before they're swallowed by the crowd. And I'm left standing there hollow and alone.

A phantom in the leaf fall.

The air is closing in around me, and suddenly it feels like the world is tilting beneath my feet.

I'm trembling, and my heart has leapt into my throat, causing my breathing to increase until I'm practically gasping.

Bianca steps in front of me, her hands braced on my arms. Her sensual, full mouth is saying something to me, but ears have been hollowed out from the blood pounding within them.

Even in the open square, everything feels too tight. My lungs too small, yet my heart too full to the point of bursting.

"Erika," I hear Bianca say.

My vision blurs with tears, and I shake off Bianca's hands before turning and stomping my way back towards the castle's stone gate. Not from anger, but from haste.

I can't afford to let anyone see me like this in a public market.

Behind me, I can hear Bianca ordering Gretta that we need to go. I don't hear the latter argue.

Their footsteps are constantly behind me, scurrying like rats until we pass the statue of the Maiden of War.

I don't stop.

I collide with the stone doors of the castle walls, and it swings open with a groan and stifling whine. Bianca and Gretta have to collective push to get the thing shut behind me.

I barely make it two steps past the stone gates before I collapse and cry.