9. South Wing

The south wing had been off limits to me. Forever. But I was reeling about Mix. And I had walked past the doors that led there and each time I had an urge to enter. Like something was drawing me there. Finally, I gave up. The south wing was mine. I didn't know where River was, and I could hardly care less. Maybe if he found me, he'd kill me.

I toyed with the idea. It felt good.

The first floor of the south wing had another foyer like room, then a room that was locked. I had no idea what it was, but I was entirely curious. I'd been given a key for the many doors in the house, and I was interested to know if any of them fit. I tried each one without success. It irritated me. But there was little I could do, so I went to the next floor.

It was a gallery. Set out in a large space with a few marble walls jutting out, paintings hung on them. It was mostly full of many of River's paintings. There were more sculptures too. Sculptures of fey and humans. They were all beautiful, but I was hardly surprised. There were also a few of River's music compositions as well and sketches and drawings. I spent some time looking at them, but soon they all became a blur. I swore each face looked like mine. The third floor was similar to the second. Just another gallery.

The one thing that I noticed was that everything was dusty and dark. Some paintings were covered in a sheet. I assumed this was because the maids were never allowed to come in here to clean. So it stayed a musty mess. It was almost… foreboding.

It was the fourth floor that was the most interesting. It was an art studio, or workshop.

I stepped into the room hesitantly, not scared, just not wanting to make any noise or see River. The room dark, dank and dusty. A few hundred years worth of dust. Although, River had said this place had been around for a long time – longer than our human history had said – under a different glamour. So maybe a few thousand years worth of dust. Yuck.

A little light filtered through the dirt-covered stained glass windows on adjacent sides off the rooms – this room was in the very corner of the house. It looked like the art rooms at my school. It had a few long benches with cupboards and easels. There were paint pallets and brushes scattered everywhere. There were also a few buckets, of what I assumed to be full of clay, with sinks and taps near them. In the back of the room was a kiln. I have to say I wasn't so surprised. I guessed this was where River painted.

I looked at each of the easels, covered with half finished paintings. On the benches were more rolled up pieces of paintings. I studied each one carefully, tracing my fingers over the careful brush strokes, sometimes picking them up and letting beams of light fall over the colours. Not all the paintings were out of the opaque window as I had first assumed.

Some were of the ballroom; two figures in one another's arms. One figure was male and had dark skin, though his face wasn't clear, and wore a blue shirt and white pants. The other figure was a woman, silky black hair, chocolate skin and a midnight blue dress. It was very pretty painting. It reminded me so much of my dreams it scared me, and I turned the painting away so I didn't have to look at it.

Some paintings were of a sunset or a simple chair sitting in the centre of one of the empty rooms in the mansion. But what I found most unsettling about these paintings was that they all were so… enigmatic. They gave off this sort of… feeling. A suppressed, powerful feeling of loneliness and isolation. But then, maybe that was just me. Just what I knew. I knew too much, I decided.

I was about to leave the room, but something caught my eye. A fairy. Like the ones on the mantle piece of the dining room. A tiny sculpture that looked like a stereotypical faery from the stories. I walked to the tiny clay figure that currently was just a shape, no real colour except the rusty colour of dried out clay.

I picked it up in my hands and looked at it carefully. She was wearing a long ball gown – one that looked very similar to the one in my closet, to the one I had only ever worn once – that was carved so perfectly it looked terribly real. Like a miniature human. Except for the wings. I traced my hands over the large butterfly-type wings that protruded from the figure's back. They were also immaculately carved, down to the last detail, last line.

I turned the fairy over in my hands – it was no bigger than my palm – and almost dropped the sculpture. It was me. The thin face, small eyes and fearless expression. I knew the small nose and high cheekbones. The slender figure and long legs.

This was me. And it was so perfect the beauty the figure showed stunned me. The loose curls that fell gently around my shoulders, arms angled behind my back, head arched upward, as if I were about to take off and fly.

This was me, but it was me from a different time. A different place. Somewhere happy. This wasn't me anymore. Without much conscious thought my hand came down on the bench with too much force. My palm muffled the sound of the smash and I smiled. I lifted my hand slowly and looked at the damage. The fairy version of me was in pieces on the bench, some sharp bits of clay were sticking out of my palm. I slowly picked each shard out of my hand, watching the blood flow and smiling more with each cut.

How dare he have a figurine of me. Nothing more to sit up on the mantelpiece with all those other maids. A souvenir. A memento. I'm a person – not a small sculpture to be admired and fawned over. Not a piece of artwork. I took a step away from the bench and looked again at the room. Dust hung over everything like a cloud. Like River. So old and hidden it was enough to scare anyone sane. I laughed. Laughed at the thought of being sane. I guess I knew that I was slowly going mad. I guess I knew I would end up nothing more than a mad woman, cleaning the house of an immortal faery. I laughed again, louder. Maybe I was mad. That would make more sense. More sense than me being held captive by a magic faery. Actually, maybe that was true. I was simply mad. At that thought I smiled again. Madness would be so much better than this nightmare being real. Madness.

"Madness." The word tasted good. "I'm crazy. Insane." I laughed as the words make me feel giddy. Happy.

"Giselle?" I heard River's deep soothing voice enquire. My dream-like giddiness disappeared in an instant. His voice woke me. I hated it. I hated him.

"Yes," I said turning slowly to face him. I was reminded of my prince. I wondered whether River's lips would be much like my prince's. No, I knew that River's cold dead lips wouldn't know warmth even if I stuck them to a hot pan. That idea felt good to me – sticking River's lips to a hot pan. In fact, sticking his whole head in a pot of boiling water sounded good to me. "Who else would it be? It isn't as if you have friends." I felt… reckless.

"That is true," River said, not bothered by my comment. "But why are you here? I asked you not to enter the south wing."

"Well, it only makes one curious," I shrugged. I moved towards him, making for the door. As I tried to pass him, he grabbed my arm roughly, sending a shiver up me as his fingers brushed too close to my side.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, nodding his head towards the smashed remains of the figurine. "Was it not a true representation?" River's unfathomable blue eyes stared me down, daring me to say no.

"She was happy," I answered.

"Is there something wrong with that?" River just looked confused. He was close to me, hand still holding my arm, our noses close. I felt my hair ruffled as each breath escaped his lips. Again, I had an urge to see if River's lips are like my prince's. Just one kiss… No! River wasn't my prince. He was nothing more than a monster. My monster, but a monster all the same.

"Let's just say I don't particularly want to be stuck up on a mantelpiece like nothing more than cheap decoration. I'm real, River. I'm a real person. Not some pathetic toy you get to play with."

"That could be debatable," River said in a cold voice that I hadn't heard him use before. His hand tightened on my arm for a second, eyes digging into me. I felt myself shudder under his stare, but I didn't look away. Instead, I moved my mouth closer to River's. I let a small breath out, near his chin. I saw River's mouth droop just a little. I brought my lips to the top of his cheekbone and felt River's body as it went rigid against mine. I grazed my lips slowly across River's cheek and down the line of his jaw. I could feel his scratchy skin, but for some reason, it was a little thrilling.

I wasn't scared of River raping me anymore; I think it was the dreams that conquered that fear. Now, I knew how to use what I had over him. River was frozen. I could tell. Having this… power over him made me feel better. Stronger. Like I wasn't so goddamn helpless. I moved my free arm to River's waist, bringing it down to his hip, over the bone and down the side of his leg. My lips were still near his, but I didn't make any move to get them closer. I kept my mouth on his cheek, just at the corner of his lips. I wanted to see what he would do. Just a slight turn of his head to the right and he could kiss me. Turn to the left and the spell would be broken. It was his choice. I was startlingly aware of River's ragged breathing and the way his body was reacting to my close proximity.

"Well," I whispered, moving my lips over his skin as I spoke. "If I'm your toy, if I'm no more than something to keep you occupied, show me. Show me what you want to do with me. With my beauty. With my body." River still didn't move, his body stiff, every muscle taunt. I couldn't help but smile, River's callused skin brushing against my lips as I did. I was about to pull away, when River's arm snaked around my waist, his hand finding the small of my back. I could feel the metal coil he always wore digging into my back. The breath caught in my throat, wondering if he had called my bluff.

"Do not tease me, my dear Giselle." He said it. My dear Giselle. Just like my nightmares. I was suddenly cold, the hairs on the back of my neck standing. "There is not much a man can do when he has been provoked," River said into my ear, his voice uneven and course. So unlike the smooth confidence I was used to. He was unnerved. I had unnerved River. I felt triumphant. I smiled without hesitation.

"You scared?" I coaxed. We were still embraced, my hand on his leg, his arm around my back, our mouths so close I could feel his warm breath on my cheek.

"You are a dangerous girl," River answered. I ran my lips softly over his, feeling the way his jaw snapped shut and hand tightened around me, then I pulled away, staring at River, watching him watch me.

"You have a weakness," I grinned.

"I have many, I just do not like revealing them," River answered, his expression not changing. He released my arm and looked me up and down. "I think you should leave."

"Already gone." I turned quickly, then asked, "What's on the first floor of this wing? The locked door?" I didn't face him, instead stopped at the doorframe.

"It is a vault. Treasury."

"Oh. Where you keep your stolen money."

"Do not try my patience. You know what I can do."

I left. As quietly as I could. I was certain I could feel his eyes on me.

"Back again, Giselle Belle," Johnny smirked as I entered the living room. That was the nickname he'd used when I'd known him before River. Giselle belle. He'd told me that belle meant beauty in French. Like the story, Beauty and the Beast. He'd always said that I was the beauty and he was beast. I'd told him to keep dreaming.

There were two strangers sitting on the couch, their movements slow and sloppy, as if they were in water. A bong was sitting on the coffee table next to them.

"Couldn't get enough of you," I told him, only half joking. Johnny laughed softly.

"You want some more?" he asked.

"How much am I going to have to pay?"

"Only as much as the next guy."

"Seems fair," I answered. I'd seen Johnny deal before, and knew about how much I'd have to pay. It was safely tucked away in my pocket. Johnny nodded, moving to one of the rooms and coming back, slumping down on the couch. He held up his hand, and shook the small plastic pocket of white powder.

"Got the money?"

"If cash is all right with you?" I said with sarcasm and held out my notes. Johnny smiled at the money as it entered his palm. He passed over the small packet of coke and began counting his cash. Once he'd done that he offered me a seat. I shook my head.

"You aren't gonna' do that here?" he asked, looking surprised.

"Nope, I'm saving it for later."

"Sure. It won't last long," Johnny laughed. I ignored him.

"Is Mix here?"

"Nope." Johnny shook his head. "Haven't seen her in…" He paused, no doubt trying to remember when day and night began and ended. After a few seconds he shrugged and said, "A few days. Don't know where she went."

"Okay," I nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you."

"Of course, Giselle Belle."

I stared at myself in the mirror. Watching the way my hair fell about my face. The way my lips curved. The way my cheekbones were shaped. I wasn't pretty anymore, I decided. Not with coke resting gently in my hand. Why did I go back to Johnny's? I reasoned that it was to see Mix, but I knew that was just a validation. I'd wanted more coke. I'd wanted to feel alive again. The small plastic packet suddenly felt heavy in my hands. I shook it. The white particles moved, but didn't change. I wasn't entirely sure why that surprised me. What would River do if I took some now? I could almost feel the pressure of the angel and demon that fell upon my shoulders.

Angel: There's no reason to do it. (The voice of logic and rationality).

Demon: I thought being held captive by River was enough reason. (The voice of justification).

Angel: It didn't feel that good last time.

Demon: Are you kidding? It felt awesome.

Angel: It just clouds your judgement.

Demon: And what do you need judgement for. Your whole life is controlled by River anyway.

Angel: You and Mix had a pact.

Demon: Mix broke it first.

Angel: You don't even have a mirror to put the lines on. (The angel was really clutching at straws now).

Demon: CDs work perfectly well. (The counter always managed to sound more persuasive).

Angel: River will get mad.

Demon: He gets mad anyway. At least this way you can block him out.

Angel: I guess that's true. (Gee, it didn't take much for the angel to be swayed). But, really, Giselle, that doesn't make it any better.

Demon: Oh, but it does. You and I know, Giselle. That prude angel has no idea what we've been through. And what the high feels like.

Angel: Fine. (The angel's pouting now). Give me some. I'll prove that drugs don't solve anything.

I dropped the packet of coke onto my dresser and scrambled to find two CDs. Once I had, I opened the packet of white powder and shook some onto one disc. With the other I shifted the coke into a line. I dropped the second CD and lifted the first to my nose. My distorted reflection looked back at me. Twisted and vague it was almost a true representation. For some reason this made me smile. I tipped the CD slightly, watching the light bounce off it. My reflection disappeared, replacing it with the blue colour of my marble room. Slivers of rainbow coloured light leapt from the CD, spinning around the disc as I shifted its position. What was the point? Was there one?

Yes, I decided. I grabbed a pen and pulled out the ink cylinder. I snapped the pen in half so it was just an empty plastic tube. I put the CD on my dresser and knelt down beside it. Bringing the broken pen to my nose, I lowered my head carefully over the CD.

I guess I could blame the demon the first time. The second time, I could blame the angel. The third time, was entirely me.

Once is a mistake. Twice is a reminder. Three times can't be justified. It was the high. And that's it. The high that drove me.

River was mad. But it didn't seem real. And I didn't care. He yelled, but I mostly ignored it. Finally, he left, mumbling something about punishment when I wasn't so delirious. And I left the house.

Again I was followed by dreams and fey. It seemed my mind was so much more open with the powder. It felt good. This time I smiled at some fey. Even flirted a little. River would be so mad. Jealous, even. It made me laugh. I liked that.

I even found myself somewhere familiar. In my old street. In front of my house. I watched it for a long time. I wondered if my family were thinking strange things of the weird girl standing in their driveway. It only made me laugh louder.

Soon, the feeling wore off. And I wanted more.

It didn't take long to get to Johnny's.