They meet us in the hall, and their faces are streaked with tears. I have told no one of my plan, not yet. First, we must return.
We place a finger on the locket and at once we are there, and it has not changed.
But there is an aching absence of Evelyn.
I look around, desperately, knowing in my heart of hearts that she is gone, and that I cannot follow her. But still I turn, and gaze, and peer into even the darkest corners.
I turn towards the vines, and let out a yelp, because they have gone.
In their place is a beautiful statue, carved precisely into perfection, and yet it looks as though it has been there since time began, part of nature itself. It is a girl, around our age, carved into silvery stone. She is naked, but one of her legs is positioned in a way in which shields her modesty. Her wild long hair falls, covering the curve of a breast, and her hand plays with her curls, protecting the other from prying eyes. A perfect pout is playing with her lips, and she looks directly at me. It seems contrived, unnaturally faultless.
I wonder for a long time at this new appearance. Who put her there? Why?
They seem not to notice the girl, and yet I as mesmerised. Pippa and Ann, and even Fee dance and spin and laugh and sing and play for what seems like mere seconds and long hours. But the girls' eyes are following my every movement. Occasionally I turn towards her, try to understand what she reminds me of, but I cannot.
"Gemma! Gemma, darling!" Pippa calls to me, her hair tousled and crumpled from their games. I tear my eyes from the carving, join my friends and slowly lose myself in nothingness, in empty words and careless kisses and the belief that we could be different.
We return, drowsy and flushed, our lips red and our eyes heavy and dark. We stumble up the stairs, kiss each other goodnight, and head for slumber.
But I cannot. I toss and turn and my mind drifts to Kartik.
His face. His dark curls. The strong outline of his nose, the petal soft of his lips, the inky velvet of his eyes. The stubble coating his jaw, the line of hair ending at his waistband, the shapely muscles covering his chest. The way he feels on top of me, testing me, trying me, his knee separating my thighs, his gossamer fingertips exploring every inch of me, his breath, soft and dewy on my neck, his kisses, heavy and warm as spring rain.
Kartik.
Please don't go.
I wake, startled and tingling, every nerve ending on fire. I know he is here, and he has been watching me sleep.
"Kartik?"
He rises from his seat, walks towards me, and I struggle into a sitting position. He touches me before he speaks, running a hand through my tangled curls. My face is warm, and his fingertips feel like icy silk across them.
"Gemma..."
He leaves the words unsaid, dangled tantalisingly in front of me. He has not gone. He stayed.
For me?
"Kartik ... what are you doing?" My eyes are wide open, despite my sleep, and I shift slightly on the bed, subtly pushing back the blankets and exposing my bare legs. My nightdress has ridden up and I wonder if he will object.
If he will even notice.
"Gemma... I came to say sorry."
At first his words mean nothing. I do not understand, I cannot understand. What must he apologise for? Then I remember. But, strangely, my feelings do not resurface. I understand why he would not let me go, I understand everything.
"That is alright, Kartik. I mean, at the time, it killed me, I had to watch as my mother and sister ... but I am fine, now, really. I have missed you."
He does not respond, and a slinking warning of dread, slithers up my spine.
"Gemma ... now that I have done what my task was ... there is no reason for me to stay."
I know the meaning of the words, but I will not accept them. He is lying, testing me. Seeing if I will break. I am about to reply, when we hear a noise from the hall outside my bedroom door and he is gone, swift as an arrow, through the window. I am not sure if he is climbing down to the soft grass below, but he is gone. I use these precious seconds to rinse my mouth out with rose water, next to the sink. The light, and the shuffling footsteps depart, and I go to the window and call his name gently.
"Kartik."
He reappears, but seems reluctant to re-enter the room. I refuse to stand by the window listening to him talk though, so he eventually relents, and climbs back in. Before I know what he is doing, I am pressed up roughly against the wall, his tongue exploring my mouth and his hands on my waist. My nightdress in caught up between us, and I can feel my bare thighs pressed against his legs. He seems to notice, because his fingertips stray down to them, and, lifting me slightly, he wraps me around his waist. My virtue is pressed against him, and he chuckles softly as he reaches out a hand and pushes my curls away from my face.
"Gemma, Gemma, what could I do without you?"
I say nothing, merely moan breathlessly, and press closer to him again. He lifts me tenderly, lays me on the bed, and his fingertips stray once more to the hem of my nightgown. He pushes the crumpled cotton up, until his fingers are resting of the smooth expanse of my stomach. I tense, unsure of whether I want to continue.
He is a gypsy boy, after all.
He knows I have thought it, because he stands, and glares down at me coldly.
"What, am I not good enough for you?"
I struggle into a sitting position, my hand at my locket instinctively, and the magic courses through me once more. I lean back down, cock my hips sensually, and push down the sleeves of my nightgown so that I reveal unto im my collarbones, and the creamy curves of my breasts.
I can see his willpower buckling, and I revel in this power that I seem to hold over him. Not for the first time, I understand why Felicity craves this feeling so very much. I understand so much.
But he just leans down, places the sweetest of kisses on my forehead, pulls the blankets over my body gently, and whispers the word 'goodbye'.
And he has broken me.