Chapter 5

The rain was wet, wet, wet, and the girl watched it with longing as it tapped against the stained-glass windows above her. She had never been allowed outside when the weather was bad, as it so often was in her castle. She was on the brink of mastering the hydrophobos charm, but still, it would not be enough. The rain would have whipped the earth along the long-dead grass and brought up raised lines of mud as it doled out it's justice to the grounds in the form of a thousand strong lashes. The stone paths were cracked and would weep the brown tears of the earth and the delicate leather shoes she had now crossed under her chair, toes just resting on the threadbare carpet beneath her desk, would be browned and dirtied in seconds.

The girl longed to know what it would feel like to be dirty, to feel the grime accumulate between her toes and under her fingernails. She would have loved to know how the air tasted when it was so thick and heavy with the fallen bits of clouds, who traced their own tears in rivulets down her face. To be the mourner of the way the day sky fell, instead of the mourner of her own, private stars. This the girl wanted more than anything else. But she knew that her fate would not allow it.

"It is not proper for a princess to be out in the rain" the matron had said, her grey hair scraped in the smallest bun the girl had ever seen bobbing as she spoke.

Once, only once, the girl had dared reply, "I'm not a princess. Not a real one." The red-hot pinpricks of pain, as if each nerve of her face had been individually set alight came quickly and blindingly. The girl had fallen, and she arose, wiping the tears that leaked silently from her quickly swelling eye. Big, brutish, bloody-fisted. The matron, dull on her best days, had forgotten, in her sudden surprise, that she had a wand, and had punched the girl in the face. The girl felt downwards from her tears, and her fingers came back hot, smelling of thick iron. Matron's ring had split her face.

Dragging her by the ear, she had brought her forth to the master of the house, who had sewn up the wound so that it sealed without a scar. The girl had been furious at the loss of the mark. It would have been something, at least – something of her own. She had kneeled before him on the floor, his voice a leering whisper, as the magic made her whole again and erased her small transgression. The window in this sitting room was small, and the panes were all clear. She fixed her gaze determinedly on the fine netted silver that had knit the glass together to form the shape that now hugged the curve of the tower wall. The rain was incessant in it's begging to be let inside.

Tap. "Next time." The matron said in an undertone. Tap. "I won't leave a mark." Tap. The rain continued its knocking as the girl was swept away, a whirl of skirts and underskirts and ribbons. Clothing fit for a princess. The girl kept her tongue, but she could not tide the thoughts inside her head. Foolish rain. No one should be asked to be let in this castle. There was no way out. She kept her gaze upon the windowpane until the thick wooden door was slammed clumsily on its aging hinges, and matron was free to grab her ear again. For a moment, before she lost her sight, the tapping had stopped, and frost had instead reached out its long thin fingers, tangling itself in the fine mesh net of metal. She smiled in satisfaction. It was mid-July. She was eight.

The girl had not asked again to go out in the rain, but still, she absent-mindedly traced her fingers over the smooth white skin beneath her eye, where her scar should have been. It would have been five years old today.

She was still not used to the quiet that now surrounded her as she bent over her little books. Books on spells to chop potatoes and fold bed linens. House spells. The notes she had been meant to take were already completed in a hurried, cramped hand. Matron would disapprove of the sloppy work, she knew, but since her thirteenth birthday she had been spared the older woman's constant surveillance. With a furtive glance towards the study door, she tucked the notes away. From a concealed pocket near her chest, the girl produced a small folded piece of parchment. Here, there were other notes in neat, orderly lines. Spells on how to muffle sounds and disarm opponents. The small black book she had stolen them from lay across her study table. Grinning, she resumed her true study.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The knocked warning on the study door was loud enough to startle, but the girl had to keep her head. Any millisecond lost to jumping nerves would be her downfall. With steady fingers she tucked the book and the notes away, her wand at once shrinking them to tiny insignificance. She palmed them just as the door creaked open loudly on its failing hinges. This was the reason, she knew, that Matron was no longer breathing down her neck with every quill stroke she took. It was the reason she now studied alone. In case he wanted to visit.

The girl could feel the secret books and notes heavy in her hand. Forcing a smile, she stood and turned, in one coordinated motion smoothing the front of her skirts and dropping the illicit objects into a concealed pocket in the pleating of her dress. There was no whisper of distress on her features. The skin of her face was consistent white, unblemished and unbothered. She had no visible scars.

"Princess" the visitor called out. The girl did not falter, though she had to choke down the bile that crept up her chest. The acid of her stomach bit at her throat, sticking white hot tongues of pain to curl around her vocal cords. She concealed her discomfort with a blush, hiding her mouth behind a delicate hand. When she had found her composure again, the visitor was only a footstep and a half away from her. She felt the heavy weight of her little black book resting against her outer thigh, and she was comforted. The rain patted against the stained glass like seconds on a watch. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The girl raised her eyes from where they had been pointed demurely at the cracked stone floors of the castle. Green met brown as her gaze was met.

"My prince" the girl said, greeting her visitor with a curtsy. The small black book drew a half moon across her leg as she bent over.

P.S. Exams are finally over! Here's a short one to get back into the swing of things. Normal upload schedule is now resuming.