Claire frowned against the heels of her hands and heaved a sigh. She let them fall away, flopping onto her chest like roosting doves and tracing the exaggerated swell of her struggle to breathe.
“It is only a craving,” she said after a moment. “Like when you cannot fit into your favorite dress and you know you must resist sweets, only to have the most delicious pie, hot and steaming and fragrant, left right in front of you, ready to offer a bite.”
“I see,” said Millie without judgement.
“It isn’t a momentary temptation, you understand,” Claire continued, turning her face toward her sister in the rollingshadows. “It is one of those things that will scratch at you, wear you away, until you finally succumb. You must have a slice of the pie if you ever want to go back to a world that isn’t dominated with thoughts of it. It is the only way to end the torment.”
“So you … you had a slice of the pie?” Millie asked, unmoving, without inflection.
“Yes.” Claire frowned. “No! I nibbled a bit at the crust, and it’s only made things worse. The pie didn’t cooperate.”
“I hate when they do that,” Millie replied, a dryness creeping into the steadiness that honestly made Claire feel a little better.
Claire pushed herself up, her hair coming out of its clasp in bent ringlets around her face. “You can’t just have a nibble of crust, Millie! You have to eat an entire slice of the pie. There is no cheating! There’s no way around a craving!”
Millie reached up to touch her lips, as though to push them away from forming an expression that might be interpreted as laughter. “Claire, my dearest,” she said with a little snort, “I think I am losing my grip on this metaphor.”
“I think you understand me perfectly well,” she shot back, the lights from the Crooked Nook approach making their faces waver and flash unsettlingly. “In fact, I’m certain you do.”
“Perhaps,” Millie replied easily as they drew to a halt, as the driver’s feet hit the pebbles underfoot. “Though nibbling could mean a great many things, you must agree.”
“Why don’t you just assume I literally bit him and be satisfied with that?” Claire mumbled back, cutting herself off as the door opened and they were offered a hand down to the drive of the house.
“I’d rather not picture it, to be frank with you,” Millie answered pleasantly, as though they were discussing unpleasant decor. She ignored Claire’s cutting glance at her and smiled beatifically as they entered the house and scaled the stairs. When they reached the top, she did not turn toward her own rooms.
“What are you doing?” Claire demanded as her sister fell in step with her toward the master suite and followed her inside.
“Preventing you from the follies of midnight cravings,” Millie replied, stepping over to the vanity like it belonged to her and beginning the process of removing her jewelry and unpinning her hair. “Everyone knows that indulging in the dead of night always results in eating far more pie than you would with a clear mind and a rested temperament.”
“Why do you care if I eat too much pie?” Claire returned, pulling her wardrobe open. “I got the impression before that you’d approve if I did.”
“Ah, well, even good things can harm us in excess or poor planning, Claire,” Millie answered, walking over to assist her with the laces at the back of her dress. “It is best to eat the pie when you know for certain that you want to.”
“I absolutely want to,” Claire grumbled, winning a shocked titter from her sister.
The gown came off over her head, followed by the stays. She kicked her mud-speckled shoes into a corner. She threw her earrings and lace choker into a dish on her nightstand.
“I will sleep in my shift,” Millie said when Claire offered her a nightgown. “You know your things never fit me.”
“Fine.”
Once they were tucked into the bed and the lanterns had been extinguished and dark had settled over them enough to no longer be impermeable, Millie turned her head on the pillow to look at her.
“Knowing that you want to isn’t a bad thing,” she said. “It is more valuable for certain than not knowing what you want at all.”
“Maybe,” Claire allowed. “The problem is the regret you feel after you’ve given in to a craving that you know is bad for you. The problem is never fitting into your favorite dress again because of all the pie.”
In the dark, Millie’s hand slid across the blankets and clasped Claire’s. She sat with what Claire had said for a moment, considering it, and then she answered, “Sometimes, the pie is not nearly as heavy as we remember it having been. Sometimes, a lighter touch makes it less of a risk.”
“Rarely,” Claire answered, sighing.
“And sometimes,” Millie added with a squeeze, “we realize that we’ve outgrown a favorite dress. Sometimes, a day comes where the fabric has worn thin or the fashion has run its course or it doesn’t suit us anymore at all because we, ourselves, have changed.”
Outside, somewhere in the direction of the dower house, a dog barked. Outside, more carriages began to arrive, crinkling into the drive under a chorus of yawns and well-wishes.
“Let’s just go to sleep,” Claire suggested, “before I actually go down to the kitchens and demand a literal pie.”
“All right,” said Millie on a yawn. “Sleep tonight. Pie tomorrow.”
