“Then she is carried off by faeries into the woods, escaping the desire of man at the cost of her life.”
“But is she not free?”
“I suppose that is one way to interpret it.” I lowered my head back into my palms.
“Are you well?”
I nodded.
Footsteps, louder as they approached.
A hand grasped my jaw and tilted it up. My eyes widened at the man peering down at me. His expression was critical, calculating.
“What?” My voice cracked, not entirely woken up from my slumber.
He used his other hand to pull my bottom eyelid down.
“Stop that!” I swatted his hand.
“You are anemic.” He gripped my face to keep me still.
“Yes.” I clenched my jaw. “Iron deficiency, I told you.”
His eyes seemed sharp, pupils constricting. This may have been the first time I’d seen anything other than indifference, which was both relieving and terrifying at the same time. The pads of his fingers were firm against my jaw. My breath caught, heart pounding so hard I thought it would leap out my throat.
He finally let go, returning to his typical cool demeanor, and he did not comment before the front door slammed on his way out.
What was that?
I swallowed the lump in my throat, rubbing the skin where he’d grabbed. I supposed I could take some comfort in knowing I was right ... there was something off about him. The more I saw him, the greater the threat seemed.
A watch was ticking, something would happen. My dysfunction was the fact that I was more curious than afraid.What will he do? What is he made of?I wished to find out.
“Sœurette!” Cosette squeaked, rising steadily from her seat as she rested a tired hand on her belly, swollen with child.
The housekeeper let me in, and I glanced around the corner into the parlor room.
“Cosette.” I beamed. “I heard you were craving the blueberry scones.” I held up my basket.
“Yes!Sois béni!” She let out an exasperated sigh, pulling me into a hug.
I always wondered if I would have resembled my sisters if I weren’t the runt. They were classic beauties: hair like rich hazelnut and an olive depth to their skin even though they were pale, which made their deep blue eyes stand out even more. I shared nothing with them, as I was always sicker, paler, monochromatic—like my mother had forgotten to save that same vibrance for me.
I did not have many friends aside from Félice and Cosette, with the exception of Lorelei, and I liked to hear how their lives were, to live vicariously.
Our parents moved us from the South of France in our teenage years. We joined a ballet in Paris. It was there we gathered our first prospects, connections for our parents to use at their whim. Climbing the industrial ladder until we had enough to move here and begin anew, with rapidly growing appetites and means.
I admitted, I’d been sad to leave the ballet then, and I was sad to leave again now.
My sisters had no trouble making friends. I, on the other hand, never found any ease in the matter. The best I could do was befriend the governess, the milkman, maybe a funny-looking pigeon.
“How have you been?” Félice hugged me next. “I hope everything is well with you and Mr. Kamenev.”
“It is fine,” I mumbled, “but I don’t wish to talk about me today.”
We gathered around the tea table. Assorted scones, clotted cream, and margarine paired with our morning tea. My sisters were predictable—black tea, imported. I’d grown to prefer Russian Caravan, since it was gifted to me by a patron years ago.
“You seem pale.” Félice reached over to place the back of her hand on my forehead.
