She cleared her throat to announce her presence, uncertain of what to say to him.
Father’s fingers paused from massaging his temples. He rose from his seat and moved like a graceful flit of wind to face her. Baby’s breath blossomed in his strands. His earthy eyes and dark hair were the only resemblance she had of him. But even then, her waves were marred with Mother’s genes: a singular pale strand that framed her face. She regularly hid it with glamor, despising anything too bright.
She had a full-hearted desire to hold these traits of hers close, as if they were pieces of him he’d given her.
Marina assessed Father’s creased brow and the strained skin around his gaze as he regarded her with a pained look. “Excuse me, Marina. I must go,” he said, stepping around her.
Earlier that morning, the servants escorted Marina to the great hall for breakfast where she spent the entire hour watching Father sit across from Naia with their porridge and a game of chess. Father smiled and teased Naia, she laughed, and their merriness put Marina in a foul mood. He granted Naia the type of affection she yearned to receive from him.
And here he was again, leaving her behind with little acknowledgement.
Her heart shrank, and she reached out to catch the sleeve of his robe. “Why must you overlook my victories?” Tears pricked her eyes, burning the back of her nose, and she hung her head to hide her emotion. “Why must you always turn away?—”
“I turn away, because I do not wish for you to see my disappointment.”
Marina grimaced, his words stinging in her chest like she’d swallowed venom.
She released his garment, tucking her arm into herself. “I am a disappointment to you?”
“In this moment, yes.” He said it the way he said everything—with unadulterated sincerity.
Droplets rolled down her face, gathering in between her trembling lips. She scraped them off with her hand. Heat climbed up her neck and filled the tips of her ears.
“Why?” Her voice rose in response to the uncontrollable intensity of emotions welling up her throat. “Tell me why. I have done everything that is asked of me! I am powerful, just as you and Mother are!”
Father frowned down at her. “Not once have I ever asked you to be like me or your mother.”
Marina’s eyesopened to her heart fluttering in her throat. The burgundy velvet draperies of Viviana’s guest room came into view, pops of sunlight peeking through the parted material.
She ran her fingers over the linen bedsheets. The cool fabric grounded her senses from the nightmare seizing her nervous system.
Marina let out a long exhale as the memory evaporated, wishing it had stayed locked away in the pits of her heartache.
But alas, the burdens persisted.
She sat up in Viviana’s bed and stared at the particles of dust floating in the daylight.
She never slept. Not since she was younger, before gods began trespassing into her bedchamber. A time she could barely recall. Though, she understood the cause of her sudden desire for sleep. So did Viviana and Mansi. They all knew. Much like they all knew it was unnecessary to speak the truth aloud. Which was why they allowed her to do so unbothered.
Grief had carved a wide tunnel in Marina. Each day, she walked with the pain, and sleep was reprieve from it. An escape while she carried on keeping her word.
A vow that required her to rise from bed.
She teleported across the room to the antique vanity.
Progress happened in small steps—getting out from the sheets, brushing her hair, putting on her dangling silver earrings and stacked chain necklace, her rings, and slipping in a scarlet dress that hugged her physique comfortably. She liked the way the hem of the dress swayed at her ankles when she walked.
Marina let out another long breath and faced herself in the mirror, avoiding her own dead eyes. The shade of her pink lips darkened to a velvety red. Rosy blush painted across her cheekbones, and the length of her eyelashes curled and extended.
The moment she abandoned these little things, she would lose herself entirely.
Marina’s heelsclickedagainst the wooden planks as she strolled down the corridor to the kitchen.
Viviana’s home was lined with brass inlays, engraved mahogany trim, polished rosewood furniture enhanced with gold accents, and arched doorways, all inspired by the Regency era in the Mortal Land. It was her favorite section of their world’s past.
Viviana often went off on her own adventures, studying the history of cultures and falling in love with the elegant architecture of buildings. Out and about, she’d point to the bold colors of the interior decor, or run her fingers over the heavy, opulent draperies hung at the tops of staircases and entryways, going on about the fabric and the shade. Marina would let her drone on, while Mansi pretended to listen with a bored look on her face, following up with a stupid question that always pulled an annoyed scoff from Viviana.
Marina could hear the faint octave of their voices around the corner.
