“Why do you always wear that necklace?”
She had never seen Lilith wear a different accessory since her arrival to the castle. Even at the wedding, she had kept the pearls. The question made Lilith’s fingers instinctively reach for them.
“They’re a gift from someone special to me.”
“A lover?” Amelia asked, remembering her godmothers’ gossip.
“Almost. He was going to propose when we turned eighteen.” There was something soft in her half-lidded eyes, a wave of indiscernible emotions that lingered like a veil. “Naturally, he wasn’t very happy when I left.”
A sad smile crept onto Lilith’s lips. The expression made Amelia’s chest clench. Of course Lilith had cared about someone elseprior to marrying her father or meeting Amelia. She had a whole life before them, one that she left behind. That was the way the world worked, wasn’t it? There were too many complications for the things they wanted to become true. Lilith could not be with the boy from her past, and Amelia could not uproot the feelings she had for the woman her father married.
“You should be with someone you love.” Amelia looked around, making sure no one was close enough to be in earshot, then whispered, “Not someone like my father.”
Lilith placed a hand over Amelia’s and gave a gentle squeeze for reassurance.
“Love comes in many forms. I don’t believe it can be contained within one person.” She hummed in thought “Well, I suppose it could, but it would be quite limiting. If you live your life for only one person, that’s not much of a life, is it?”
Amelia held Lilith’s hand and felt the warmth spread to the rest of her body. Her grip on Lilith tightened, as if she could fuse together with the woman. It was easier to escape into another’s shadow and pretend to care about tomorrow than it was to confess she wished for no tomorrows at all.
The sun dipped below the horizon when they left the marketplace. The two of them crossed leaf-covered roads, passing by carts of goat cheese, handcrafted signs, and bouquets of flowers bursting from metal buckets. It wasn’t until Amelia passed by one stall that she stopped in her tracks.
The antique shop looked like it was frozen in time, filled with old hand-painted plates, mirrors with dust-coated corners, and brittle jewelry boxes with polished stone inlays. She was amused by the tiny figurines of a cat and rabbit in petticoats, as if they were on their way to a tea party. Beside them in a glass cabinet sata row of dollhouses, delicate wooden blocks of miniature castles and manors. Their painted walls burst in rich gold-and-green trimmings, tall and pointy rooftops, and spiral staircases with flooring so smooth a marble could roll without making a sound. Each house was handmade and painstakingly crafted, every detail a delicate piece of art painted by nimble fingers.
“See something you like?” Lilith’s voice trailed after her.
Amelia nodded, her gaze passing the rows of extravagant facades and narrowing on a small cottage near the back. While the surrounding miniatures were freshly painted, the cottage was so little and plain that it almost blended in with the rest of the wood casing. Only through close inspection could one see its quiet beauty. A misshapen roof crouched atop walls painted gray, but its shadows created textures that mimicked stone. The rocks were mostly gray and unevenly sized, yet flashes of color faintly popped wherever her gaze lingered, like secret eyes that opened to catch a glimpse of the rest of the world they hid from.
It was as if she had dreamed this house into life. Amelia imagined herself twirling inside the cottage in a lace dress, like a dancer in a music box.
The antique collector emerged, having caught her staring. “There’s more to this one than meets the eye. May I?”
The collector unlocked the glass case and held the dollhouse. She turned the cottage around to the backside. A faint gasp escaped Amelia’s lips. Behind the house, where vines wrapped around the porch, a sunflower garden grew in a soil field. They were misshapen from clay and paint, their stalks bent in different directions, yet the yellow petals still looked bright.
She could see someone living here. Someone who spent warm afternoons eating cake, wearing circle skirts, watering sunflowersin her garden. A simple life in a small home. An unknown girl, forgotten by history. Exactly who she wanted to be.
• • •
AMELIA BOUGHT THE dollhouse and took it home. After dinner, she returned to her bedroom and found it destroyed.
Gray stones scattered on the floor, the crooked chimney broken into pieces. Shards of glass from tiny windows shone like teardrops. The rooftop had collapsed entirely. In the garden, the sunflowers were snapped in half, white cracks fracturing their seeds.
“Oh, Amelia. I’m so sorry.” Dahlia was the first to notice Amelia in the doorway, while Iris and Clover stood beside the ruins. Amelia rushed over to the broken dollhouse. She fell to her knees and scooped the broken pieces. Iris flicked her wrist, causing a spark of electricity jolted Amelia, harmless yet firm enough to pull her hands back instinctively.
“Don’t touch, dear. We’ll dispose of it.”
“Why?” Amelia’s voice was barely a whisper.
Clover bent down and let her fingers roam through the broken furniture inside the dollhouse. Wooden blocks representing books, clocks, and tiny bells painted in detail now had white cracks in their coating, spoiling the fantasy. She plucked a spinning wheel so small it fit into the base of her palm. The spindle looked like a toothpick in comparison to her fingers.
“The servants found this while cleaning your room. Imagine the horror if this had crossed your path!”
“I couldn’t have pricked my finger on that,” Amelia said. “It’s made of plastic.”
A deep voice emerged from behind her. “It’s not about the spindle, Amelia. It’s about what it represents.”
She turned around to her father’s shadow. Under moonlight, the grays of his hair became more apparent. He nodded to the godmothers, who gestured to the broken dollhouse with glowing palms. The plastic furniture, cracked windows, and broken sunflowers shone under the light before turning to ash. A whisper of wind fluttered through the crack of Amelia’s bedroom window as the debris dissolved.
“Malicine chose a spinning wheel to be your downfall for a reason,” her father said. “She knows you are naive. That you are the type of girl who will let yourself be swept up in whimsical fancies and then carelessly prick your finger on a spindle.”
