Prologue
Sky
Six years ago
What is that on my head?
Dazed, I try to touch the source of this burning sensation.
It's damp.
My eyelids are heavy, but I force them open, wanting to see what sticks to my fingers.
Nothing.
"What were you thinking?" someone asks.
Who?
"I'm talking to you. Please, answer." Disappointment lingers in that voice, distant and muffled. "Skady. Blohm. What's wrong with you?"
Skady? Nobody calls me by my given name, only Father when...
Ohhh.
It's serious. I force my eyelids open and recognize Father's perplexed face. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the suite, holding the charred remains of a veil in his hand. And there's Mother, leaning against the desk next to him, arms crossed, her eyes as far away from me as possible.
"What's gotten into you?" Father inquires, waving the gossamer fabric in front of my eyes as if trying to hypnotize me. The rustling of the silk sounds like a thousand needles simultaneously piercing my eardrums.
Frantically, I snatch the veil from his hand. "Nothing," I shout, not even sure why. "Just leave me alone!"
Are tears welling up in my eyes? Why are the wine-red curtains of the hotel room suddenly blurred?
Now, Mother steps forward. "Stop pretending, Skady. We already know," she says in a thin voice.
Dammit. They know about Levi? How?
"Even a blind man could see what's wrong with you." She shakes her head. "You are—"
"Let me handle this, Ida." Father interrupts, and she falls silent. He focuses on me with a resigned expression. "Do you have any idea of the damage you've caused today?" His tone alone makes me feel nauseous.
He is immensely disappointed. And rightfully so.
I bite my lip, feeling the pain but unable to erase the memory, even if it's distorted. I remember every detail.
"You've ruined everything. We can forget about the collection." I wish he would yell at me, but he's so deflated that I'd rather disappear in shame.
"I'm sorry," I mumble. "That was never..."
Father raises his hand. Although my thoughts are currently riding a roller coaster in the fog, I know it's better to remain silent.
His lips form a thin line, and he takes a deep breath through his nose. "Here's what's going to happen."
I try to stand still, but I fear I'm swaying. Or maybe it's the carpet with its psychedelic pattern. Or the walls. I have no idea.
"Our driver will take you to England today. There, you can find yourself again," he continues in a shaky tone.
What? They're sending me away? Today? "But..."
