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“You saved me... down there.”

God, Larissa. What's wrong with you?

“I know,” she said with a smile, and any feeling of uncertainty disappeared.

Camille didn't mention it again, for which I was grateful.

She knew about my scars. I hadn't even had time to lie to her.

The urge to open up to her grew with every passing second, but I swallowed it down before it could turn into another stupid idea.

These were my problems. My shadows. Not hers.

I noticed that we had already arrived at the south wing of the mansion.

Camille's sock boots clicked evenly on the marble floor.

“Where are we going?”

She just smiled, then stopped in front of one of the grand double doors and opened it fully. With a gesture of her hand, she motioned for me to enter.

She Knows

Christopher Tyng

I entered a large double room, wallpapered in the most beautiful matte yet dark turquoise green I had ever seen.

The back room was a bedroom with a large, elegant king-size bed. But it wasn't the sleeping area that caught my attention. It was the front area.

Countless white lilies adorned the black porcelain vases with the gold and black family crest, and white peonies bloomed in an even larger vase in the middle of a waist-high black Baroque-style table.

Fascinated, I admired the abundance of flowers and wondered if the Transformed servants who had recently started working here had arranged them.

In the middle of the room stood a fashion doll in a black dress that looked unfinished, and farther along the side of the room were more fashion dolls in elaborate, finished evening gowns.

One of the black wooden wardrobes was open, displaying a collection of fabrics.

I walked through the room and touched the unnaturally soft fabrics. A viridian-colored satin evening gown, a wine-red velvet dress that would have been perfect for the 1920s, and a fairytale dress in black, studded with jet-black stone fragments.

“Are these...” I began, holding up the fabric of the dress. “Who made them?”

Camille's euphoric smile and the sparkle in her eyes made my jaw drop.

“Welcome to my little sanctuary.”

These were her dresses? She had created these works of art? Was there anything this stunning woman couldn’t do?

I looked back in amazement at Camille, who walked over to the table with the largest vase, set down her black clutch, then slipped out of her sock boots and removed her earrings, with her black gloves still on.

“May I?” she asked, looking at me as she fiddled with her earring, her head tilted to one side.

I nodded, confused.

“God, today's high heels.” She laughed softly. “The things we do for our jobs.”

She seemed relieved as she walked through her apartment in her black tights, which peeked out from under her suit pants, no less elegant than she had been in her bone-crushing shoes.

Here, within her own four walls, she seemed more natural, without losing any of her timeless beauty or charm.