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THE WIND WAS AN UNRULY DEMON, BENT ON DESTRUCTION AND VENGEANCE. It battered her night gown, twisted it around her ankles. Her hair was wet with the spraying brine that spilled over the edge of the white cliffs. Her eyes, hollow and black, were filled with fear that choked the scream that rose in her throat, begging for release. Her thoughts were racing. Indecision was echoed in her every movement, her every sniffle, and every tear that ran down her bare, pale throat.
She spread her arms wide, her nightgown stuck to her body from the spraying water. Her feet took a timid step forward, inching and feeling for the wide crest of the brink. A single breath, deep yet strangled, was all it would take. She readied for it, prepared to jump, to throw her body from the edge. The wind whipped at the sodden fabric, spreading it like wings, jostling her and carrying her roughly towards the edge. But no – she wasn’t ready – not just –!
Her foot slipped from the edge. She struggled to grab at the soaked ground. The broken shards of rock tumbled down, possibly hundreds of feet, where they crashed into the angry, hungry sea. The dark, uncertain waters frothed and foamed like an animal suffering from rabies. The waters rolled and crashed, rose and fell, beckoning to her. Their low groans and sighs, hoarse whispers of desire, wrapped themselves around her body like a tight blanket. The exhilaration of flying through the air, free as a bird, before crashing into the unknown – sinking like a ball on a chain, battered briefly by the waves before being engulfed completely by their hunger. It was a short, painless death; no panic should ever be felt – Just a painful decision at most.
Behind her, she heard the hollow, rhythmic beat of drums. She turned, seeing the whirling black capes, the horses’ manes and tails tangled, untamed in the wild wind. They raced towards her, an army of three. Behind their angry masks they breathed their devilish chants low beneath their breath. They would gain on her. “It’s only three,” her mind whispered to her. Yet, this prickling fright inside her gut yanked the scream back, lodging it in her throat, strangling her.
The man with the white horse reached to grab at her arm, his horse spinning on its haunches, foam spitting from its mouth. The mud pulled the horse down, yanking it in. The moment of hesitation, where he hovered between horse and sky, cost him – the woman escaped his grip, jumping out towards the ocean. Her gown flew out like wings as she plunged down towards the ocean. She was the only one who had escaped.
Lilith woke with a struggled, deep breath. She could feel a cold sweat on her chest and back. These dreams had been plaguing her since she arrived here at the Stonefeather estate. This nervous paranoia that she’d developed – insomnia, almost – made her into a crabby, unpleasant girl; more so than usual.
For a few nervous moments, Lilith sat beneath her heavy blankets, wiggling her cold feet. Finally, she kicked the tangled linens from her legs and stood, padding quietly across the cold, creaky wooden floors until she reached the windows.
A phantom stared back at her, reflected in the cool window. Lilith warmed it with her breath, watching the frost melt from the panes. She became clear, her image glowing with the faint light outside, transparent and flickering, like a candle flame. Her gray eyes were still as steely as ever, staring out across the road.
The street lamps cast their luminous yellow glow on the frosted cobblestones beneath. She was still uneasy by this dream: each day it had progressed into something worse and worse, a story that never ended, but only continued to pull her deeper and deeper into the mystery of it all. Lilith pushed these apprehension away, blaming it on her imagination.
Lilith moved from her window to curl up on the window seat that was tucked up in the corner of her octagonal room. She felt cramped in here; like some very unlikely princess locked away in her tower. In truth, however, Lilith had free reign to roam about the house. She wasn’t sure she wanted to sneak around this time of evening, though. Beneath her, she could hear the noisy stomps, and rowdy singing of the servants in their quarters. They all seemed to enjoy their selves when uncle Osmond was gone. Can’t say I blame them, Lilith thought to herself, leaning her sleep-heavy head against the wall.
This growing unease that Lilith was beginning to feel was strange for her. She’d spent nine years of her life in the dark. She’d shown up at the orphanage with frozen fingers and toes – little was remembered other than that. Up until two weeks ago, Lilith hadn’t even an idea as to where she may have come from. Then along came her uncle Osmond, offering to take her under his wing.
“Don’t want to waste a pretty girl like you,” he’d said during his introductions in the orphanage’s quaint parlour room. “You deserve yourself a fine life.”
A fine life he gave her: Lilith earned a large weekly allowance allotted to her in part from her uncle, in case she ever had a need to spend a penny on a “new dress, or a couple of sweets”. Osmond Stonfeather had even given her this fine room – originally a guest room. Although cramped in comparison to Lilith’s old, box-like room, she liked the ornate feel to it. The grandeur of it fit perfectly to her defiant attitude. The walls were painted a handsome, royal navy. There was furniture of deep, polished brown that never earned a speck of dirt. There was even a grand fireplace that stood opposite her bed like a wide mouth, revealing to her the hot coals and embers that still burned.
Quietly padding over, Lilith pressed her hands to the flame-warmed wood, relishing in the immediate warmth. She trailed her across the mantel, her hands feeling out the strange, goblin face that was carved into the wood. It sneered at her mischievously, head bowed slightly to reveal curved horns that were as menacing as its leering teeth.
Her uncle, who had apparently slaved over the house for years – more or less overseeing the progress – had questionable taste. Things went from handsome and lavish to strange. The entrance hall, for example: it was a massive, echoing area that goaded immediately Osmond Stonefeather’s reputation, only to be intruded by strange paintings and statues.
The floors were a checker-board of black and white, with cool, ice-blue walls. The staircase that curved up was the central point of the hall. Two stone columns stood on either side of the staircase, holding the silver candelabras that matched the metallic bowl at the front used to hold the calling cards. Two gargoyles clutched the candelabras, holding them in place with their death grip. At the top of the sweeping staircase was a picture depicting an alarming battle between a man versus an angel; a demon perched on his shoulder, driving him on. Considering those who came and went, none seemed too disturbed by it – used to it, maybe. Or they just knew Osmond well enough to understand the gothic touch he liked to put on things.
Lilith hadn’t much minded gothic taste in things – she didn’t much mind the goblin, either. However, the eyes had that strange quality, like that of a portrait; sometimes she could swear it watched her as she moved and dressed. Lilith pushed this illogical thought from her head, dubbing it childish and stupid.
Below, the servants broke into another rowdy song, their chorus of foot-stomping knocking the brittle petals from Lilith’s irises onto the smooth surface of their pedestal. Lilith reached for her leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice – a book that was insisted upon her by her chaperone, a spinster named Miss Dalton. The woman thought Pride and Prejudice would do well to influence Lilith into becoming a more “dainty, ladylike woman” – and maybe open her eyes up to the romances out there.
Lilith thought it an idiotic suggestion of behalf of her chaperone: Miss Dalton was the least likely to even consider the novel to be swoon-worthy, being twenty-some-odd, and unmarried as of yet. Not a ring to prove of it, or a social life to even suggest she was amidst a courtship.
“I cannot imagine her swooning at all,” the young maid, Abigail, had whispered as she scurried by, dusting the vases and end tables. Lilith had attempted to suppress the unruly giggle that had threatened to bubble over. It had been so long since she’d had a good laugh.
Lilith flipped through the pages, her eyes dragging across the words until her vision began to blur, the words sloshing together messily. She closed the book and crawled back into bed, her earlier worries gone. She felt insolent and foolish for ever fretting over a dream.
****
Lilith’s shoulders bobbed along with the carriage as it bounced down the road. A light frosting of snow covered the ground fittingly, Christmas growing closer with each day. Dressed in her fineries, Lilith and her uncle were headed to a party hosted by Commodore Higgins and family. Although she’d neither met nor seen the Higgins’, Lilith had received an invitation along with her uncle, who was a great friend of Commodore Higgins.
“Ah, yes, the commodore and I have become well-acquainted. He and I happen to attend the same gentlemen’s club,” her uncle had prattled on to her, attempting to hide his less-than-sunny disposition. Lilith had woken that morning, tired and famished; her uncle, however, had deep purple bags under his eyes and the occasional twitch. Lilith believed it had something to do with an over-exuberant consumption of alcohol the evening before.
Beside her, Miss Dalton groaned, sitting rigidly in her seat, her shoulders stiff. “How these carriages are so disagreeable with my stomach,” she muttered, leaning her head against the carriage’s wall. Uncle Osmond simply rolled his eyes at the young chaperone and looked back to Lilith.
“Are you quite excited for your first big party? I expect that you attended some at the orphanage, correct?”
Lilith nodded her head, reminded of the grim garden parties hosted by the orphanage that she’d so often tried to forget. They were infested with old people, or the many nervous-looking members of the institution attached to the back of the orphanage. They were dreadfully boring, usually with only a single string member tinkling out a tune for the entire dreary duration of the affair. Lilith had never taken much care in acting kindly, or using the manners taught to her by Ms. Wight, one of the etiquette teachers. Lilith had been forced into the frumpiest, frilliest, most child-like dresses, seemingly repeating her apparel like a broken record. The last party she’d attended, three months before, Lilith had ended up ripping the seams of each puffed shoulder when she tried to reach for an hors d’oeuvre.
“Yes,” Lilith said, knowing it was expected of her. Uncle Osmond had gone all-out to get Lilith a dress tailored for her. Now, Lilith wore a low-cut gown that sat slightly off her shoulders. The train was fair in side, and ruffled as she moved like that of a waterfall. The gray-blue of it complimented pleasantly with Lilith’s eyes, and made her complexion perfectly pale.
“You shan’t be disappointed: Commodore Higgins is known to throw quite the balls,” Osmond said, looking back out the window before adding, “And I expect you’ll find your fair share of wealthy bachelors who will just jump at the opportunity to court you. Don’t let her heart get stolen, Miss Dalton. Keep those gentlemen in check!”
Miss Dalton feigned laughter, her harsh, sharp cheekbones lifting slightly for a moment in her ill-tempered laugh. “She won’t leave my side.”
Lilith was about to protest that maybe it’d be better for her to stay in the carriage, when Osmond cut in before her. “I wouldn’t go that far – just keep track of her card; Give her time enough to breath!”
Osmond and Miss Dalton fell into uncomfortable laughter before trailing off, leaving an awkward air of silence behind it. Lilith didn’t bother joining in, but simply twisted the ringlets that fell over her left shoulder around her finger.
The carriage soon turned into a long drive that extended far out into the countryside. A queue of carriages waited around a large cobblestoned circle to let out the passengers. All were dressed as extravagantly as they could, turning out in the best of the best. Women boasted large diamonds that glinted dazzlingly on their ears, catching the in their every corner and point. Many twirled in their dressed, their shawls poised across their elbows and around their backs. Friends gushed about appearances, prattling on about this and that. The men carried themselves proudly, each trying to look better than the other, promenading his wife about like a prized Thoroughbred mare. Lilith did not want to enter this world, but soon the carriage stopped.
The footman came around to the door and pulled it open, offering his hand. “Ladies first,” Osmond said, grabbing his polished black cane, stroking his hand over the silver bulb on top. Miss Dalton stepped out of the carriage first, letting out an exasperated sigh – her trademark – as her feet touched ground. Lilith was next. Her dress was becoming increasingly difficult to move in. She stumbled slightly, her train getting tangled up between her dainty shoes. The footman was lucky to help steady her. She didn’t offer up a thank you, or even a timid smile; Lilith pulled her shoulders back in and refined manner, adjusting her ringlets that rested on her shoulder.
Once uncle Osmond was out of the carriage, her led them towards the door where they were greeted by Commodore and Mrs. Higgins. Commodore Higgins greeted Osmond in a friendly manner, vowing to catch up later on. Lilith shook Mrs. Higgins’s hand and politely introduced herself as Osmond’s niece. Mrs. Higgins seemed intrigued to meet her, dropping her tight-lipped demeanour and gazing a Lilith with pity-filled eyes. “Oh, you poor dear. I heard all about how they treated you. You haven’t a thing to worry about – you’ll have such a lovely life now that Osmond has found you. My, just look at how lovely you look tonight!” She gently pushed Lilith’s shoulder to give her a spin.
“Lovely would be an understatement,” Lilith said, making a game of all the nice things she could slip from her mouth. Lovely isn’t quite the word I was thinking of ..., Lilith thought to herself, moving on once uncle Osmond had finished with his greetings.
“Why don’t you ladies start towards the dining room – I’d like to catch up with some of the gentlemen,” Osmond suggested, herding them towards the spacious dining room. Lilith stumbled forward until Osmond had hurried off again.
“His school acquaintances,” Miss Dalton explained. “He was the biggest success of them. I do imagine he likes to boast it.”
“As you wouldn’t imagine,” Lilith sighed, stepping into the dining room behind Miss Dalton, the procession slow and painful.
Left and right there was people, flurrying about and trying to decide whether they wanted to stay in or stay out. Lilith happened by a group of young children tugging at their mother’s gown. Their mother was busily chatting, shucking them away with a rough push or hiss of words. The kin reminded Lilith of a few chickens with their heads cut off.
Miss Dalton led Lilith towards the tables that had folded name cards resting upon the gleaming silver plates. Lilith glance down at the table as they passed, baffled by the number of forks and spoons needed for one meal.
“Do remember: you have a salad fork, a dessert fork, and a fork for your entree, as well as your soup spoon ...”
Lilith quit listening after the first fork, tuning into the people’s conversations as they passed. “... St. Vincent! Can you believe they managed to get him?”
“I’ve met him before ...”
“... he’s quite handsome, isn’t he?”
“Well, my father said he’s a poor, phony influence – not the type of us girls to be ...”
There were multiple gaggles of young ladies chatting about some boy – clearly excited by his expected appearance this evening. Miss Dalton rolled her eyes. “Do promise never to get involved with any fanatics over Mr. St. Vincent.”
“I haven’t a clue who that is.”
“Let it stay that way.”
Lilith didn’t say another word as Miss Dalton stopped at their places. Lilith was sandwiched in between uncle Osmond and Miss Dalton. She waited with a growling stomach and drooping eyelids until the dinner began.
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