Young Writers Society

Lydia watched as the porcelain ballerina twirled gracefully around to the soft, tinkling music, never once breaking her faultless form. Lydia smiled, recalling the hours she spent trying to mimic the figure, dancing around the room. Today, it was time to leave such puerile activities behind. Striding over to her vanity, she picked up her copy of the lace-trimmed invitations. She read the first two lines of the shining gold print:

You Have Been Cordially Invited to the Coming Out

of Ms. Lydia Persephone-Julietta Aldridge.

It was time to get ready. Chatter from guests filling in to the ballroom downstairs drifted in under her door. Careful not to mess her hair, Lydia pulled her ornate gown off its hanger and slipped into it. She had tried it on countless times before for fittings and out of pure excitement, but somehow today, as she took in the sight of herself in the three-part full-length mirror, everything seemed different.

The dress was still the same cream color. It was still strapless and constructed of layer after layer of gauzy fabric revealed by the slit in the top satin cover, cascading all the way to the floor. The gold flower accents along the slit and elaborate beading were in the same places they were when the dress was made. As far as Lydia could tell, she looked the same too. Her hair was the rich auburn it had always been, and her pale green eyes, the ones she inherited from her mother, held their usual curiosity and kindness. But somehow when put together and added to the magic of the evening, everything was different. As a finishing touch, Lydia slid the delicate silver tiara her mother and grandmother had worn at their coming out parties into the front of her hair. Perfect.

A knock sounded from the other side of her French doors. Gathering her many skirts, Lydia swished across the floor and opened the door a crack. It was her sister, Arissa.

“Are we almost ready?” Arissa asked when Lydia opened the doors. Excitement lay heavy in her voice. “You look stunning,” she added, giving her sister a hug. Lydia blushed sheepishly.

“Were you this nervous before your party?” Lydia asked, sinking down onto her bed.

“Of course! I was a wreck! You are handling this exceedingly well.” Arissa started to cross the room to sit next to her sister, but something caught her eye. “Zeus! There you are!” she cried, stooping to pick up a mug Lydia had left on the table from this morning. Resting inside was the wide eyes and fluffy gray fur that made up Arissa’s newborn kitten. “How did you manage to get yourself into that one?” She removed the kitten from the cup, placing him gently on the floor.

“I suppose I should go out there soon,” Lydia said with a shaking voice. She got up and stood in front of the mirror again. Arissa appeared in the reflection beside her.

“You’ll be fine. I promise. Shall I get Father and tell him you are ready?”

“Yes. After all, the fun can’t start if I hide out in here forever.”

“That’s the way to look at it! I’ll see you out there.” Arissa gave her younger sister one last reassuring smile before leaving the room. As she tried to keep her heartbeat steady, Lydia slipped on her silk gloves.

The room was enveloped in a still silence. Lydia held one of the iron posts of her canopy bed at an arms length. She took in the shelves filled with hundreds of useless knick-knacks, displayed because they were from someplace foreign, belonged to another place in time, or were something she found by herself during her stolen solo excursions to the markets. The taffeta sky-blue curtains, lavish gold duvet cover, and antique ivory furniture had been picked out by her mother, but over the years Lydia had found a way to make this room her own. She was the only one who knew about the broken floorboard under the bed, the perfect place for hiding something secret, and no one had ever found the spot in her closet where she had scratched her initials into the wooden frame. Yes, this was, without a doubt, her room.

A second knock sounded on the door, this time stronger than the first. With one last breath to center herself, Lydia opened the door. Standing on the other side of the threshold, Mr. Aldridge looked surprised, not expecting her to answer so quickly. His unruly, gray-streaked hair was behaving itself for once, neatly slicked back. His eyes were shining, filled with tears. “Hello, Lydia,” he managed after a moment.

Lydia smiled in response, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks. She always felt embarrassed when people acted like they were proud of her. “Is everything set?”

“I believe so. Are you ready? Let’s not keep your guests waiting any longer.” He held out his arm, and Lydia linked her own through it. A few short steps later, they had reached the top of the stairs, the precipice of her shining moment. Lydia felt everything within her drop to the floor as her heart quickened its pace once again.

The borderline garish ballroom was adorned in more luxury than it had been for any previous occasion. Each of the six crystal chandeliers were surrounded by hundreds of hand-made white paper butterflies, every one unique from any other. Gold ribbons and flowers arranged meticulously in glass jars were placed in the center of each table. The circle of connected chairs bolted to the floor in the center of the room was decorated with gold garland hanging off the back. She scanned the room, absorbing the sight of her guests, dressed in their finest party clothes. The overbearing hum of idle chatter died down as the orchestra situated in the back corner switched songs. Everyone turned to look at her.

Lydia’s breath was knocked out of her as she registered the gravity of what was going on. They were all watching her. Clinging tightly to her father’s arm and nearly shaking, Lydia desperately searched for Arissa among the sea of faces. At last, she spotted her in the center of the room. Even from this distance, she recognized her sister’s smile. Do not trip, please do not trip, she thought to herself, consumed with an image that would result in her utter humiliation.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall,” her father whispered, reading her mind. After a weak smile and a nod, they took the first step down the curved marble staircase. Lydia kept her eyes on Arissa as she tried to ‘float’ down the staircase. She nearly laughed, thinking of the phrase her impossible deportment instructor Mrs. Griswold used in nearly all their lessons. She and Arissa would make sport of her whenever she wasn’t looking. Lydia came back to the present when they reached the bottom step. A sigh of relief escaped her. She had made it without a single stumble.

Lydia was almost immediately caught up in a storm of people who wanted to talk to her. She exchanged quick pleasantries with generally insufferable guests, doing her best to be witty in front of her parent’s friends. When she found an opportunity to escape, Lydia made her way to the main table to get something to drink. Nearly an hour had passed since her entrance. She grabbed herself a cup and ladled it full with water. The bowl holding the cool liquid contained what reminded Lydia of a miniature iceberg. A petite portion stuck up above the top with the majority expanding into the bottom of the bowl. She stood by the table, her back still towards the crowd, and took a sip. A shock of cold spread throughout her body, counteracting the heat her nerves had built up. She was just about to drain the cup when she felt someone tap her on the shoulder.

Turning around, Lydia found herself face to face with the exceedingly charming and equally handsome Mr. Simon Hatfield. Blushing, this time for an entirely different reason than before, Lydia placed her cup back on the table and performed her best curtsey. He bowed in response, a sparkling smile having spread across his striking features.

“Good evening, Ms. Aldridge,” he began smoothly and filled with confidence.

“The same to you, Mr. Hatfield.” Lydia’s quivering voice was a sharp contrast to the poised demeanor of her conversational counterpart. Lydia and Simon had grown up playing with one another when they were younger since they lived on the same street. But lately, Simon had been away at college and she had hardly seen him once in the last six months. She noticed that he had grown into his large navy eyes. His dark brown curls were a bit too long, but she found she preferred it that way.

“I’ve been told that one of the highlights of a young lady’s coming out is dancing. I’ve noticed you haven’t done any of this yet, so I supposed I would offer you my expertise in that area.” He gave her a grin that made her insides melt.

“Are you asking me to dance, Mr. Hatfield?” A smile of her own broke through her ill-managed composure.

“Yes. Do you accept, Ms. Aldridge?” He reached out a hand, and she placed her own in his grip. Simon led her onto the dance floor. She happily took notice of the gawking stares of the other girls, smirking to herself. The orchestra started to play a brisk waltz as Simon and Lydia found an open spot. Even through both of their gloves, Lydia could feel the warmth of his hand. She thought ahead to each of the steps, determined not to mess up. Once she felt comfortable with the movements, she allowed her mind to wander.

She imagined what it would be like to be Mrs. Lydia Hatfield. Every other young lady in the room was doing the same, of course, but for the moment, she was the only one dancing with him. It was well known that Laurence Fisher had taken a fancy to her quite some time ago, and he certainly would make an excellent match. But he was several years her senior, and Lydia always felt like there was something a bit off about him whenever she was in his presence. She much preferred Simon to Laurence.

After two songs, Simon and Lydia left the dancing couples in separate directions. Dancing with any man more than three times would be a cause for gossip among the lovers of all things scandalous, and Lydia did not want to waste the last one so early in her party. Needing a rest, she tried to raise her head above the crowd, looking for her sister. Arissa didn’t appear to be at any of the tables. Lydia strolled around the perimeter of the dance floor, thinking her sister might have found a dance partner of her own. After going around twice, Lydia decided to try a higher vantage point. She walked up a few steps of the staircase, hoping to have a better view from above. Finally, Lydia spotted Arissa sitting alone in one of the chairs in the room’s center. Glad to have found her, Lydia stepped down and began to cut through the crowd. She was still beaming from dancing with Simon and wanted more than anything to talk to her sister about it.

Halfway there, Lydia’s heart stopped. Now that she was closer, everything looked wrong. It was still Arissa sitting in the chair, but nothing was right. Her eyes, which Lydia had previously thought were surveying the party, were staring sightless up at the ceiling. Her head was tilted back at an unnatural, disturbing angle. From where her neck met her shoulder ran a thin line of crimson trailing down her arm, saturating the elbow of her white lace glove.

Lydia pushed through the crowed, jostled by the oblivious dancers. She tried to scream, but she was the only one to hear it, the sound echoing in her mind. She reached Arissa and stood stock-still, having no idea what to do. Lydia looked at her sister, trying to figure out what had happened. It appeared that Arissa’s neck had been snapped and the skin had somehow been broken in the process. Questions consumed her thoughts, demanding they be heard over the ear-piercing screams that had yet to be given real sound. How could this have happened? How could this have been allowed to happen with all these people around? Women were not murdered in the middle of coming out parties! That type of thing only happened in isolated areas when the woman was involved in something she shouldn’t have been in the first place. No, this couldn’t have happened. Not on Lydia’s big night. Arissa was not dead.

Finally, the shattering, desperate shrieking was freed. It traveled to the highest corners of the ballroom at record speeds. Movements ceased as the music abruptly cut off. It was at that point that everything stopped for Lydia. Actions swirled around her a moment later, but she stayed right where she was, like her feet had grown roots and attached themselves to the floor. Occasionally, she vaguely registered someone tugging on her arm, trying to pull her away. She saw lips moving in slow motion but heard nothing of what they said.

Eventually, Lydia found her senses again. Arissa was gone, along with everyone else. The only remaining proof of her sister’s existence was a nearly invisible rust-like stain on the chair’s arm. Half-emptied glasses of wine and champagne stood abandoned on tables, some of which were surrounded by toppled chairs, knocked over in someone’s haste to leave the room. Lydia turned in a circle to survey the desolate ballroom. It was a vacant shell, an empty promise of what was supposed to be the most important night of her life. Unable to support herself any longer, Lydia sank to her knees, her skirts spread around her like the petals of a flower. She focused on a specific spot on the rug, refusing to cry. She needed to find out what happened, and she needed her sense to do it. If she could just convince her legs to stand up…

“Lydia?” came a hushed voice from beside her. It was cautious, not wanting to upset her. She raised her head, staring expressionless at Simon. “Can you hear me Lydia?”

She smiled weakly. The action made her appear slightly pathetic when mixed with the still-visible tear tracks down her face. Lydia unconsciously brought her hand to her cheek. She hadn’t remembered crying. “It’s been quite a long time since you’ve called me Lydia,” she finally said almost nostalgically.

“Yes, well…” His voice trailed off, leaving his thought unfinished. “You really must get out of here. Staying in this room won’t do any good. It won’t change anything.”

“I suppose I can’t hide out in here forever.” Fresh tears filled her eyes. The last time she used that phrase she was talking to Arissa, brimming with jitters to make her grand entrance. Lydia thought of everything she would give to go back to that moment and stay there permanently, her world made up of smiles and joyful anticipation. “What happened?” she asked, refusing to let herself dwell on impossible wishes.

Simon sat down on the floor across from her. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “No one knows.” He had difficultly presenting the answer.

“No one,” she mulled over the phrase, the words tasting sour in her mouth. “No one?” The question was fueled by pure incomprehension. “But there were so many people around. I don’t understand how not one single person saw someone killing my sister. No one?”

Simon shrugged. “I’m as confused as you are. She was in the dead center of the dancing.” He blushed at the unfortunate adjective, but Lydia didn’t seem to notice, shaking her head of her own thoughts. Her mind raced as anger pulsed inside her, mixing with grief, confusion, and hurt to create an explosion.

“This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be my night!” She screamed the last words, tearing the pins out of her hair. Her silky tresses danced on her shaking shoulders. Her breathing came in quick pulses and took several minutes to regulate itself again.

Simon moved closer, taking one of her hands. He looked directly into her eyes, hoping she would understand. “What I am about to say is a revolting request, but I must ask it of you. Your mother has fallen to pieces. I know you’re hurting just as much as she is, but she needs you right now. Do you think you could leave now and go to her?”

Lydia broke eye contact with Simon to take one final look around the room. After a moment, she nodded, and he helped her to stand up. Her legs wobbled despite her best effort to appear strong, so he held on to her arm, guiding her towards the massive doors. Lydia knew that once she left this room, what she was wishing was all a dream would become reality. There would be no more pretending everything was the same or stalling the truth. She was not sure if she was ready to accept that yet, but she knew she had to anyways, just as she had to face the dreaded walk down the stairs. When the two were standing a step away from the door, Simon stopped.

He dropped his voice so that no one on the other side could hear him. “I am truly sorry about what happened tonight, Lydia. I can’t imagine the pain it has caused you.” Without giving her a chance to respond, Simon pushed the door open. Lydia was instantly ushered into a crowd of waiting family members. Refusing to talk to anyone but her mother, she masked her face, taking on the stoic expression a proper young lady who had just received some unfortunate news should wear.

* * *

Lydia Fisher sat on a dusty trunk in her attic. With her husband at work and her daughter sleeping, she had ascended the seldom-used stairway and closed the door behind her. She stared at the gown draped over the old mirror across from her, the gown she had worn exactly three years ago on the best and worst day of her life. The day had begun by ending her first life in the most fantastic way, and ended by beginning her new life in the most horrific manner possible. The light-hearted, adventurous Lydia was killed along with Arissa.

She stood up and walked over to the dress, which had been discolored by its time stored in the stuffy attic. She stroked the satin fabric, and by sheer touch the memories of that day filled her mind, waiting to be relived. She could smell the lavender scent her mother had allowed her to use, see the panels of sunshine from the windows move across the floor as the day turned to evening, and taste the decadent truffle she let herself indulge in before getting ready.

Without thinking about what she was doing, Lydia slipped into the gown. She let loose her hair from the tight, low bun and readjusted the strands into a more elegant updo before rummaging through trunks and boxes to find the finishing touch. She removed her grandmother’s tiara, slightly misshapen from being carelessly tossed in a trunk filled with meaningless odds and ends, placed it atop her crown.

Lydia stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing herself as she had that day. This time she truly was different. Her eyes had lost their laughter, and were now framed by the dark circles that had been there since the day after her party. Her previously shiny strands had fallen limp, conditioned by the constricting bun she wore everyday. She was scrawnier than before, as emphasized by the loose waist of the dress and her jutting collarbone. Lydia supposed she was still beautiful, but just in a different way. Most people most likely would not have noticed a change. But anyone who took a second look, recalling the way she used to light up when she smiled, would know that she was different. Lydia mastered the role of a charming, carefree wife with ease, but anyone who listened to the fakeness of her laughter would find it obvious that she was just acting.

Lydia thought something else was wrong as she watched her reflection. Something was missing, and it wasn’t just her former spirit and innocence. Moving straight for a box in the back corner of the room, Lydia removed the items she needed.

Slipping on the first lace elbow-length glove, a voice somewhere deep in her subconscious told her she was doing the right thing. Smoothing the second glove into place, Lydia experienced a strange sort of catharsis. She was lost in picture the mirror presented to her, focusing on the bloodstain on the top half of her right glove. The walls she had built up over the past three years crumbled at the edges. She vowed not to let the past control her any longer. Lydia had undoubtedly become a different person and would never be the same again, but in the end, she had come out in one piece. It was at this realization that Lydia felt her sister’s soul could finally be at rest.