Rest.”
By the time the last few steps were in sight, I finally allowed my head to fall onto his shoulder, but not before seeing him clench his teeth and utter an irritated growl at Quinn, who was taking the steps two at a time ahead of us despite the weight of “the box” he carried.
“Slow down, man, for God's sake. I'm trying not to jostle her around too much but the wires only reach so far.”
“Maybe you should start running some of the errands you send the boy on yourself, Schuyler,” Quinn replied. “You're old beyond your years.”
“Aren't we all.”
I opened my eyes again as we moved at last across the surface of level ground. Schuyler's fine boots drew groaning squeaks from tired floorboards. Quinn's steps were, like the man, much more restrained, and so created no such racket despite the cumbersome equipment he carried.
We reached the end of a short hall and Quinn set down his burden, trading the handle instead for the overloaded key ring in his pocket. He worked the lock, opened the door, and revealed at last the space that would be mine.
No royal retreat in any grand castle tower could have possibly pleased me more.
The room was small but felt larger than its measurements due to the height of the ceiling, which vaulted high above and boasted dormers. These features confirmed that this place had been converted from mere attic into this much more welcoming, habitable bedroom.
A fire burned in the diminutive hearth. The mantle above was absolutely breathtaking, wood treated white with small flowers intricately carved into it.
An antique oil lamp with roses painted upon the shade assisted one narrow window in lighting the space.
A single bed with a wrought iron headboard, white as snow, was angled into the corner across from the door. Tucked in another corner sat a lovely little vanity table, cream-colored wood with glass drawer pulls that glimmered like diamonds.
A mirror folded into thirds rested upon it, along with a silver tray that held a fine hairbrush, a comb, and a smaller hand mirror.
Beside the vanity stood a dressmaker's dummy in feminine form — displaying the entire outfit that Schuyler had made for me. It had been pressed and so carefully constructed of such fine materials that I felt it much too elegant to be worn by someone like me.
The last furnishing of note was a rocking chair, simple and pretty, dressed in fresh linen cushions and so inviting that I wished I had the strength to sit in it.
I marveled in silence at my surroundings as Schuyler gingerly placed me atop a pile of quilts stacked high upon the mattress. It was a room so much prettier than any I had ever been able to call my own —a room I could not believe was actually being called my own, at least for now.
“There,” Schuyler frowned, taking note of and misunderstanding my expression as I took in the lovely, pale pink blossom-embroidered curtains that adorned the room's only window. “What's the matter, don't you like the pattern? I can change them for you. Anything here you dislike can be changed.”
How I wished that could apply to the state in which I now found my physical body.
My eyes traveled to the mirror across the way, and though the angle of dimming light did not clearly allow me to make out the features of my own face, in that moment I caught sight of even a fraction of my reflection for the first time since I had departed the Argents' home.
It was not at all the person I remembered that I saw there now; a complete stranger stared back at me.
My skin had turned a ghostly blue-white. There were inflamed, swollen spots above my left breast, incision sites still healing from my many ‘procedures’. I was at once repulsed and transfixed by these newborn scars. My hand elevated to and brushed over the terminal points of the leading wires that eerily snaked from my chest.
Just as quickly as I'd done it, Quinn's hand bolted toward mine, and he gently but insistently tugged my fingers away. His eyes
By the time the last few steps were in sight, I finally allowed my head to fall onto his shoulder, but not before seeing him clench his teeth and utter an irritated growl at Quinn, who was taking the steps two at a time ahead of us despite the weight of “the box” he carried.
“Slow down, man, for God's sake. I'm trying not to jostle her around too much but the wires only reach so far.”
“Maybe you should start running some of the errands you send the boy on yourself, Schuyler,” Quinn replied. “You're old beyond your years.”
“Aren't we all.”
I opened my eyes again as we moved at last across the surface of level ground. Schuyler's fine boots drew groaning squeaks from tired floorboards. Quinn's steps were, like the man, much more restrained, and so created no such racket despite the cumbersome equipment he carried.
We reached the end of a short hall and Quinn set down his burden, trading the handle instead for the overloaded key ring in his pocket. He worked the lock, opened the door, and revealed at last the space that would be mine.
No royal retreat in any grand castle tower could have possibly pleased me more.
The room was small but felt larger than its measurements due to the height of the ceiling, which vaulted high above and boasted dormers. These features confirmed that this place had been converted from mere attic into this much more welcoming, habitable bedroom.
A fire burned in the diminutive hearth. The mantle above was absolutely breathtaking, wood treated white with small flowers intricately carved into it.
An antique oil lamp with roses painted upon the shade assisted one narrow window in lighting the space.
A single bed with a wrought iron headboard, white as snow, was angled into the corner across from the door. Tucked in another corner sat a lovely little vanity table, cream-colored wood with glass drawer pulls that glimmered like diamonds.
A mirror folded into thirds rested upon it, along with a silver tray that held a fine hairbrush, a comb, and a smaller hand mirror.
Beside the vanity stood a dressmaker's dummy in feminine form — displaying the entire outfit that Schuyler had made for me. It had been pressed and so carefully constructed of such fine materials that I felt it much too elegant to be worn by someone like me.
The last furnishing of note was a rocking chair, simple and pretty, dressed in fresh linen cushions and so inviting that I wished I had the strength to sit in it.
I marveled in silence at my surroundings as Schuyler gingerly placed me atop a pile of quilts stacked high upon the mattress. It was a room so much prettier than any I had ever been able to call my own —a room I could not believe was actually being called my own, at least for now.
“There,” Schuyler frowned, taking note of and misunderstanding my expression as I took in the lovely, pale pink blossom-embroidered curtains that adorned the room's only window. “What's the matter, don't you like the pattern? I can change them for you. Anything here you dislike can be changed.”
How I wished that could apply to the state in which I now found my physical body.
My eyes traveled to the mirror across the way, and though the angle of dimming light did not clearly allow me to make out the features of my own face, in that moment I caught sight of even a fraction of my reflection for the first time since I had departed the Argents' home.
It was not at all the person I remembered that I saw there now; a complete stranger stared back at me.
My skin had turned a ghostly blue-white. There were inflamed, swollen spots above my left breast, incision sites still healing from my many ‘procedures’. I was at once repulsed and transfixed by these newborn scars. My hand elevated to and brushed over the terminal points of the leading wires that eerily snaked from my chest.
Just as quickly as I'd done it, Quinn's hand bolted toward mine, and he gently but insistently tugged my fingers away. His eyes
Similar Books
