Kieran

I really have turned into the monster I fear each night.

What am I doing?

I have to let her go.

Astrid

I stumble upon Imogen outside my room. She always does the cleaning, even though she is the only person living here who remotely cares about how clean every nook and cranny is.

“Fair morning, madam,” my morning voice is slightly hoarse.

She looks up from the brass lamp she is polishing. “Ah, Lady Astrid. Please – call me Imogen.”

“Then call me Astrid.”

She smiles that strange, kind smile before resuming her work. I watch her for a while, rubbing my toes against my other ankle.

“Can I be of any assistance?” I ask tentatively.

Imogen barely glances my way. “‘Tis alright, Astrid. Breakfast will be ready for you downstairs.”

Is she simply very busy, or is she still upset?

“Please?”

The smallness in my voice must have snagged her attention, because she finally stops what she is doing. She appraises me, her unwillingness obvious in her expression.

But then she relents. She points to the pail beside her feet.

“There is another cloth, if you are willing to get your hands dirty.” She sighs. “Thank you kindly, Astrid.”

Strangely enough, I have never been more obliging to sully my hands. I pick a damp cloth from the pail and start to work on the lamp a few feet away from her.

Nobody comes to disturb me after lunch. I read in my room for hours, and then regret not bringing another book I have not already read for the third time.

Kicking my feet off the side of the bed, I decide to leave the room.

The castle is huge. It would take me weeks to look into each and every single room in this place, and even then, I highly suspect this castle, like any other in the gothic novels I’ve read, holds secret entryways and corridors.

I wander along my floor, and then move up the staircase. Then I come down to where the main staircase parts into three sectors: the East Wing, the Centre Wing, and…

The West Wing.

My gaze remains fixated upon it. It is designed exactly like the East Wing from where I stand, but there is something…different about this Wing.

Something is beckoning me up the staircase. I do not hear it as much as I can feel it; that whisper of a possibility. A possibility of escape, perhaps? It wouldn’t hurt to find out.

I go up the staircase and stop at the first level.

A door creaks open to my far left.

I go to it. The door does not open all the way, so I push my way in.

I whisper a greeting, but if anybody hears me, they do not make a sound. Perhaps they are aware of my forbidden trespass.

Dust settles everywhere – or rather, on the old cloths draped over all the furniture. The only thing I see under the fainting light of the sunset is a trail, a pathway from the door to the balcony at the far end of the long room, to a mirror.

It is a strange mirror: not hung up on the wall, just left to lean against it rather awkwardly. Intricate primroses and leaves sprouting out of vines are engraved into the golden frame, but the dust has settled into its details as much as it has the other furniture in this room.

The mirror itself is the only thing that has not been touched by negligence. I stand in front of it and watch the blue in my dress barely caress the skin above my ankles, swaying slightly whenever the breeze from outside urges it. My curls – goodness – are in a state. I can almost imagine Lady Tremaine remarking on my appearance with her signature scowl. Absently, I reach up to run my fingers through my tangled hair. Just for Lady Tremaine’s sake. I wonder why it has taken so long for the lump in my throat to build at the thought of her, but it does now.

I use my right hand to comb through the threads of my hair.

The girl in the mirror lifts the opposite hand to do so.

A strangled cry escapes my lips. My legs stumble back so quickly, they get entangled with each other. Dust erupts around me as I feel my bottom hit the floor unceremoniously.

The person who stands before me no longer has red hair. Instead, it darkens further to the colour of midnight. Her clothes are transformed to a flowing blood-red dress.

“What’s the matter, girl?” Her laugh is cruel. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Agitated, I rise to my feet and dust my skirt. What a nasty personality. “You’re in the mirror.”

“I am.”

“Are you…is the mirror alive?”

Lady Selaena smirks again, like I am stupid. “No. Nothing in this room is alive – don’t you see?”

“So this mirror is magic,” I say. I approach the glass to touch its edges, and then move my finger up to poke at her face.

Her expression turns sour.

“Stop it,” she snaps, which sends a wave of satisfaction through me. I do it again.

“Do you want me to turn you into a frog?” she threatens.

I snort. “That depends. Will it gain me my freedom?”

Her eyes narrow. She opens her mouth, and I expect her to scold me.

But then she says: “You are not where you are supposed to be.”

“And what will you do about it? You’re in a mirror.”

She scowls again. Her eyes shift away from my face to something over my shoulder.

“You would do well not to anger the master of this house, Astrid,” she says. I try to hide my surprise at her knowledge of my name. “After all, magic courses through his veins.”

As if on cue, something catches my eye in the reflection. Something over my shoulder. Something standing outside the balcony.

I turn.

“I would not go there if I were you,” the woman cautions.

It is a stem. No; a withering blue flower, with only its primary structures left to soak up the approaching sunset. Its fragile appearance is guarded by a glass jar, as if it is not to be touched.

It calls to me. I cannot explain how. It just allures my steps forward like the pull of gravity. I can feel, with every fiber in my body, what I must do.

My hand reaches to touch the glass jar. It is freezing cold.

“Astrid, leave the room. Right now,” Lady Selaena orders me sternly.

No. I must touch the rose. I know it. Somehow I know deep down that I must do this; perhaps this is why this wing is forbidden.

This is the weakness of the Master. Of his beast.

I lift the glass.

Slowly, my finger brushes against the stem.

It crumbles to dust under my touch.

“What are you doing?”

The bell jar slips out of my grip and shatters to a million pieces on the floor. My heart leaps into my throat and I spin around.

The Master stands in the doorway. Though the hood cloaks most of his face, it is not difficult to ascertain the building anger in his tone and clenched fists.

“What did you do?” his growl is low at first. But then he must see the ashes at my feet. He lifts his head to reveal the mask over his mouth and narrowing eyes.

He bounds across the room in no time at all.

“What did you do?”

The Master displays an inhuman strength when he grasps my shoulders, shaking me wildly. I am suddenly swept up in the hurricane of his unleashed fury. I cannot breathe.

“What have you done!” he roars. I wonder if he is going to throw me off the balcony.

A faint, strangled cry escapes my throat. Would anybody even hear me above his unintelligible howls? My hands reach up to slap, to swat, to paw at his arms feebly. I am no match for his strength.

And just like that, he releases me. Drops me to my feet and lets me stumble to regain my balance. I stagger around his defeated form, watching his shoulders hunch and his head dip lower as he falls to his knees. His ragged breathing fills the air with an emotion I cannot comprehend.

I gawk mutely.

“Get out,” he says quietly. And then, in a scream:

“Get out!”

I get out.

I do more than get out – I sprint down the staircase as if the ghost of his rage is chasing me, right down to the entrance hall. The sound of my pounding heart is carried by the rush of blood in my ears.

Voices call out to me, but I ignore them all.

The doors stand at the ready when I reach them, and I am forced to stop.

“Open,” I say.

They pause. I do not have to see a face to sense their perplexed hesitation.

“Open up!”

One heavy door creaks open. I squeeze through the crack of light before it can stretch bigger.

Just before the door behind me closes again, Imogen’s voice echoes: “Bayorn! She’ll turn into the rest of them if she’s -”

My feet slap against the giant stone steps. In seconds, I have fled to the stables and found Alfeir. He rears against my sudden presence but I sob out a kind word to calm him.

He must sense my distress, because he takes off quickly. I cling to the reins like they are a lifeline. We race past the gardens, down the winding path.

Before the trees thicken there are odd statues. We fly past one like an arrow. And then another.

There are more. I did not see it before, but the sun’s evening slant has cast a sharp, hot ray against the trees, illuminating a group of statues in between them. They all seem to be reaching their hands out, or clinging onto each other.

They are all...running.

They are running away from the castle.

I tap my heels against Alfeir’s sides. He gallops harder.

The air around us starts to turn colder and colder. I wonder if Alfeir really is riding that quickly. But then a second sound comes: another horse’s neigh. Another pattern of galloping.

“Astrid!” the Master calls from behind me. He doesn’t sound as angry as he did before, but that could only be because he’s out of breath. I lean forward and urge Alfeir on.

Another breeze rushes into my hair. Up my arms. It feels like the frost of winter. A shiver dances down my spine.

Damian. I wonder if Damian has returned from his journey. Going to my father first will not protect us against this man and the beast he keeps in his castle; I must find someone with sufficient expertise.

The cold rushes against my skin again. This time, it seeps inside, right down to my bone. I can feel it. My right hand falls limp.

“Astrid, stop!”

“Faster, Alfeir.” I inhale sharply, but perhaps too sharply. Oxygen rushes to my brain too quickly. The ground begins to spin.

My other hand’s grip is slipping off the reins. I struggle to hold both my arms up, but a fatigue takes over – a fatigue so great, it feels as if I have been drugged. The cold amplifies by a thousand degrees and my calves seize up.

The air suddenly becomes so thin. I cannot breathe. Are we going too fast? Are the trees closing in around us, threatening to swallow us whole? I start to pant.

“Astrid!”

Before I slip off the horse, the world goes dark.