Chapter Twenty
Kolfina
There is a woman in my reflection that looks like me, but is not me.
Her skin is pale as death, her flaxen hair curled in an intricate style and pinned atop her head.
Her hips are wide and her cheeks are plump, but they are not my hips and they are not my cheeks.
They are not my hazel eyes staring back at me, but her storm-torn blues that blink with distrust and hesitancy.
“I’ve gotten you a gift, petal,” Azizi had said after returning from a two-day trip to the city. “A way for you to enjoy the festival tonight without needing to possess Theodore. Do you like it?”
I do, despite my initial hesitance upon seeing the body laid out on her bed an hour ago.
I cannot help but wonder if I would have been more upset back when I was alive.
Had she offered to kill someone for me back then, would I have approved of it?
Would I be disgusted? Afraid? Does it say something about me now that I am not upset by it?
Has death changed me so much that I no longer fear those who cause it?
Or have I always been this way, able to stare into the eyes of the dead without flinching?
Still, she is a pretty thing—the woman in my mirror.
The dress Theodore and his father made for tonight is of a newer fashion, the crinoline petticoat I am used to now replaced with a smaller bustle in the back, the collar high enough to hide the two holes Azizi left in the woman’s neck, but it suits her, I think.
Suits me. The soft blue of the material matches well with the paleness of her skin, and the delicate white ribbon around the throat reminds me of the blue one tied around the key to my music room.
“Do you like it, my dear?”
Thin fingers settle on my waist, and the weight of Azizi’s chin rests upon my shoulder, yet there is only my own reflection in the mirror. A byproduct of her condition, she has told us. Similar to her sensitivity to the sun.
I finger the ruffles at my wrists nervously, knowing that she is not asking about the dress itself, but the body wearing it.
Stepping into Theodore’s body has been an easy task so far, one we have practiced often since that first time. It is nothing more than a few steps from the garden in my mind to the house within his, and Theodore is always there to hold the door open for me and light my way.
Stepping into this body, however, was different.
Not difficult, exactly, but strange. Colder, for one, and darker.
She is dead, so there was no mind for me to fight with, but there was also no mind to welcome me in.
It was a bit like waking from a nightmare with your body still frozen in place.
You cannot move, but your mind is running as quickly as your heart is beating.
It had taken effort to pry my new eyes open, and I had lain there staring at the ceiling for entirely too long as I tried to remember how to move my body.
Fingers first, and then my toes. A twitch of my hand and the bending of a knee.
Theodore’s body already knows how to move, knows how things are meant to feel.
This is new, fresh, and had it not been for Azizi’s help in pulling me to my feet and getting dressed, I’m sure I would still be in the bed, staring up at the ceiling and simply experiencing the sensation of having a body again.
Unlike in his body, I do not feel the burning urge to breathe, but I do so anyway just to feel the air filling my lungs, to feel the corset pressing into my waist and Azizi’s fingers tightening around it.
I cannot see her face in the reflection, but I nod in answer.
“I am glad,” she responds, turning me by the hips and smiling down at me. “It does not do your natural beauty justice, of course, but it was the best I could do on such short notice.”
Because I can, I reach up to brush my fingers across the sharp angle of her cheek, marveling at the beauty of her, at the softness of her skin and the subtle warmth she gives off.
For her own part, Azizi has chosen a red dress with intricate beadwork across the chest and along the bottom of the skirt.
Her hair is pinned up in a style similar to mine, though a few strands fall from the front to frame her face, drawing attention to the dark lines of khol around her red-brown eyes.
She is lovely, devastatingly so, and she wields her appearance like a weapon, the smile that slices across her lips as she leans into my touch proof enough that she knows just how effective her beauty is.
“Mmm, as much as I would love to keep you here all day to admire, and be admired in return, we do have places to be,” Azizi says before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “No doubt our poor Theodore is pacing away downstairs waiting for us. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
Though nerves flutter in my belly at the reminder, I allow Azizi to pin my hat in place and take my hand, leading me out of her rooms and down to the parlor.
I shouldn’t be worried, I know. It is not as if Theodore has not seen me before, has not known me for longer even than Azizi has.
And yet… this is the first time he will be able to touch me.
Kiss me. The first time I will be able to touch him, and kiss him.
Through Theodore, I have been able to interact with Azizi plenty of times over the past few weeks, but never before have we managed to reverse those roles.
Azizi’s body does not welcome me at all, does not even allow the attempt.
Rather than the door Theodore leads me through, or the simple darkness I awoke from in this body, Azizi is blocked by a wall of stone. Impenetrable. Though we’ve no idea why.
So the nerves skitter beneath my skin as I follow her down the stairs, my thoughts a whirlwind threatening to carry me away.
What if he does not like this body Azizi has found for me?
What if I am not enough, even now? Would I be locked away in my attic once more?
Abandoned and forgotten, just like with…
with who? Why does this fear feel so familiar?
Why do I know it the same as I know the wallpaper reaching and clawing out for me?
Sharp nails trace the line of my jaw, chasing away the panicked thoughts and drawing my gaze up to find Azizi watching me. We’ve stopped in front of the parlor doors, my hands twisted almost painfully in the many layers of my skirts, but she makes no effort to push them open just yet.
“You wear your emotions so clearly on your face,” Azizi says quietly, her thumb soothing out the wrinkle between my brows. “It is reassuring to know that even with an unfamiliar face, I can still see you perfectly.”
Whether she means the words to calm me or not, they work to do so anyway. My shoulders droop slightly, and my fingers loosen in my dress. I draw in another breath I do not need just to feel the calming whoosh of it flooding through me. In, then out again. In, then out again.
Azizi waits, patient as always, then nods and pushes open the parlor door.
True to her word, Theodore is pacing back and forth across the rug.
He’s more neatly dressed than I have ever seen him, wearing a lovely slate-grey waistcoat and sky-blue cravat, a little red gem set in the center of it to keep it in place.
Tossed across the chaise behind him is his coat and hat, and his soft curls are in wild disarray, as if he’s been tugging his hands through them all morning.
He freezes mid-step as soon as the door creaks open, perking up with a bright grin.
“Kolfina! It worked!” He is at my side in an instant, hands outstretched as if unsure if he is allowed to touch or not. “How do you feel? Alright?”
I reach up slowly to take his hands in mine, and if he can feel them trembling, he makes no show of it. I work a smile onto unfamiliar lips, something almost like hope flooding the caverns of my unbeating heart.
I can feel the warmth of him on my skin. Feel the creases of his palms and the rough texture of his fingertips. And just like that first time with Azizi, I do not hesitate to pull him into a kiss, desperate to know him in a way I’ve not yet been allowed.
It is different from kissing Azizi, as this body is quite a bit shorter than Theodore is from her, but it is no less intoxicating. He gives in with equal enthusiasm, a laugh on his tongue and his arms wrapping around my waist to sweep me closer.
When finally he pulls away to breathe, his smile is so wide and happy that I cannot help but kiss him again, and again.
I am sure if this body had enough blood in it, I would be red in the face with how warmly my affection blooms for him.
He laughs into the kisses, happy to indulge me until we are both gasping and my knees have grown weak beneath me.
I do not hear Azizi moving, but a hand presses against the small of my back a moment later, and I pull away to find her there beside us, a gentle smile on her lips and something hungry in her eyes.
She kisses me as well, though when I try to chase after her for another, her grip on my chin holds me in place. “Now, now, let’s not get carried away. There will be plenty of time for that later. For now, we really must be going if we’re to make the festival in a timely manner.”
Right. Yes. The festival.
Those nerves pool in my belly again, churning like wild currents in the ocean. The vines in the wallpaper shift and writhe, a warning and a promise—a threat.
We’ve not yet tested if I am able to leave the property while inhabiting someone else’s body.
I have not dared to hope I even could. To hope that I might see the world outside my little cliffside once more, that I might interact with it as others do and that people might look at me and actually see me for the first time in nearly two decades.