Chapter Three #2
Glancing up at Dahlia, Hyacinth sat, waiting for instruction that time. The blonde woman slid down to a seat to the right, folding her hands over the table. When her inquisitive gaze met Hyacinth’s, her expression softened.
“Go ahead, you can drink this too. Just…slowly. I don’t know if you experience burns, but it’ll make your throat hurt worse.”
“And the…stitches?” Hyacinth glanced down at her arms. There were stitches around her wrists, where someone clearly carved open her arms and reattached bone.
How badly had my body been damaged? She assumed it had been brutal, otherwise there was no reason for the massive wound at the center of her chest. The one that had to be stitched up with dark thread.
It was warm, a different type of warmth than the bowl in her hands.
She cupped the broth in her palms to keep from scratching at the stitches. “Anything to make them not itch.”
“I think so,” Dahlia hummed, nodding to herself. “I’m Dahlia, by the way.”
“I know, he said your name,” Hyacinth pointed out before bringing the bowl to her lips.
Slow sips. She tipped a splash into her mouth and gulped it down.
Steadily, she gulped down splash after splash till it filled her belly.
It was a strange feeling, the sloshing of her stomach as more liquids filled it.
But it made her throat significantly happier.
Hyacinth licked her newly damp lips, cleaning the salty broth from them.
With a smack, she spoke again, “And hers is Agatha.”
“There’s a lot of people in this house you’ll meet; I’ll have you meet them at dinner soon. Once you’re ready.”
Hyacinth placed the bowl down onto the table, fingers circling the rim of it.
“Why did you kiss my maker?” Hyacinth blurted out, the question suddenly the most important thing to her. Because that determines who Dahlia is to me. Who all of them are to me. Agatha called me new friend but—blink! Blink, blink!
Dahlia chuckled, sitting back in her chair. “I’m Lady Dahlia Rosemont. I’m his wife. I tend to do that a lot.”
“Why?” Hyacinth cocked her head. Her hair spilled down her side and forced her to shiver at the feel of it scraping past her angry stitches on her back.
“Uh, because I like to and because I love him,” Dahlia’s answer was slow and disjointed as she sat forward quickly. Then she was up and on her feet, inspecting Hyacinth’s back. “Your wings must hurt.”
“I can’t feel them yet,” Hyacinth answered even though Dahlia hadn’t asked her a question.
It seemed like a good time to tell her not to worry about the pain.
Hyacinth knew pain, in her mind she knew what that meant, but it didn’t connect to what occurred in her flesh.
The pain she should have felt for drinking boiling tea and hot broth didn’t compare to the incessant ache in her chest.
Before Hyacinth could ask about Dahlia’s attachment to Sebastian again, Agatha returned with a new mug. No teabag in that one, and with a floating cube of ice in it. “Here, try this out for a spin.”
Hyacinth took the mug before slowly turning it around in a circle on the table. When she glanced up, she frowned at the ghostly woman. “It changes nothing. It’s still tea.”
“You’re…not wrong…” Agatha’s eyes widened.
Dahlia stepped away from Hyacinth’s back, allowing the dead woman to sit back again.
Her maker’s wife took up the bowl and refilled it before returning to the table.
Hyacinth, having inspected her tea and finding it relatively less steamy than the last, brough the mug to her lips.
She drank it steadily, more splashes hitting her belly.
Glug. Glug. Glug. Her body sagged, as if that was the answer to making her muscles ease. Tea fixes muscle ache, got it.
“You’re very literal.” Dahlia sank back into her seat.
“Is that a bad thing?” Hyacinth sat the mug down on the table.
“No,” Dahlia’s lips curled, suggesting she was entertained, but it seemed…
sweet? Hyacinth watched Dahlia flatten out her skirt against her lap, that smile still pulling at the woman’s lips.
When Lady Rosemont glanced back up, her eyes were sparkling with something Hyacinth couldn’t place.
But it was comforting, and it made her own tension slip away.
“Not at all. Welcome to Rosemont Manor, Hyacinth. Drink your bone broth, I’ll be back.
I’m going to check on that potion Sebastian was making. ”
Hyacinth watched Dahlia tap the table softly twice in a row before climbing to her feet. The lady of the manor waltzed out of the room, dress still kissing the floor as she disappeared into the dark. When Hyacinth turned back to Agatha, she found the floating woman weaving needles through yarn.
“Agatha?” Hyacinth picked up her bowl and brought it to her lips. “What is that?”
“Oh! It’s knitting! I make things with the yarn once I’ve woven it into a pattern.”
Hyacinth leaned over the table; the steady motion of Agatha’s fingers was mesmerizing. It made Hyacinth chase after the ends of the needles, unable to help herself. The words tumbled out of her. “It looks fascinating.”
“It is! Here, I’ll come over there so you can watch, but you better drink that broth.
Lady Rosemont’s serious about everyone eating enough here.
” Agatha’s giggle suggested something Hyacinth didn’t catch, but it didn’t matter.
She chugged her broth in the time it took Agatha to collect the ball of yarn and bring her project to the other side of the table.
After putting her bowl aside, she settled into her chair.
Hyacinth twisted in her seat, her head to the back of the chair, in order to watch the needles thread their way in and out.
Like her little commands. It was up, over, through, around.
Blink, Inhale, exhale, blink, blink, inhale, exhale, swallow, blink…
Hyacinth fell asleep to the subtle clink-clink-clink of knitting needles.