Chapter Thirty-Five
Alora stared at the key. At how it gleamed beneath the sconce on the wall.
Real and probably heavy and shining new, and yet it had no purpose in her life.
Madam Feebledire hadn’t used it to lock her in.
The bolt on the inside meant she didn’t need it against anyone wishing her harm.
So what would she do? Lock up the house every night she left? For what? To deter trespassers?
She spun within the space. The bottom level contained four rooms, the doorways arched and opened in a way that she could move from one to the other and still see them all at once, even the washroom.
She had a dining table with two chairs, a sitting room with a sofa.
There was a kitchen which couldn’t really be considered as such since she had no stove and no oven, and in the washroom sat a vanity, a tub, and the largest full-length mirror she’d ever owned.
She looked away before she could see herself within it.
A spiral stair speared upward from the house’s center, winding around and around to a loft.
Alora didn’t need to go up there to know there’d be no terrace.
There would be no dried flowers on a nightstand, salvaged from her favorite blooms. There would be no wardrobe filled with silvers and blues.
The vanity wouldn’t have her new favorite shade of lipstick, and certainly not her embroidered towels, and the sitting room most definitely wouldn’t have a knife hidden upon the mantle.
There would be no dishes for Mrs. Flops in the kitchen.
There would be no rabbit at all…
Let them come. Anyone who wants. Let them take whatever they can carry.
She didn’t care. None of it was hers.
Alora marched toward the key, scooped it up, and in the next breath, flung open the door. She froze mid-throw, her hand behind her ear.
A woman cowered on the stoop. When no object met her face, she lowered her gold-painted hands with caution. Her eyes were wide and brown behind them, and Alora’s memories remained still. She’d never met this person.
“May I help you?” demanded Alora with more hostility than she meant.
The middle-aged woman tittered in response. She wore the same nondescript uniform as the rest of the mansion’s employees, crimson and gold, her skin painted to match, but her hair was done up rather nicely, with soft waves framing her face and cascading behind.
Is this what I’m meant to learn? She’d curling tongs at home. She didn’t want for instruction.
“Forgive me, but I’m told to assist in readying you for the evening.”
“Who told you?”
“Madam”—the employee swallowed rather loudly—“Feebledire.”
What could this woman possibly do? Aside from watch Alora bathe and ensure she made up her eyes as sultry as a siren’s? No. The entrancement held no power in this instance, and in turn, it fed Alora’s own. She turned up her nose.
“No, thank you.”
A hand smacked against the door with surprising force where Alora meant to close it between them. Alora stared at the woman, her mouth parted in surprise. “Excuse—”
“You don’t understand. They are watching.”
Alora flung her attention from the desperate appearance of the Opulence employee in order to scan the quiet grounds.
All she could see were perfect, little houses, traced from the same pattern.
She squinted, searching for shadows, but those were few and far between and didn’t bear any human shape.
“Who is watching?” she eventually asked.
“The mansion.”
“The building itself now cares whether I’m properly cleaned and manicured before the evening?”
“Madam Feebledire does, and she told me Master does. And Master is the mansion. There is nothing that goes on that they do not see. Let me in. Please.”
Alora found her hand dropping limply to her side before she realized it.
The woman pushed past her as if chased by an ogre, breaths heavy in the silence.
Alora didn’t glance back at her but lifted her gaze to Opulence once more.
It didn’t look so impressive from the back, she didn’t think.
There were no windows and no doors. No monstrous wolf statues.
But it was tall and gold and impenetrable.
Like a fortress. She scanned the rooftop for spies and found nothing.
“Who told you you’re always being watched?” Alora’s eyes settled on the fluttering crimson flags atop the turrets. Memories attempted to resurface again. I’ve broken rules here before.
“Everyone. Management and others like me.”
“Hmm,” hummed Alora. “It could be true, I suppose.” She closed the door and turned to face the house’s interior. “Or they could be lying to keep you in line.”
“Is it worth the risk to find out? What if we’re caught?”
Alora stared at the woman like she’d sprouted another head. “I would think we already are.”