Chapter 1 Scarlett #2
Mother’s words are as sharp as a whip as she looks away. I make no move to get up. I don’t have to. The cold hands of my mother’s ladies-in-waiting snatch me from the high-backed wooden chair. The legs scrape harshly along the stone floor.
I don’t fight them anymore; it would do me little good. I let them drag me from the study. My slipper-clad feet slide along the floors. The bodice of my dress hangs limply from my shoulders. All my clothes are too big for my new body.
Portraits of the Crest family decorate the stone walls.
They are the only witnesses to my harsh handling.
I wonder what they think of us—of what has become of their noble bloodline.
My father is from a long line of earls who have lorded over Broken Cliff.
Our family had been some of the first settlers to make landfall here after navigating the rough shores.
There are hundreds of years of our history stored away in this manor.
Tales of adventurous men and judicious rulers that made Broken Cliff prosper.
Now there was only my father, and all of this would end with him—the last in a long line of men who had been able to father dozens of sons.
My grandfather had only managed two, and one died in infancy.
My father had not even been lucky enough for any of my would-be brothers to take their first breath.
Perhaps a curse was laid on our family years ago.
Our fates had already been chosen, and we would find our end at the hands of greed.
All of my father’s ambitions have led to our end.
How much blood needed to be spilled to save this crumbling manor home, only to have no one to inherit it upon his death?
Perhaps my father believes I will bear Earl Bram's sons and one of them will become his heir. I will have no children, least of all the earl’s, not after what he has done. It would be justified to wrap my arms around him and leap from the cliff, dragging him down with me onto the rocky shore.
It would be fair for him to know only pain in his final moments.
The doors to my bedroom are pulled open.
A great groan echoes down the hall as I’m quickly hauled inside.
The room is empty save for a small mattress on the floor and a sheet barely large enough to cover me at night.
They don’t trust me with much else. The bars on my windows are a testament to that.
In the center of the room is an older woman, her red hair graying at the temples.
Pins pierce through her apron, and a soft measuring tape hangs around her neck.
The town seamstress says nothing, blanketing her expression with only the slightest widening of her eyes, the only hint that my form is a distressing sight.
A white gang hangs from her arms, and my stomach rolls.
The doors to the room slam shut. Metallic clanking from the other side echoes as the guards take their place outside the door.
My mother snaps her fingers, and without preamble, her servants undress me.
It takes barely a tug for the loose dress to flutter to the ground.
My corset and shift follow until I am bare before all those gathered.
There would’ve been a time when I would’ve covered myself in the name of modesty. I feel nothing as they look at me.
The gaunt state of my body is a physical reminder of all they have taken from me. Part of me aches at the notion that the body he once loved so fiercely is no more. All that remains is dry skin and protruding bones. My body is a coffin, housing the heart that died loving him.
“Dress her,” my mother commands.
Her words wake the seamstress from her shock-induced stupor.
Quickly, she gets to work sliding the white monstrosity over my slight frame.
White gauze caresses my skin, making my stomach roll.
Nausea creeps up my throat, coating my tongue in bile.
The lacing at the back is done up, but the gown still gapes at my hips and chest.
This dress will become my death shroud. It hangs limply from my shoulders. The seamstress steps back, looking nervous—my mother’s stony face twists with displeasure.
“We’ll need to take it in again. She’s thinner than before.”
The seamstress’s voice is barely above a whisper. My mother gives a sharp nod.
“Whatever is needed to make it fit. Double corset her if need be. The Duke cannot know the state we are delivering her in.”
The seamstress suggests adding padding to certain areas of my body, and my mother agrees.
The two make a plan in hushed tones about where to add volume and where to add color to my face to give the appearance of health.
Their voices fade into the background as I stare out my window.
The cold, gray sky adds more raindrops to the glass.
Sometimes, I think I can see him. Whether it is a vivid memory or pure hallucination, I cannot be certain.
There will be a certain shape to the clouds that will remind me of his smile.
At night, I can hear his soft voice whispering in my ear.
I can feel the phantom touches of his fingers along my skin, only for my hands to be greeted by nothingness.
This pain will end soon. I hope that wherever my soul goes, he will already be waiting for me. Our reunion will be as sweet as I’ve imagined it to be a hundred times. Tomorrow will be my final sunrise. At dusk, I will marry Earl Bram—the man who took everything from me.
With my last breath, I will say my wedding vows, and then it will all be over. Death beckons me into its waiting embrace, and I shall not deny the two of us any longer.