14. VERENA GRAVENHURST
FOURTEEN
VERENA GRAVENHURST
Flecks of light dance along the window’s ledge.
Soft rays of sun begin to peek through the cracks of my heavy velour curtains, and I groan, pulling the covers over my head, unwilling to accept that it’s already morning.
I want to hide away from the world. Bury my body so deep within these sheets that I become nothing but a strangled corpse, a memory of the girl I used to be.
Would anyone even miss me? Memories of last night flood my mind, and I’m forced to relive the moments of coming down from my intoxicating high, only to realize that I’d been abandoned.
A feeling you would think I have gotten used to after all of these years.
But with Loxen, the feeling of loneliness that I was left with after such an intimate moment, after I tore down my walls and let him see a glimpse of what I’ve let so few uncover, it stung more than a prick of a rose’s thorn, cutting deep into my palm.
Does that feel nice, little crow? I can hear his voice in my head like an echo of ecstasy.
Heat rises to my cheeks…and between my thighs once again.
I exhale and poke my head out of the covers.
Looking around the room, I find myself drifting off into thoughts of what I could’ve done to make him leave me at such a moment.
Did I say something that put him off? Did he lose interest?
I could’ve sworn I saw the longing and need in his eyes as he watched me building my own release.
A few times, I thought he would touch me; I thought he would drag his fingers down my body and make me feel alive in ways I have yet to feel.
But instead, he left me with more questions than I had the first day I met him.
Now that I’m sober and to my surprise, only slightly hungover, I want to disappear, to melt away so that I no longer have to face him around the manor, but the more I think about the glimmer in his eyes, and the way his lips slightly parted when a whimper would let loose from my lips, the more I’m certain that there’s a reason he up and left.
He wanted me as much as I wanted him. There’s no denying it.
Tossing my covers aside, a dull throb blooms in the back of my eyes, a consequence of drowning my feelings in vodka.
My stomach growls with the intensity of a starved animal, and I decide Loxen’s disappearing act is not worth losing another moment of thought over.
Until I’ve had a steaming cup of coffee and my breakfast, that is.
Grabbing my purple silk robe, I cover myself up and slip on my matching slippers, not caring to make myself look presentable to anyone who may see me.
Least of all the man I’m still trying to push out of my thoughts.
Cracking open the door, I peek out of the small opening, looking to see if anyone is lingering nearby.
I don’t know why I feel the need to sneak around my own home, but at times it feels like there are eyes that linger in these halls, like the walls hold more knowledge and would spill secrets that could tear down kingdoms if they could talk.
When I feel the coast is clear, I silently make my way to the dining area where the kitchen staff has more than likely prepared a feast fit for royalty.
I tell them it’s not necessary to make so much food, but they continue to do so, finding comfort in sticking to their routines they have come accustomed to while working for my grandfather for all of these years.
Rounding the corner of the large dining room, I am not at all disappointed by the display of fresh fruits and pastries, which have my mouth salivating at the sight of them.
I wipe droplets from my chin with the sleeve of my robe and scan my surroundings, hoping nobody just caught me drooling.
My shoulders relax when I see that I am still alone.
My body slumps into my usual chair, and I fill my plate high with all of the fixings set in front of me.
Shovelling the food down, I treat my hangover with the deliciousness of a thousand calories set before me.
My eyes flicker to the doorway every time I hear the slightest sound.
It’s impossible to deny that I keep hoping it’ll be Loxen, and I want to kick myself for even feeling something so ludicrous for a man I have no business being attracted to.
My coffee has gone cold while I sit at the table, lost in a haze of thoughts. I stare out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Loxen’s dark hair bobbing about in the garden, but I don’t spot him anywhere. Is he going to make himself scarce all day?
“Was everything to your satisfaction, Miss Ren?” Archie’s sudden presence snaps me out of my thoughts, causing me to startle in my chair.
“Yes, everything was delicious, thank you.” I give him a weak smile. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face, for what I’m not entirely sure.
“Is everything alright, Miss Ren? Forgive me if this is out of line, but your mind seems rather preoccupied this morning.”
“I’m fine, Archie, thank you for asking. Nothing that I would want to trouble you with.” My eyes drift once again to the windows overlooking the garden entrance, like a magnet being pulled in his direction. Archie clears his throat, capturing my attention once more.
“If I may, I’d like to show you something, Miss Ren. Somewhere in the manor, I think you’d very much enjoy.”
His words light a spark of excitement inside of me, a distraction from my spiralling thoughts. Exploring the manor is one of my favourite pastimes. Just when I feel I have seen every inch of my new home, I’m thrilled to learn there is so much more I’ve yet to discover.
“You sure do know the way to my heart, Archie.” Pushing my plate aside, I take one last sip of my cold coffee and follow him out of the dining room.
We walk in leisure, no rush or hurry on this quiet Saturday morning.
Archie answers my never-ending list of questions about the manor, the staff, and my grandparents, entertaining me like he enjoys my company as much as I enjoy his.
I’ve grown very fond of Archie in my short amount of time at the manor.
His wise words and stories lead me to believe there is nothing that happens under this roof that he doesn’t know about.
I opened my mouth to ask him about Loxen, but the words got caught in my throat.
If I ask about him, he may think I care about the man, and I’m not ready to open that can of worms.
Stopping in front of a door with etchings of the iris flower deeply engraved in the dark oak, he turns the doorknob and looks back, giving me a knowing smile. If Archie is excited about whatever is in the room, I know I’m going to love it just as much.
“It’s time to show you a small part of who your grandmother was.”
He leads me into the dark room and pads across the hardwood floor to open the drapes wide.
Sun floods in, and my mouth all but drops to the floor at the sight before my eyes.
The entire room is filled with shelves that showcase oddities of all sorts.
Taxidermy, bones, insects, wet preserves and several other peculiar specimens surround me, and I’m overwhelmed with intrigue and a connection to a woman I have never known.
I’ve always thought I was an odd individual for the fascinations that piqued my interest. Death and the beauty of the deceased have held a morbid place in my heart for as long as I can remember.
But now, what I think is odd is one with the inability to appreciate such miraculous vessels that once held a soul.
The structure of what made a being what it was, and the admiration of it long after it no longer is. That is the truest beauty of all.
“I shall leave you to explore the creatures and art. Might you have any questions, I’ll be around, Miss Ren.” Archie dips his head and slips out the door, leaving it slightly ajar behind him.
My eyes roam over the extensive collection of insect specimens, pinned neatly to detailed Victorian frames, littering the walls around me.
There are so many I’ve never even heard of before; butterflies, moths, beetles of various natures.
Stunning, each and every one of them. My eyes trail over to the wet specimens, some of them diaphonized, leaving their insides transparent to the eye and pleasantly colourful on display.
I tap on the jar of a little preserved baby mouse and watch as it sloshes in the liquid.
A smile creeps to my face, and I feel as if I am right in my element.
A display case across the room with taxidermy creatures of all kinds captures my attention; a few of them have two heads!
I have never seen a two-headed duck before, or a two-headed snake.
This is by far the most incredible place I have seen in the manor yet.
I shuffle through the stacks of papers on the mahogany desk, hoping to come across something that would give me more insight about what my grandmother was like, but in a room full of curiosities, I have no such luck.
I sit for a moment, taking in the grandiosity of the trinkets around me.
The paintings that hang around the room share the illusion of beautiful macabre, with their fine details in decaying florals and muted colour palettes.
The paintings in this room hold a tinge of darkness within them compared to those that line the manor hallways.
But I notice they all bear the same mark–the smudge of the artist’s signature in the bottom corner.
I gaze at a painting of a willow tree resembling the one I’ve come to admire here at the manor.
Its weeping branches flow in the wind, standing its ground against a reckoning of a storm that tears everything around it to shreds.
It’s entirely captivating. Sadness washes over me for the kinship I feel with this weeping willow.
Leaning in, I read the name of the artist Beatrice Gravenhurst. My grandmother.
I make a mental note to revisit the artwork around the manor, to continue getting to know the woman that she was.
I’ve exhausted all avenues of exploration for the day.
Mountains of paperwork of instructions on the taxidermy craft, how to preserve animal carcasses and humane ways to explore this hobby are the only things I can seem to find through scavenging the room.
Information I consider studying at a later time.
A few hours pass, and I’ve managed to keep myself distracted from the never-ending thoughts of Loxen.
As soon as the realization hits me, the sting of his rejection returns and the turmoil that his disappearing act has caused sets in a little deeper.
I haven’t seen him all day, and my sadness has now twisted into shadows of irritation.
Does he think he can just avoid me for the rest of time?
That’s laughable. Getting to my feet, I dust myself off and stretch my limbs, wincing from the ache from sitting around all day and my long venture home last night.
I feel restless and anxious with the thought of coming face-to-face with him again.
I’ve never been one to shy away from a confrontation, though, so I straighten my posture, gather my courage and set out to find the asshole to give him a piece of my mind.
I check the obvious places I would usually find him lurking about, but come up short.
Scouring the grounds, I’m confident I’ll find him in the gardens, as that is the same place that I am drawn when thoughts and worries plague my own mind.
Sure enough, I see his long dark locks, crouched down, tending to some withering irises.
His white shirt and hands are covered in dirt, leading me to believe he has spent a great deal of time out here today.
He packs down fresh soil, ignoring my approaching footsteps.
His back stiffens for only a moment before returning to his task.
He knows I’m here, yet he refuses to acknowledge my presence, which boils my blood even further.
“Have I done something to offend you, Loxen?”
He stops packing down the dirt and sits there with his gaze still lowered. He exhales a breath, seemingly trying to decide whether or not he wants to respond to me at all. Something akin to sadness flickers over his face for just a heartbeat, then his features harden. His jaw sets.
“No, you haven’t. What could you possibly do that would leave me feeling offended?”
“You—you just left…I opened my eyes, and you were gone.” My words are no more than a hushed whisper. Hurt laced through each syllable.
“And what of it?” he snaps, and I’m completely taken aback.
He peers up at me with eyes so devastatingly beautiful, it makes the bite in his tone so much more painful.
Tears sting the back of my eyelids, but I refuse to let them fall.
I feel like a fool, but I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.
“Right, forget I said anything.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, I turn on my heel and hurry my way back to the manor.
Once I’m safe behind the doors of my bedroom, the only place I can break down and feel the sting of his words without fear of someone overhearing, I let the tears escape, only long enough to feel the emotions that have been building inside of me throughout the day.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I think of the academy, of Reed, and how I now know the path my heart is intended to follow.