29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
W hat little routine I’d had left is gone.
Viridian doesn’t dine with me anymore. Still, I go to the great hall, and I wait for him. Hoping I’ll see him sitting at the end of the table. Hoping he’ll be waiting for me with that smile I adore. The smile I miss, so desperately. I would do anything, if it means I get to see that smile again.
But he doesn’t come. And I eat my dinner alone.
Day, after day, after day.
Though no matter how much I wish to escape it, wedding preparations corner me at every turn. Cakes to try. Styles to choose from. Invitations to approve. As if that wasn’t enough, servants pepper me with questions about the wedding.
Where would you like the ceremony to be held?
Which flowers would you like?
Shall we place them here or there?
I don’t know how to tell them that I don’t care about any of it. That none of it matters.
The few times I leave my chamber, the halls are bustling with preparations. The finest drapes adorn the walls, and I swear every ounce of metal in the castle shines.
Even as the day grows nearer, the numbness that’s befallen me doesn’t show any sign of letting go. I know I should feel something. Anticipation, excitement, nerves. Some flicker of emotion that tells me that I’m a bride to be.
But there’s nothing.
Every feeling I would have had leading up to this day was silenced the last time Viridian spoke to me. The day I sentenced us to a lifetime of unhappiness.
“You will never, ever love me.”
I’ve failed to show him otherwise. To prove to him that I could love him.
That maybe, I already do.
The knock at the door does little to pull me from my thoughts. When I don’t answer, the door opens slightly.
Tiffy pokes her head in, wearing a long face when she sees me.
I’m sitting on the floor, supporting my back against the footboard of my bed. I balance a sketchbook on my lap, lightly pressing a charcoal stick to the page. I think of the colored wax that sits abandoned in my studio. Lately, I’ve opted for black-and-white instead.
“Miss,” Tiffy says, gently, as if not to startle me. “It’s time for your fitting.”
“Fitting?” I ask, briefly looking up at her.
“For your wedding gown,” she answers.
“Ah.” I nod slowly. That is today, I remember.
“Shall I tell them to come back another time?” I hate the pity I hear in her voice.
“No,” I tell her, standing. I place my sketchbook and charcoal stick onto my bed, careful to place the charcoal on the page and not my bedding. “I’m ready.”
Tiffy eyes me like she doesn’t believe me. I avoid looking at her.
“Onward.” I gesture to the door.
Tiffy just presses her lips together, in what seems like an effort not to frown. She leads me out of my chamber, through the halls until we reach a sitting room.
Inside, there are three women—whom I assume to be seamstresses—fussing over a gown they’ve laid out on a divan. The women’s rounded ears tell me they’re human.
Some time ago, it would have been nice to be in the company of humans.
Some time ago, it would have helped me feel less alone.
But now, nothing can soothe the bite of loneliness. There is only one person whose company I care to share. Only, that person doesn’t want to see me.
Tears sting my eyes, and I shut them to keep the waterworks at bay.
When I open them again, I catch Tiffy staring at me before she diverts her attention elsewhere. I force a smile and look at the seamstresses. Though, I don’t reach their eyes.
“Good afternoon, Miss,” the one closest to me says with a curtsy. Her graying hair tells me she’s the oldest of the three, and the air of authority surrounding her tells me she’s the one in charge. She sweeps her hand toward a round wooden platform. “If you could step up here, please.”
I nod, and pick up my skirts to step forward, onto the platform.
Tiffy moves forward to untie my corset. Once it’s loosened, she pulls my dress down and helps me step out of it. Then the seamstresses guide me into the gown they brought—my wedding dress, I realize—and pull it up until the sleeves reach my shoulders. They fasten the bodice around me and fluff out the skirt.
Tiffy moves a cheval mirror, placing it in front of me, but I turn my face away.
The seamstresses mutter amongst themselves, sticking pins into the skirt and in some places along my waist. One holds some fabric in place while the other two make adjustments, armed with sewing needles and small spools of delicate, white thread .
I feel as if I am merely a doll, standing in place. My mind is clear of thoughts, and I can’t seem to summon any. If one of the seamstresses were to prick me with a needle, I doubt I would feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
Not a single thing.
“Miss?” one of the seamstresses asks.
“Yes?” I reply, raising my brows. “Did you say something?”
“I asked if you like it, Miss?” The seamstress smooths my skirt. “Is there anything you’d like to have changed?”
Forcing myself to look in the mirror, I can’t help but stare at my reflection. Now, I understand why Tiffy keeps looking at me the way she does—with that concerned look. My auburn hair hangs limp around my face. Dark circles gather under my eyes, and they’re puffy from the lack of sleep. My golden-brown irises look dull, as if they’ve lost their shine. Lightly, I touch my fingers to my cheeks. My skin seems washed-out, as if I’ve neglected to care for myself.
How could I have let this happen?
The question is twofold. It pertains to my physical appearance, yes, but also the circumstances that led me here.
How could I have let this happen?
Why wasn’t I willing to do what it took to show Viridian that I do care for him? That I can love him? That being apart from him feels as though my heart has been ripped from my chest ?
“Miss?” Tiffy steps forward, her mouth tight with worry.
I snap out of my stupor and focus my attention on the dress. It’s a beautiful ivory color, decorated with romantic lace detailing. It has long, lace sleeves that come down past my wrists, about half-way down my hands, and a flowing skirt with a sizable train. The sweeping neckline is also intricately detailed, with the same luminescent silver metal that’s been spun into the small, flowery detailing at the skirt’s hemline.
“It’s…” My voice trails off. The never-ending numbness eating at me takes away my ability to form an opinion. “It’s beautiful.”
And it is beautiful. Truly.
The seamstresses exchange glances. Though, I can’t tell what kind.
“Well,” Tiffy interjects, sparing me, “if Miss Thurdred thinks of anything she’d like altered, we will inform you immediately.”
That seems to appease the seamstresses.
“Wonderful,” the lead seamstress says. With that, she and Tiffy help me out of my wedding dress, and back into my day gown.
Tiffy escorts me back to my chamber and lingers in the threshold.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss?” she asks, pressing her hands to her abdomen.
I shake my head. “I’m all right.”
Tiffy’s expression seems to fall, sinking further into pity that I don’t want to see. She swallows. “Very well, then. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do.” She reaches out and places her hand on my arm. “Anything at all.”
I take a breath and meet her eyes, mustering the strength to offer her something akin to a smile. “I will. Thank you, Tiffy.”
She just nods. Stepping back slowly, she gently closes my chamber door.
I move to my bed and let myself fall onto the mattress. Careful not to kick my sketchbook where I left it on the end of my bed earlier, I turn onto my side, and pull the covers over myself.
And even though it’s not yet dark outside, and I haven’t eaten dinner, I close my eyes.
It’s not long before sleep pulls me under.