Chapter Five
Hyacinth
“How do you feel now that you’ve had a moment to…
exist?” Dahlia Rosemont asked as she placed a steaming bowl of something before Hyacinth again for the second day.
Blinking was becoming more autonomous, but she could still hear the low murmur in the back of her mind.
Blink, blink. Lifting her hand, she took up the spoon with the knowledge she’d not gained herself.
Lord Sebastian Rosemont, her creator, explained that while she would need to learn some things from scratch, a lot of her functions and automations were learned skills that the body, and brain she possessed, already knew.
“I do not know how to answer that question,” Hyacinth confessed with a sheepish curl upward in her lips. This is a grimace, yes? Or is this a wince? Are they not the same thing? “I’m not sure I feel anything other than…”
“Utter confusion?” Melody Rosemont inputted, turning her sketch pad around. Blink, blink. Hyacinth stared down at the paper and traced the image with her eyes. It was an uncanny, exact replica of the face she saw in the mirror.
“Yes, actually, exactly that.” Hyacinth scrunched her brow.
“It’s like coming back from a coma, or in my case, a memory fugue state. Nothing makes sense and it’s like your ears are clogged. Up is down, left is right, and standing makes the floor spin.” Melody shrugged nonchalantly as she took the sketch back across the kitchen table.
“You were created too?” Hyacinth blurted out, hands moving on their own to scoop up some of the soup Dahlia made.
“Well…” Melody trailed off with a wheezy laugh.
“Oh! I know!” Dahlia chirped, jabbing a finger up into the air. “You should speak with Austin! He’d know exactly how you feel.”
“Yeah!” Melody waggled her finger at Dahlia.
While the lady of the house wore a black ensemble, including a frilly apron covered in flour handprints, and had her long, pointy ears out on display with dangling earrings.
Melody was in a short red sundress, her wild mane down behind her shoulders.
Paint was dried and smudged across the bridge of her tan nose, and there was a swipe along her jawline.
“Who?” Hyacinth asked, taking a tentative sip of soup. She’d learned not to just toss it back. Lord Rosemont told her the teabag itself would dissolve and isn’t the worst thing she could have swallowed. She still burped up Earl Grey for hours afterward.
“Austin, he’s Lord Rosemont’s first creation.
I’m surprised you haven’t met him? He was the one who found you.
” Dahlia put her hands to her hips, inspecting Hyacinth.
Blink, blink. Hyacinth took another sip of the broth.
It was thicker than the liquidy base she had yesterday, and it was flavorful enough to sooth the itch in the back of her throat, but there was nothing of sustenance in it.
There was no reason to the thought, but she craved to bite into a giant turkey leg.
The roasted kind and glistening with herby butter over a bed of mashed potatoes and green beans.
Saliva pooled in her mouth despite never having never actually eaten it.
Not as Hyacinth, at the very least. She wasn’t sure how to explain exactly what she wanted, so she sipped her soup instead.
“Found my vessel, you mean.” Hyacinth peeked down at her body, dressed in a simple, lilac silk dress that dangled from a ribbon wrapped around her throat.
It had sleeves but the banshee ghost was kind enough to pin them up to her shoulders with little clips while she ate.
Agatha. Hyacinth was slowly learning their names.
Agatha was wrangling her hair into a pair of loose braids, two large ones that fell against her shoulder blades.
“And was there when you awoke.” Agatha added as she finger brushed the shorter, choppier layers of her hair to frame her face.
The long white stripe that framed the left side of her face curled in a different direction than the rest until Agatha touched it.
Like everything bent to the ghostly banshee’s will, it lay correctly.
“You should meet him. Austin’s a real sweetie. Bet he’ll understand this vague feeling in your gut. Help you work through being alive. Ya know.” Melody nodded, climbing to her feet. “Wonder where he is?”
“The lab. Austin’s been busy at work since Hyacinth woke up.” Dahlia strummed her fingers across the table. “You feel up to traversing stairs?”
“I don’t know how feeling up is, but my body is functioning?” Hyacinth squinted at Dahlia, almost as if she were asking the question to herself. Dahlia’s lips curled into an amused smile.
“Well, trust me, sometimes that’s all you can ask for,” Dahlia snorted, slapping the table. “Agatha, you mind walking her down there? If I stop paying attention to this brew for even a second, it’ll turn everything orange.”
“Turn…everything…orange? What are you making over there?” Melody scoffed, pivoting around in her seat. “You witch.”
“Witch!” Dahlia squawked, swatting at the werewolf with the tea towel that had been draped over her shoulder. “I’m doing this for you, my ungrateful flea motel.”
“That was one time, and that was totally an accident!” Melody roared with laughter as she sprang to her feet. The pair of women were loud, however Hyacinth wasn’t paying attention. Her focus was on finishing up the soup in her bowl.
The specter, Agatha, sat next to her at the table.
Hyacinth peeked up at the woman with her hair dancing up and above her head.
She loved watching it and almost forgot to blink.
Blink, blink. She didn’t want to miss a single flick of magic or twirl of tendril.
Agatha studied Hyacinth while the dead woman was fascinated.
Like a cat watching lights bob around a tree.
She’d completely forgotten she even mentioned feelings until Agatha spoke up.
“The first few days, when everything is new, are hardest. But you’ll come around.
It’ll start feeling like you soon. You’ll start thinking of your body as yours, and the things it does as your movements.
Trust me.” Agatha winked sweetly before extending her hand.
Hyacinth took it and climbed to her feet.
It was true. She still felt a disconnect.
While the actions in the body were hers, this didn’t feel like home.
Hyacinth couldn’t articulate it with words off her tongue, but she felt like a guest. The words just borrowing kept whispering at the back of her skull.
While Dahlia and Melody chortled over some massive, bubbling cauldron in the kitchen, Hyacinth floated through the house like a stiff breeze.
Cold and unfeeling, empty, void of any recognition of size or matter.
She didn’t weigh anything but also was stuck to the ground at the same time.
Her feet brushed across the worn carpet runner that split the hallways in half.
Its fuzzy fibers tickled between her toes.
Hyacinth stopped to wiggle her appendages, felt them sway around her.
The swish of the fabric was nice as the sleeves were back down to enveloping her arms. Flapping them made her smile, the sound as they cut through the air was delightful.
Jumping around in a circle, she tornadoed her way after Agatha.
The action left her breathlessly giddy. Her lungs begged for mercy, but she couldn’t help it.
When she came to a skittering halt next some door in the hallway, her face ached.
This hurts. But good hurts. I like it. Her muscles were not used to the function, and it left her a little dizzy.
Putting her arms down, easing the muscles she’d overexerted, Agatha pulled open a heavy, wooden door.
Under the grand staircase, it wasn’t hidden but it wasn’t advertised.
Nestled. That’s a good word for it, I wonder where I learned it?
She let her smile soften to give her face a break.
Things got significantly better when she realized her leg muscles also ached after a while.
After her knees buckled earlier, she learned to listen to the alarms at the back of her head.
When something tugged, she didn’t just keep barreling through it.
That’s how I lost my left foot. The pain wasn’t what caught her by surprise, it was the sharp fall to the ground with no warning.
Lord Rosemont stitched her foot back onto her ankle, so it was short-lived. But she learned that day to keep an eye on all her limbs and listen to her body. My body. That’s right, her body. My body! Agatha said it would help if she thought of the vessel as her body. Mine.
“Ready?” Agatha chirped, holding a candelabra aloft.
“I am unsure if ready is a sensation or a feeling, but I am physically capable of walking downstairs, yes,” Hyacinth grinned at her with a singular, strong nod. Not time for screaming, but I can handle stairs.
“Perfect!” Agatha giggled as she proceeded to float down the stairs.
Hyacinth stepped up to the ledge and stared down.
Down. Right. Just…one leg. She lifted her foot off the ground, reminding her muscles of all the steps required to actually walk down the stairs.
One hand to the rail, one to the skirt of her dress like Agatha showed her, and then down.
Down. Lift foot. Forward. Down. She talked herself through every step until it was a small chant at the back of her head.
The steps creaked in tandem with her mantra.
They were heavy wood with deep grooves from where steps rubbed away at it every day.
Even the rails were a wiggly worm shape from the use.
Hyacinth liked that nothing was level until the very bottom.
When she jumped off the last step like one launched off a swing set, she spread her arms out and let the air whoosh past her. It was a pleasant tingly sensation. Head back, eyes closed, the feel of her hair tickling her shoulders and cheeks, it left her feeling…alive. Alive. I am alive.