As the novelty of Keegan’s appearance wears off the more time passes, Keegan is finally able to focus more on the original plan and less on answering questions about where she has been.
Looking around the second floor balconies, she spots the deep green cloak of her young disciple contrasting against the white marble banisters. Glittering eyes meet hers, and Grace recognizes it’s her time to watch for her cue.
The heeled shoes that Keegan wears thuds lightly on the main carpet, lost in the sounds of others’ dancing and cajoling. With every step towards the staircase, her mind calmly recounts the plan.
The beautifully decorated marble surrounds her on all sides, the soft shadows cast by the lamps taunting her eyes, guiding them around to different crevices. Deep hues of purples and reds greet her, and the scent of wine, salt and meats wafts to her from where they’re serving.
Turning her head to the right, a couple that looks to be in their early twenties flirt with smiles and casual touches. She remembers what it was like to look at someone like that, and to be looked at like that. To be loved and to love.
Memories of her life tickle her nose and burn her eyes. She looks up instead.
Beautiful trails of gold hang across her terraces, sparkling resolutely against the reds of the tapestries lining the walls above. She would have to thank Marcus for his meticulous planning.
When was the last time I walked this hall?
She purses her lips, catching herself before her memories coalesce.
What a useless thought.
Chiding herself for getting distracted, she reaches the landing. As she turns to face the hall, a crowd of people before her, a tightness grips her chest, squeezing her heart.
A small voice in the back of her head continues.
When was the last time we stood before such a crowd?
A different hall, one with different faces, stealing glimpses of itself in her mind’s eye. A hall with blues and whites. A hall with him by her side, exchanging comfortable glances and casual touches, much like that young couple earlier.
Keegan can feel her pulse quicken, ever so slightly. The surrounding air becomes wavy through the tears welling in her eyes.
Was it a birthday? A sickly feeling inches up her throat as she attempts to suppress the powerful emotions seeping through her defenses.
No, no. Perhaps when the King visited?
She raises a hand to her head, drawing circles on her temple, both trying and not trying to recall the last memory she had of this very place.
The hall starts to turn white with the stillness of her eyes. She tries to focus on a low hanging flower arrangement, the reds of the roses blurring as she fights to correct her focus.
Or…
A framed painting of a stoic man is unearthed from her memories for a brief moment, ribbons adorn it lovingly.
She bites the inside of her cheek, hard, and furrows her brow as her surroundings return to her eyes. The noises of the ballroom flood into her ears once more, a sound she hadn’t realized was missing until it came back.
A deep breath enters her lungs, as the blood of her mauled cheek taints her mouth.
She dabs at her eyes discreetly, reeling from the overwhelming surge of memories. Unsure how much longer she can keep her internal tide at bay, she resolves to finish quickly and return to her room.
Gathering her hands in front of her, she clears her throat and touches the small gem on the inside of her collar. A device that will amplify her voice.
“May I please have your attention?” No trace of hesitation is heard in her clear voice. Oh, how she used to excel at this game. It fit her hand again so well, even after all this time.
She signals for the orchestra to pause playing. At the same time, the servants move to dim the flames that light the hall, leaving only a few. The corners of the room seem to encroach on its inhabitants.
When silence falls, the sound of brushing fabric whispers in the space, indicating that they are all facing Keegan. Only their shadowy silhouettes can be seen from where she is.
“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Her voice rings loudly, assisted by the amplifying magical device.
“The house of DeMasses welcomes you to enjoy this celebration.” She pauses for dramatic effect. She hopes she has given Grace enough time to prepare.
“A celebration of ties, of memories… and of magic.”
As the word magic escapes her lips, brilliant bursts of light spew into the high ceilings of the hall, illuminating awed faces. Grace was tasked to perform a light show tonight, and so she did deliver. Even Keegan was surprised at the beautiful show Grace pulled together.
Oranges, blues and impossible shades of violet flash suspended in the air above everyone’s heads. Exclamations are heard throughout the crowd, and delighted laughter rings out in between.
A small smile of relief flashes across Keegan’s face as she descends the steps, assisted by Marcus, who also rehearsed his cue.
Guiding his Master to the side entrance of the hall, he releases her hand upon their arrival into a better lit room, one of the resting areas.
“Your Grace, perhaps you should retire for the evening. Please leave the rest of the night to us.” His words, full of concern, are a reflection of what he sees in her.
Her hair looks as if she had been sweating, strands of it straying and sticking to the sides of her pale face. Her eyes, wane and red, made Marcus think she had cried recently. And her hands, her beautiful hands, were too cold for the butler’s liking. These signs were reminiscent of deep emotional wounds; of darker times Marcus hopes to never see his Mistress suffer through again.
Looking back at him, Keegan nods, not truly seeing him. Her ears are buzzing.
“Please rest here while I fetch Becky.” Marcus sighs with relief as Keegan nods, and half of him is already slipping out the door, in a rush to assign an escort for his tired Mistress.
Becky, a maid with a broader build, used to help Keegan by carrying her to her rooms when her episodes of grief or fatigue were too great. When she would lose all purpose to move her body, Becky would do it for her, washing her, feeding her, dressing her and taking her outside to feel the sun on her face. Becky was one of the most precious people to Keegan, because she took care of her body when she herself could not.
“Ah, there’s no need. I have the strength to walk.” She catches herself and gives him a defeated smile, waving her hand.
“Goodnight, Marcus. And thank you.” She says quietly, weakly.
With worry in his eyes, Marcus bows to the Duchess, and replies in kind.
Turning her back on the hall full of people, she walks the halls of her home, her mind and heart in disarray.
The walls she keeps built were slowly chipped at all night long, and they were finally crumbling step by step.
This fray in the rug that she had asked not to repair, was when they were chasing each other down the halls, the autumn light illuminating them through the windows. Until finally Keegan had tripped, snagging the rug with the heel of her boot, where he had caught her and fell in a lump together. Through laughter and tears, they sat there, together, for several minutes until the proximity of their bodies permeated their awareness enough to share a kiss.
Walking down another hall, she smells the scent of peppers and spices, and is reminded of the many dinners they shared under this very roof, in that very room. The many nights they would sneak into the kitchen and eat Chef’s doughy bread for the morning, or the cookies meant for a daytime snack instead of a nighttime treat. The long talks over a steaming bowl of soup, sitting at the very table behind the door her gaze fell upon. The very table that held grooves in its planks of all the times cutlery was laid upon it. All the stains from spilled wine and laughter shared above its surface.
Each step she takes, each portrait, vase and rug, all reminds her of the emptiness she endures, reminds her of the memories these halls have seen and heard.
As she passes a mirror, she mindlessly glances at her reflection and stops. Her face, worn and drained, her frown drawn on her face was in great contrast to the small smile plastered on her lips. Her face crumples.
Suddenly unable to bear the cresting wave in her heart, she picks up her skirt and runs the rest of the way to her rooms. A different room that the one she shared with him, because that one was too lonely. Too quiet.
Desperately opening the doors and slamming it against her back, she leans against it with all her weight, panting. Her hands shake with the fierce grip she holds on the door handle, and with the surging sensations welling up in her throat. She bows her head, her hair falling in front of her face.
An unbridled sob escapes her, hot tears flowing out of her eyes like a faucet. She wants to collapse, to shrink and fold right then and there, but the light of the moon shining through her sheer curtains calls to her, so she steps forward, streams of sadness flowing from her eyes.
The moon is beautiful tonight.
She bites her lip, thinking of what he would say if he saw it too. The same moon she sees. The same halls she sees. The same rug and cutlery and that stupid hole in the wall that they covered with a painting.
I miss you so much. Do you miss me too?
Her feet carry her to her balcony, her face lifted to the moon. She closes her eyes, but the brightness of the moon shines through her eyelids. Her bottom lip trembles, tears still streaming down her face.
She speaks to the moon, as if he’s in it.
“Everything reminds me of you.” Her voice trembles in pain and she inhales like a gasp, her heart breaking all over again.
She clutches her chest.
“That stupid tear in the rug, the grooves in the table, the paintings on the wall,” she doesn’t sound like herself, like she can barely speak. Her throat burns with the effort of pushing words out.
“Even the crowd of strangers tonight!” She screams it out now, her voice cracking then turning into a whimper.
“And you! You…” she speaks to the moon directly now, suddenly angry.
She knows it can’t hear her. She knows it’s not a person or sentient being. She knows.
“Why do you always rise? Even when no one can see you?!” She takes off her shoes and throws one as hard as she can at the moon, but it falls short and lands in the bushes of her garden.
“Time stopped for me when he died, so why can’t you?! You’re stealing him from me!” She throws the other shoe now, but her strength has left her, and the shoe falls helplessly to her feet on the balcony.
“You’re
She silently cries, her shoulders hunching forward, caving in her chest as she struggles to keep herself upright.
“Stop…” she whispers now, feeling defeated and helpless, the glow of the moon as bright as ever on her face.
“Just stop” she mouths the words, but no sound comes out. She falls to her knees, hugging herself as she mourns afresh, her vulnerability on display to the moon in full.
Kai slips away from the scene that unfolded before his eyes, careful not to rustle any branches as he makes his way back.
He feels raw and uncomfortable, as if he had just seen something very intimate. In fact, he did see something very intimate.
The indifferent and cold Duchess Keegan, the composed and detached woman he met upon waking here. That same woman was throwing shoes off her balcony, passionately cursing at the moon.
Her shiny cheeks, wet from her tears, her raspy shouts and the sound of her bare feet as she hurled her shoes to the sky. But most of all, her expressions, so powerful and animated, it gave Kai shivers. He could feel her anger and grief from where he had been, behind a hedge next to the archway that led into the central garden. If he had not moved when he heard the door slam, she may have very well hit him in the head with that first shoe.
But when the second shoe fell from her grasp, her body unable to muster anymore strength, Kai felt a pang of pity in his heart for her. To lose someone. He knew how that felt very well. He grips his chest, much in the same way she had.
He understands why she’s so angry. Why she couldn’t forgive time for moving on. Each meter the stars gained, was another moment without the people they love. Each shooting star, another wish for them to be here. And each empty seat, set aside for them, still unoccupied. More and more memories would fade, becoming a painful reminder of what happiness used to be, until happiness is forgotten.
He wipes his face with an unknown emotion, his hand coming back wet.
Eh? When did I start crying?
He wipes his sleeve across his face, clearing his eyes. Sniffling, he pauses, taking a moment to pull himself together.
Kai himself would not be here today, if it had not been for the support of his friends. But from what he had heard from the time he arrived here, the Duchess had sealed herself away in this mansion, along with her memories of her beloved.
Should I turn back? Offer her words of kindness?
He immediately shuts the idea down. In what way could he have comforted her that her servants not already attempted? A character from her childhood is the extent of his meaning.
Ah, that’s right. Just a character.
His steps stop.
Doesn’t that mean that I can do what I want? If not anywhere, then at least at this manor.
He nods to himself, gripping the hedge. But how would he explain that he knew she was there, seeing her outburst? What if he approaches her and she is in a state of disarray, her bare feet and wet cheeks still in full view?
He blushes at that. He knew no woman would want to be seen by anyone in that state, no matter how beautiful. He rests his head in his other hand, recalling her face with the intense emotions she exhibited.
With trembling hands, a startling thought crashes into his mind.
He whirls on his heel, running back to the balcony, his feet crunching underneath him with each leap. Sending a silent prayer to whatever god kept watch over this world, he passes under the archway.
The balcony, not even half a story up, was not enough to kill her, but it could seriously hurt her. And physical pain was easier to deal with than emotional pain.
Breaking out from behind the hedge, he stops short, taking in the balcony that the Duchess was on, but the only thing he sees is the shoe that had fallen from her grasp. He searches the ground below the balcony, praying she did not throw herself over it, and finally lets out the air in his lungs. The balcony doors are shut, the curtains drawn. Curtains cannot be drawn from the outside.
He claps his hands once, relief showering him as his fingers interlace with each other tightly. Just standing there, breathing for a moment, he collects his thoughts.
What a bewildering night.
He thinks to himself as he glances at the moon over his shoulder. The memory of the beautiful and wild Duchess throwing shoes at the moon with her raspy voice haunt him.
Don’t look at me like that.
He scowls.
I’m mad at you too.
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