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1530 Words
When I wake the next morning, Camille isn't in her normal seat. My thoughts immediately shift to Alexanne's threats. I shoot out of bed and call out Camille's name. There's no response. I stumble through my quarters, but she's nowhere to be found.
Just as I'm about to collapse on to my bed in despair, the door opens. Camille bounces inside, "Good morning, Admira."
"Where were you?" I ask.
"I had to go to the nurse. She wanted to change the bandages."
I sigh in relief.
Camille frowns, "Were you worried? What did you think had happened to me?"
"Nothing. I was just afraid something might have gone wrong with your stitches."
"Everything is okay."
"Good." I smile and try to hide all the stress leaving my body as I play with the hem on my nightgown.
Camille asks, "Actually, Admira, can I ask you a question?"
"Of course, anything."
"I was bored and just staring at the floor and I saw a little blood that the cleaning maids must have left behind."
"I'm sorry, I'll make sure they come and clean it for you."
Camille shakes her head, "That wasn't what I was going to say. It was over here, on this side of the room. The dresser is on the opposite side. Why would my blood be over there if I fell near the dresser?"
I shrug, "Maybe it came from when we carried you."
"I thought that too, but that doesn't make any sense. Why would you carry me all the way into this side of the room? Wouldn't you make a straight line for the door?"
I can't tell the truth. That will only put her in danger. I'm lying to protect her. Right? "I don't know. Maybe we didn't make a straight path for the door. Maybe that was blood left behind on one of the maids and they accidently smeared it on the tile. Or maybe, as disgusting as it is, it's not your blood."
Camille nods. "I guess that makes sense. I can't remember anything. It's all hazy."
I smile, "That's okay. The nurse said it was probably a combination of the lack of blood and the aftereffects of the medicine."
Camille falls silent, fiddling with the makeup on my table. I relax, glad that she's forgotten the incident. I pick up Augustine's book of poetry from my bedside table and open it to a random page.
Camille speaks again, "I've been having dreams."
I glance up, "About what?" Does my tone sound naturally light? Can she hear my panic?
"About how I got the cut. It's probably that my body is in pain at night and my mind creates an explanation for it. A lot of times it's different reasons, like falling on the dresser or tripping. Simple kinds of things. But I keep having one dream."
"What is it?"
"I'm afraid to say it. I'm afraid it could be taken as treachery."
"I won't report it. It is important to share your feelings and thoughts, otherwise they become trapped inside of you. You can tell me what it is."
She takes a deep breath, "I keep seeing Alexanne, driving a dagger into my stomach, over and over again."
My palms dampen, "Perhaps you are a little afraid of Alexanne, just out of respect? Maybe it's your mind's way of explaining your fear."
Camille nods, "Yes, I suppose that could be so." But she doesn't sound convinced in the slightest.
●◊●◊●
Antonin and Camille accompany me down the hall. I've decided that today is the day I will be brave enough to visit Emilienne and Violette's old room. I'm terrified of what Alexanne might have done to them. Has she thrown away all their possessions? Are they nothing but blank rooms? What if she's turned them into art galleries as she did with my room?
I can't avoid their rooms forever.
I've decided to enter Emilienne's room first. There isn't much reason behind it. Her room is only closer to mine.
The hall curves and the door to her quarters appears. I haven't been within this room since the night Grace and I discovered Emilienne's lifeless body. The entire night is a haze. I just remember Grace's screams and the candle's shadows flickering over blood.
I take a deep breath and place my shaking hand on the door handle. I twist the knob and the door creaks open.
The only light within the room is a few fragments of sunlight slipping through the closed velvet curtains. I stumble into the room, focusing only on the curtains. I push them open and turn back to Emilienne's room.
It's nearly the same as it was when we left it. Alexanne didn't have the audacity to ruin the belongings of the person she murdered. The only thing changed is her bare bed. Emilienne's original quilts and blankets must have been ruined with blood. Someone must have commanded the servants not to remake the bed. There's only a bare mattress on a dark wooden frame.
Camille and Antonin wait respectfully outside the door. I don't have the courage to call them in. The tears are too thick in my throat.
Emilienne's bouquet of flowers still sits beside her bed. She had a belief of always having flowers by her bedside. There was a special greenhouse by the castle to keep her roses and lilies and tulips alive in the winter. I had helped her pick out this bouquet only a few days before she was murdered. The dried flowers still sit in the dirty water, papery petals lying on the bedside table. Beside the vase is a book with a bookmark only halfway through the pages.
My throat tightens at the thought that she'll never know what happens in the end.
I pick up the book, thinking perhaps I can finish it for her. I brush the petal fragments from the cover, trying to find the title. It's a plain blue cover, no title or author to be found. I lift the cover and read the first page.
It's in Emilienne's curly handwriting. It's not a book, but a diary.
With tears creeping into my eyes, but a smile growing on my lips, I begin to read,
I know that I'm the person who makes fun of people with diaries. I think they are rather silly. You are after all talking to yourself. But sometimes you are the only one who will listen. Perhaps not only listen, but will care.
So I've decided to be one of those girls. I will write my thoughts down on the pages. It's mostly because I want to save my memories. It terrifies me that someday I won't remember all the great things that I did. (Written down, that sounds rather arrogant. Oh well. I am the only one who will see this. I know how much I love myself. It would be impossible not to.)
I think that I should begin with...
I close the diary. Should I be reading it? It is Emilienne's private thoughts. It would be breaking her privacy.
But this is all I have left of her.
I stand, but keep the book in my hand. I will read it later, when all of Emilienne's other memories aren't pushing down on my from every other object in the room.
I wander over to Emilienne's shelf of random objects. She loved to call it The Shelf. Everything she gathered from her adventures, whether it be sneaking out of the castle or flirting with rich young nobles, she placed on The Shelf.
A small, sparkling jewel from an especially adoring young noble. A pin from an old lady Emilienne met in the streets. A golden bracelet a noblewoman had given in hopes that she would win Emilienne's favor. Emilienne had kept the bracelet, but never spoke to the woman again. Emilienne had no respect for bribery or false relationships. A thin chain of dirty beads from a little girl from town.
Emilienne had an adventure to go along with each object. The shelf was nearly overflowing with little trinkets, but Emilienne always refused to throw away anything, even the holey ball that she used to play catch with two little boys on the street.
I wander throughout the room for a long time, trying not to move any of her possessions.
When I break from my thoughts, I realize the sun has shifted through the curtains, it's nearly afternoon. I glance towards the doorway, where Antonin patiently waits.
I ask, "Where's Camille?"
"I sent her to get you some lunch."
I nod, "Thank you. I think I will take a break, and go back to my room."
Antonin nods and I stride towards the door, taking only Emilienne's diary. Once I finish reading it, I will return it.
I stand in the doorway, taking one last sweeping look at the room. I should have it cleaned. Dust clings to nearly every surface, even the wooden floors. My footprints scatter the floor.
Another pair zigzags the room, a pair of heels as opposed to my flats. No dust covers the prints. They are recent.
- Writer
