Hollow Vows

The Coffins

‘Oh, my darling...' My mother said in a gentler tone as she acknowledged my upset.

‘I understand your fear,’ she said, her voice laced with calculated tenderness.

‘But the Coffins are wealthy and powerful. We need this alliance to secure our family's future; without it, I dread to think what would become of me and your dear father. You must recognize that this is for us, for the family.’ She said all the while gesturing to herself. ‘Sacrifices must be made, my dear, and we

cannot afford to cling to false pretenses. Think of all that we could gain." Her eyes gleamed with ambition, the pretense of empathy slipping away, revealing her desire for the power we were soon to inherit. For just a moment though, her expression faltered, a flicker of something unreadable, doubt ? regret?, it was gone to quick before she smothered it beneath her usual composure. I did not respond and instead sat myself frailly in front of my mirror.

‘Well, aren't you going to say something?’ My mother asked, annoyance slowly clouding her made-up face. I wiped away a stray tear before I let my eyes meet hers through the mirror. My face attempting to hide all my feelings of despair-and failing miserably.

‘This is your wedding, not your funeral!’ my mother proclaimed. In my mind, I could hear the nails hammering into my casket with every beat of my heat. ‘Yes, Mother, I am aware.’ I snapped back, anger flaring within me. I slapped a hand over my mouth, surprised at my outburst and the sting of pain that quickly followed. I let out a weak, quivering breath. I recalled Father’s insistence that a woman should always remain composed, a notion I apparently forgot today. ‘I am so sorry, Mother; I’m just nervous. I’ve never even met Sir Shubael Coffin, and the rumors I've heard about him and his family are unsettling.’ My voice trembled as I recalled the whispered tales of darkness and dread that circled that family, a family that would soon envelop me. I could feel the heaviness of their very name suffocating me. Even my favourite housekeeper had refused to speak it, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line whenever it was mentioned.

‘Do not speak of your betrothed in such a manner!’ my mother replied, her voice deepening with a force that surprised me. ‘The Coffins have always helped your father with his more... difficult clients,’ she continued, her restraint beginning to break and her anger rushing to the surface.

‘We must show them respect.’ Her cheeks flushed scarlet, and her eyes flickered with a mix of fear and resolve as if the very name of the Coffins bore dangerous power; a whispered curse that could break us should anyone dare to utter it aloud. I bowed my head in surrender. ‘I apologize, mother, you’re right.’ I whispered, my eyes beginning to mist. She spared me a glance and sighed in frustration. In just a few long strides, she was behind me, her presence both familiar and unsettling. She picked up a comb from my dresser and, with deliberate care, began to run it through my long, inky black locks. She tugged harder than necessary, her hands trembling ever so slightly, and I realized-was she afraid?

I stared at my reflection, my lifeless emerald eyes staring back at me from a pale, gaunt face, a ghostly figure trapped in a world of shadows. When I was a child, I thought I looked like a mermaid. I used to cherish the dreams I would have of me swimming past all the fishermen and whale hunters, past all the demands of marriage and childbirth-but since the engagement, those dreams had died. But maybe, just maybe, they weren’t dead yet. Maybe, like the sea itself, they would return with the tide.