Rewriting Memory

Chapter 4

Zephyr walked back to the Ferry estate with Lysandra, and they talked about inconsequential things - Zephyr's work, the shops nearby, people they knew. Lysandra felt like a little bit of the weight had been lifted off her shoulders now that she had confronted Zephyr about the session with the Memory Recoder. She let the idea slip from her mind as they made their way back.

"See you later," Zephyr said. "I'll drop you a note if I have any free time tomorrow."

"Great. Hopefully I'll still be alive."

"You're always still alive," Zephyr said. "Either way, good luck."

"I'll need it," Lysandra said as she pushed open the gates and waved to her friend over her shoulder.

She walked up the paved road to her father's estate. She always felt that this walk was the longest, that the dread was always worst when she walked up this road, watching the house loom ahead of her. Her father no longer waited for her there, but the house itself seemed to threaten the raised voices and punishments of his servants the moment she opened the door.

Lysandra stopped at the front door and lifted her key from around her neck. She kept the long silver key on a leather chain and wore it wherever she went, partly a security measure and partly a reminder of her father's imprisonment. She slid the key into the lock and turned it, pushing the door open as slowly as she could manage.

"Lysandra Anna Ferry!" a voice cried out when her foot hit the tile of the house's foyer. "Where in Oblitus have you been!"

Ismene, of course. Her father's only female servant, who had acted like a replacement for Lysandra's late mother the past two years, whether Simon had wanted her to or not. Her questions never sounded like questions to Lysandra - it was as if any answer she gave would be invalid.

"With Zephyr," she said anyway.

"What would your father think if he knew!" Ismene said. She stepped into the foyer, toes pointed, her skirts billowing out around her legs. She had her graying hair twisted up into a bun behind her head, and her expression contorted into one of rage and concern.

"With all due respect," Lysandra said quietly, "he would let me leave the house once in a while."

Ismene sucked in a breath. "Your insolence is disturbing," she said. "You mean no respect at all, do you?"

She had lowered her voice, and this question actually came out sounding like a question. "I'm sorry?" Lysandra said, wondering if Ismene actually felt concerned about her, or if she just felt a duty to Simon to protect his property.

"Lysandra," Ismene said, "just think what would happen if we were to lose you out there. Simon has already lost his wife and his profession. He has nearly lost all of his belongings and his home, what with being in jail. How do you think losing you would make him feel?"

Lysandra stared back at her. How do you think losing my memories makes me feel? she wanted to scream. How do you think losing him and my mother makes me feel? Do you think losing my freedom makes things any better?

She brushed by Ismene and dashed up the stairs to her bedroom. The woman's voice followed her as she ran: "Lysandra, where do you think you're going? Your father would not approve of such behavior. I should think to confine you to this house this very minute. Is that what you want, my dear?"

Lysandra strode into her room, shutting the door. As soon as she had created a barrier between herself and Ismene, she felt infinitely better. She slid down to the floor, her back against the wood of the door, and let out a long sigh.

She hated encounters like this with Ismene or any of the other servants. They always referenced her father and what he would have wanted. Do you think my father would have wanted me locked up? Lysandra wanted to ask them. If you lock me up, I'll be no better off than him.

But she didn't want to lose any more favor with them than she already had. It had taken her what felt like ages to refine the skill of keeping her argumentative words to herself, and even now keeping them inside felt like trying to hold back a massive deluge of rain with just one crepe paper umbrella.

She walked to her window and looked out of it, her eyes landing on the spot where the Ferry estate's walk met with the gate, and the road. No automobiles or carriages passed by, leaving the area empty. The view from her window had always made Lysandra feel like a prisoner. Today felt no different. She turned away, pushing both the sight of the road and the sound of Ismene's echoing voice from her head.

She hoped Zephyr would send her a note tomorrow, or she suspected she'd go mad from having to stay within these four walls.