A Beautiful Lie
1067 Words
I don’t know when the exhaustion finally pulled me under. I just remember the air in the garden and the sound of the lake.
I didn't move. I didn't go back to the house. I just fell asleep right where I was sitting, my body finally giving up on the pain.
When I finally woke, the world was trapped in that eerie, gray half-light just before dawn, but the bodyguards were still there, standing like shadows at the edge of my vision.
"How long are you planning to sleep here?" one of them said. His voice was rude, cutting through my groggy mind like a serrated blade.
I avoided his gaze. I didn't have the strength to argue or the dignity to care. I forced myself to stand.
"Sorry for the delay," I whispered. I kept my head down as I walked back to the mansion, my footsteps uneven on the gravel.
August didn’t come back that night.
No one came to check if I had drowned in my own despair. No one brought a tray of food or a glass of water.
I lay in the dark, the hunger in my stomach a dull roar, eclipsed only by the throbbing pain of Martha’s work.
I fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of dark water and cherry blossoms that felt like lead.
When I woke the next morning, the room was too bright, too cold. Every movement felt like my bones were being systematically unmade.
Knock. Knock.
"Miss?" Luba’s voice was barely a breath.
"Come in."
She pushed the door open slowly. My heart plummeted when I saw her.
The marks on her face and arms had deepened into a horrific, dark purple. She moved like an old woman, stiff and fragile.
I dropped my eyelids, unable to hold her gaze. A hot, stinging shame rose in my throat.
"I'm so sorry, Luba. I’m too ashamed to even face you."
"Don't be, Miss," she said, her voice trembling but kind. She walked to the closet and pulled it open with one bandaged hand.
"What do you think of this purple dress? It has a high neck."
I looked at the rich, royal fabric. It was a color for a queen, yet it was being used to hide the crimes of a monster.
"Whatever you choose, Luba," I said, giving her a sad, hollow smile.
She silently unhooked the gown.
"Young Master sent word. He wants you to be ready within the hour. He is taking you to the Old Harrington Manor to meet his family for lunch."
I felt my blood turn to ice. The Old Manor. The seat of the Harrington power.
"Is that all?" I asked, my eyes searching hers for some hint of what to expect.
"That's all I know, Miss. But Martha's instruction was very clear." Luba’s voice dropped.
"She ordered I must use enough concealer to hide the clumsiness of your skin. She said the Young Master doesn't want to be embarrassed by his wife’s appearance today."
Embarrassed. That was the only thing that mattered.
I spent the next hour in a daze. I showered, the hot water feeling like needles against my welts.
Luba worked with a heavy, focused silence, painting over my neck and arms with professional hands.
She pulled my hair back, securing it so tightly it felt like a mask to hide the pain.
"Despite the rain in your life, you still look so beautiful, Miss," she whispered, stepping back to look at her handiwork.
"Am I, Luba?" I teased.
I looked in the mirror at the woman in the purple gown. She looked perfect. She looked untouched. She looked like a lie.
A violent pounding shook the door, making Luba jump.
"How long are you planning to keep the Young Master waiting?" Martha’s voice was a shrill weapon.
"He is already in the car! Get her down here!"
Luba shook, her small frame vibrating with fear.
"We’re done, Head Maid!" she called back, her voice cracking.
I followed Luba down the grand staircase. When we reached the driveway, August’s car was already gone.
He hadn't even waited for me to walk out the door. Instead, his assistant, Fanel, stood by a secondary sedan.
He held the door open for me. "Long time no see, Miss Willow," he said, offering a small, gentle smile.
"Fanel," I said as I took my seat. "Where are we heading, exactly?"
Fanel didn't look at me through the rearview mirror as he pulled the car away.
"To the Old Harrington Manor, Miss. The main family has sent an invitation. It’s a formal affair."
I leaned my head against the cool window, watching the suburbs of the city blur into a smudge of green and gray.
It felt like I was being released from a dungeon, but only to be moved to a high-security prison.
"Ahem." Fanel cleared his voice. "Miss Willow... Master August will wait for you at the manor. He had... business to attend to first."
"Okay." That was all I said.
The message was clear. He didn't want to sit in a car with me.
He didn't want to hear my voice or look at my face until he absolutely had to. I was an unimportance he had to drag along to save face.
Finally, the car tires crunched over white gravel. We pulled up to a gate so massive it made the manor I lived in look like a guest house.
It was a kingdom of old money. The bars swung open slowly, and we drove up a path lined with statues that seemed to watch me with cold eyes.
Fanel opened the door. I felt a terrifying stiffness in my hip as I tried to swing my leg out. I had to use the car frame to hoist myself up, my breath hitching in my chest.
I managed to stand, smoothing the purple silk of my skirt, praying my tremors weren't visible.
A middle-aged man stood at the base of the steps.
He bowed slightly, his posture perfect, his expression completely void of warmth.
"Welcome to Old Harrington Manor, Madam," he said, his voice echoing in the vast, open driveway.
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- Writer
