#starandcloud

You had moved away almost two years ago, you and Gregg kept in contact through texts or calls, but you still missed him. He had been your best friend since you guys were in kindergarten, it was just instinct to miss him. So you thought your reaction of screaming when his mom texted you to ask if you’d want to come up for summer break, was appropriate. The weeks leading up were a whirlwind, days blurred together and you honestly couldn’t remember what you were learning the last week of school. But as soon as you could, you were packing for the plane ride up there. Massachusets was a hell of a lot colder than Florida, your parents had already pulled your fall clothes out for you until you got used to the chill up there. Granted, it wouldn’t actually be cold, but the coldest it ever got now was eighty. It was a “just in case” thing, just a long sleeve or two, plus planes were always cold.

You don’t remember the ride there, your parents telling you to stay where the flight attendant could see you, or even taking off. But you remember waking up to the landing, and almost vibrating. You followed the flight attendant out of the plane and you heard her before you say her. Mrs. Heffley stood anxiously, in a short sleeve and shorts, and you didn’t think before you yelled. “MOM!”

And ran over, she might not be your biological mother. But you’d been at her house almost as often as you were at yours, she was pretty much your mom.

Your arms went around her and she hugged you tight, laughing as she squeezed you and dramatically rocked side to side. You weren’t sure who was happier to see the other, you or her.

She pulled your suitcase behind her as the two of you chattered away, walking to the car. You told her about your robotics class, and she told you about a new cake recipe. Both of you were playing catch-up as she drove home. It honestly felt like the drive went by in seconds, and she was pulling into the driveway.

“Stay here, climb into the trunk okay? I’m going to tell him I need help with groceries.”

You nodded hard, becoming dizzy as she opened her car door. The second you saw the front door shut, you were frantically climbing into the back of the car. Giggling to yourself as you heard Gregg’s voice, asking his mother why she went shopping if they had enough food. You ducked as he started to open the trunk, you giggled again before you sat there. Watching.

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My footsteps left imprints in the fallen snow, the air bit through my clothes and froze my skin until it felt rigid– fragile. But the sight of the mansion in front of me made every step seem worth it, though I couldn’t help the bubble of anxiety in my chest.

‘Would he even remember me? Would he even want to?’

I wondered, not wanting to be the reason memories of the past suffocated him. But my mind wandered as I approached the front door.

I remembered every detail– the smell of blood and the screams from those boys. I hated that I had been attached to such wickedness as a child, yet a bitter nostalgia clung to my memories of childhood. Yes, it had been a cult trying to bring Heaven's remains to earth through sacrifice. But those memories, the ones with my parents on the beach, made me crave the warmth of the arms that had lulled me into a false security. I knew what they had been doing was wrong, but I also knew they had raised me. I had no choice in what I’d done– but that’s only what I told myself. I was raised as the “eyes” of our savior; everything I said was law then. If I declared that lamb was disgusting, it would never be eaten again. While my father held the title of “Herald”: I was the law.

I stood in front of the great oak doors, my mind a whirlwind of choices and regret as my hand lifted to knock. My knuckles rapped against the door, unwilling to use the door knocker. I stood there, a small bag in hand, half-expecting to be turned away as footsteps approached. My heart raced in my ears, thumping wildly like a frantic drum, as the footsteps grew near. Every ounce of my tarnished soul screamed that something was wrong, that this home wasn’t safe, but my feet remained planted on the snow covered steps of the estate. The cold air bit at my skin, making the hair on my arms rise, and the faint crunch of snow underfoot felt impossibly loud. Every instinct screamed to turn and run, but my body refused to obey. The doorhandle seemed to creak with the weight of the door as it swung open. The figure that greeted me wasn’t who I had been expecting. Though I shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t answer the door himself, the boy had been of noble blood. The being’s hair seemed to glow with something otherworldly, each strand perfectly in place. Framing the face of a monster, he looked like a fallen angel. His amber eyes seemed to pierce through my mortal body, gripping my soul with a fear I hadn’t felt since childhood. Its gaze sent a wave of nausea through me—its charming smile made my body tense, ready to flee. After all these years, I’d forgotten the contract that foolish boy had made. The figure’s gaze fell to my bag before a smile graced its hideous lips. “Ah, Mrs. Draven,” he said after a pause, voice smooth and measured. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. It’s a pleasure.”

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At the sound of my own last name, my stomach knotted. I forced a tight smile and nodded. He looked pleasant—almost human—but that only made me feel worse.

“I… I’m just visiting for a moment.”

My voice sounded hesitant to my own ears, and I wanted to shrink inward at the way I spoke.

“I was invited by the Lord,” I added more firmly, “I have the request here.”

My frozen hands reached into the pocket of my coat, pulling out a slightly wrinkled paper. I’d read over the words half a dozen times when it arrived, and almost a dozen more on the way. Hoping I wasn’t misreading it, I saw that I was requested for a fortnight. I wanted to decline, to write back that I had other plans; but I couldn’t waste another breath on a lie.

Holding the envelope between two fingers, I extended it toward the creature in the door. Its eyes flicked over it before taking it, reading carefully, then fixing its gaze on me. I couldn’t read the look in its eyes—amused, yes, but the predatory edge told me there was more behind that smile than I could feel comfortable with. Its eyes raked over me, as if weighing my soul, before the lips curved into another slow smile.

“A bold choice, given your history with the young master,” it said. “But I imagine you’ve carefully thought about those moments?”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I’ve thought well about it.”

My heart thudded painfully against my ribs, but some invisible force kept my feet firmly rooted on the concrete steps. My fingers gripped the leather of my bag’s straps, nails leaving pale half-moon imprints in the worn material.

“Very well, then,” it said at last. “Everything seems to be in its place.”

Its gaze burned into the little purity my soul carried, then it stepped aside.

Casper stood there, staring at me as if I were a ghost from his past he’d rather have kept buried. He hadn’t changed much—still pale, eyes as dead as ever  —but now he carried an unmistakable air of power. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling—fear, relief, or something else entirely—but the weight of the moment pressed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Lord Lockley.”

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· · ─── ꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱ ─── · ·

I greeted, my own voice catching me off guard. Had I always sounded so confident? My knees bent slow and painfully, my joints seemed frozen in place as I bowed. Frozen skin stuck to my tights, the thick dress had done nothing to soothe the chill in my bones. The carriage had been less than warm, I hadn’t dared bring a heating lamp into the carriage and my water bottle had long since went cold. I had wanted to bring the lamp with me, but seeing the inside of the carriage I didn’t dare. If a flame had licked out even a fraction, it could’ve set the entire thing ablaze. It was far more expensive than I could ever afford, the downside of being the lamb of that damned cult. Burned to the ground and left me nothing.

The air shifted, not enough to announce a breeze, but enough to carry something new to my nose. Lavender, and something earthier beneath it. Sage, perhaps. I had loved those scents once, now it brought a sick feeling to my stomach. Standing up straight, my hand settling just above my abdomen, almost protective, as my gaze flicked away from Casper for no more than a heartbeat. That was when I saw her. Half-hidden behind a doorframe, she watched me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Green eyes bright, assessing. Not predatory. Not kind. Curious in a way that felt… invasive, like I was an object newly acquired. A sharp cramp twisted low in my stomach.

“I’d like to retire for the evening,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “The ride was… strenuous.”

The demon’s hand reached up, and I flinched away. Shifting my body away, I offered a smile and clutched my small suitcase closer.

“I can carry my own, thank you.”

And with that, I was given a nod and I shuffled towards the stairs. My limbs still half froze as the demon led me up the stairs, a hand steadying my back as I climbed the stairs. Every brush of his fingers against my clothing brought a new wave of dread and nausea over me, the urge to scream and flail at the touch of a demon never left my body. Not after the first time, not after the first week, or the first month. Not after six years. The instinct to run stayed, I just became better at hiding it.

It opened the door and I gave a polite nod out of habit before stepping in, shutting the door behind me; I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing that there was at least a door between my body and that beast.

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· · ─── ꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱ ─── · ·

The morning came swiftly, and although I rested my soul felt heavier than before, as if I’d never slept. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I shuffled through the room. My feet barely leaving the floor as I approached the hickory wardrobe, my fingers gripping the handle as I pried it open. The chilled air brushing by my face as I looked over the dresses I owned, all dark and regal. My eyes swept over each dress, my fingers brushing against the fabrics. Some silk, some velvet, some cotton, and some a mixture of all. Just to feel warm. But even as I looked, my eyes seemed to fixate on a deep green. Some would call it the color of pine needles or the forest, or even go as far as to call it emerald. But I prefer to call it the color of a hunter, deep and bold. Like a wolf hunting a sheep. I grasped the cotton dress, the textile smooth under my fingers and I delicately pulled it off the hanger. Draping it over my forearm, I glanced through my closet again. I wasn’t going to go through my day chilled to the bone once again, with knowing fingers. I grabbed the cotton shift, I paced back to the bed. The sun wasn’t rising for several more hours, I have plenty of time to ready myself. Crossing the room back to the wardrobe I searched for my drawers and petticoat, I knew where my corset was, I had laid it with my crinoline, I wasn’t particularly concerned with the whereabouts of my other clothing was; but that damned petticoat never seemed to stay in the same place twice. Slowly, I found the petticoat. With a scowl of irritation, I put it beside my dress and began to strip my sleeping gown off. The chilled air bit at my chest and exposed skin, leaving a wave of goosebumps over my skin. With a slight shiver, my fingers twisted into my. Desperate to feel an ounce of warmth, I pulled them on. My shift, the linen already stripped of the warmth of my hands. Pulling it on, I took a deep breath and rapidly found the stays. Pulling it over the mess of hair on my head, I rolled my lips backward over my teeth, not wanting to feel that texture against my lips. I had worked so hard to keep them clean, ruining them would make the day horrid. Once the fabric settled against my waist, I gripped the ribbons. Pulling them tight, I let out a breath of relief. Although I hated putting the thing on, it did make my dresses look much nicer. Glancing at the corset on the chest at the foot of my bed, I took a sharp breath. It wasn’t painful to wear, but it was painful to put on. A single slip of my fingers would make me repeat the entire process. So I decided to procrastinate just a little bit. My feet slipped over the cold wooden floors as I gripped a pair of stockings from the chest and carefully knelt by the wardrobe. Staring into the open cabinet I glanced over each pair of shoes before settling on a pair of black heeled boots, they would be good for today.

Slowly standing, I gripped the stockings and my shoes. My feet carried me to the bed, settling on the side. I carefully worked the stockings up my legs, standing just long enough to pulled them over my behind. I hardly remembered clasping my boots on before my gaze returned to the blasted chest at the end of the bed. I could almost hear the corset mocking me from the foot of the bed, laughing at me while I debated how much I truly wanted this.

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· · ─── ꒰ঌ𐂯໒꒱ ─── · ·

Carefully pacing to the chest, my fingers gripped the clothing. The whalebone was agitating against the silk of my dress, I’d have to wear a cover today. Unclasping it, I adjusted it around my waist. Pulling with what strength I had this early, I clasped it again. Then I had to sit, it was already tight. And it would only get tighter. I sat on that chest for almost twenty minutes, repeating to myself that this was what I wanted. That I wanted to be a woman of high society, and this was what I needed to wear. Pushing myself up, I gripped the ribbon behind my back and gently pulled them forward. Then yanked.

Air was yanked from my chest, and I stumbled. My heels caught on themselves, causing me to nearly crash into the banister of the bed. But my fingers never released the ribbons. My vision spotted for a moment before I pulled tighter and crossed the ribbon across the front of my corset. Not something that was typical, but I had painstakingly added them in months ago. I didn’t want help from the servants in my former husband’s home, they stared with pity every time they saw me. I didn’t need that, I needed to be seen as a silent force. With shaking hands I gripped my crinoline. Pain ghosted against my ribs, the fabric would relax soon. I just needed to breathe through the next few hours as I readied myself for the day. Gripping the fabric straps of the crinoline. I gently let it fall to the ground, lowering my arms as much as I could. I carefully stepped into the center of the hoop, pulling it up I tied it against my corset. Nearly dressed.

The dress was the difficult part, I couldn’t bend properly with the corset on and raising my hands above my head for too long was practically a death wish - not to mention the other skirts I had to retrieve from the wardrobe. But I refused help. With careful hands, I rolled the front of the dress up and cautiously picked it up from the bed. I hardly had my hands above my head for a minute before my vision started to swim, The dress was barely over my face as I stumbled back onto the bed. Falling onto the plush mattress I winced, the corset biting into my skin through the layers beneath it. All I could do was lay there in pain until my vision settled.

It took nearly an hour, but I was dressed and breathless. I picked up the crinoline and my dress and settled onto the bed, finally breathing as I felt the corset loosen just enough for breath to return to my lungs. If I had ever entered heaven, this must be what it felt like. But I couldn’t rest long, the skirts needed to be shifted and I hated it. Pulling myself up, I gripped the skirt of my dress again. What felt like the ten extra layers, didn’t want to sit right. I struggled enough for my skin to become covered with a thin layer of sweat – another thing I would have to tend to before I could go to breakfast. But, finally, I was satisfied. Now I had to tend to the sweat covering my flesh, and then my makeup.

My hands settled on the box by the vanity, if there was anything I hated more than corsets. It was my makeup. It made me want to scream at the top of my lungs every morning, but it was the cost of being a lady in this society.

My fingers unhooked the latches on the box, and inside sat it all. My fingers gripped the top of the rice powder and my linen pad, twisting open the container. I dipped just the tip into the power and pressed it to my face, patting gently to even out the small dents in my skin. 

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Then came the tinted salve, a different pad gently pressed into the ointment. Just the smallest bit to add a little color to my skin, I learned early on that men – especially those in high society – enjoyed women with color in their faces. Not that I was here to gain the attention of a man, but it was muscle memory I supposed. My mind went static as I worked through the burnt umber for my eyeshadow, the smallest bit smudged carefully against the edge of my lashes and the crease of my eyes. Charcoal dust to fix the small mistakes of my brows and a carmine tint made of beeswax for my skin, a cloth pressed against my lips as I pressed the excess away. I wanted nothing more than to end this, but the sweat on my skin reminded me of a distant discomfort. Making my stomach turn at the locked memory I couldn’t seem to regain. The powder covered pat gently dipped into the rice powder again as I pressed it against my skin, lightening it and removing the scent of my stress.

Putting everything away again, my fingers glossed over the small box and bottle in the corner of the makeup box. My fingers plucked them from within and I carefully dropped the smallest bit onto the roots of my hair by my face. Breathing slow and deep as I closed the bottle once more, knowing the pain was nowhere near done. Slowly lowering my head, I stared at the box in front of me. It’d been a while since I used it, but it was far too early in the morning for that type of pain; and this wasn’t an important date. I had no reason to use it, other than I wanted to look in control. Carefully opening the box I stared at the small bottle nestled inside, the liquid inside was clear and I could vaguely smell something floral from within. I stared at it for a few more moments before closing the box and placing it back within the makeup case. Deciding against the belladonna for today, maybe at a later time when it was more appropriate.

My heels clicked against the wooden floors as sun filtering in through the windows, I’d been up for hours; meticulously fixing my dress and hair which now laid against my back. My hair rested simply against my dress, I’d perfectly arranged it so that the right amount fell over my shoulders and the rest against my spine. The unscented oil in my hair left it well contained and maintained, simple and elegant.