Ellie realises

It’s rare for Ellie to catch her reflection in the mirror and rarer still for her to enjoy it. She doesn’t think she’s ugly, she just doesn’t feel pretty. But now, seeing her buns unravelling in wavy strands to frame her powdered face and the way the frills of her azure dress flutter when she walks, she can’t help a simper. An uncomfortable one. She frees the colour from her cheeks with a couple slaps and turns away from the polished window. Her duty is calling anyway.

She has patrolled the square of hallways around the banquet hall for a hundred times and the hundred first will be her last. In spite of her mission, the security component is equally, if not more important. Mr Astella demands full control of the situation and haphazard acts of mischief certainly go against that. But really, no one would dare anything like that. She passes by the guards she’s selected and they stiffen up, but not because of their duty. The glimmer in their eyes carries a touch of lust that makes her even more ill at ease. With a last perimeter check done, she heads for the banquet hall.

”Dios mio, please just kill me…” comes a weak moan from a bathroom. The noises following are ungodly, filthy and, worst of all, her fault. Marco is a sweet, talented swordsman, but his hot-blooded nature makes him vulnerable and Ellie has been taught to exploit those to their fullest. When she offered him a choux a la crème from ‘his crush’ he forgot about everything, including his lethal lactose intolerance. A tear splits the air, the sounds of his bowels breaking at the seams. “I swear if I make it out of this alive, I’m getting a stomach transplant.”

Ellie cringes, but only for a moment. It’s for Mia, she thinks, pushing open the heavy mahogany doors. A couple pairs of eyes turn to her and linger too much for comfort. It’s all for Mia, she reassures herself, feigning a hint of joy. She’s used to attention, not admiration. Second glances are not for a servant, but tonight she’s receiving third, fourth and even fifths. Men who could be her grandfather stare at her in awe, curious why they haven’t seen her before, while girls her age scoff, jealous and judgmental. It’s hard not to remember why she’s sewn her blazer to be tight and binding.

The best she can do is focus on the environment, let her mind roam far from her body. She knows why Hana was raving about Ray so much. The ceiling looks like a starry night, the clouds of dust siphoned through the ceiling shrouding the room in mystique. If only it’d fall lower to help her conceal her actions, that would be superb, but difficulty is always part of Mr Astella’s tasks. She does her best not to bump into anyone as she skitters across the ball, pivoting around waiters and returning winks and smiles with imitations of her own.

A hand lowers on her shoulder. She takes a sharp breath, before identifying the familiar weight behind the cold touch. Her throat unclogs and her muscles relax.

“Ellie,” Mr Astella says. She turns to meet his eyes and just on cue. He’s just finished looking her back up and down and it’s time for the front. “Lovely. If I hadn’t known any better, I would’ve thought you a noble daughter.”

Normally he wouldn’t want to see her blush, but it feels adequate now. “Thank you… sir.”

“Thank yourself. A job well done reaps its rewards.”

“It’s not done yet.”

“I know. Consider this an indenture.”

Her joints seize up, lips eating at each other. He’s getting closer, closer than he’s ever gotten in forever. His shadow nears, about to swallow her whole and she can only stay and allow herself to be spoiled. A low purr rumbles in her chest. It was a game when she was little, now it’s an instinctual response.

“But you did good, Ellie. Very good. This place is a lovely disaster. The smell of burning is fresh in every guest’s nostrils and they can’t stop staring at those hideous cardboard excuses for décor. Hasty replacements, one would hope, but what taste can we expect from those beneath us?”

They are cute, Ellie tries fighting, but any hostility is smoothed over by the constant caresses scoring her hair. It’s been so – long since she’s been pampered. Keeping Mia happy has come at greater and greater expenses as of late, but now it all feels worth it.

“I’m counting on you, Ellie, dear. Give these people what they came here to see,” his whisper enters her ear, ravaging through the empty expanses of her head.

“And what would that be?” comes a sharp, accented voice. The same notes Amy carries. Mr Astella gives her space, a signal to make herself small, demure and invisible.

“A spectacle, Pierre. Grace à ta fille.”

“Must you butcher my language?”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Looking at Mr Arouet fills Ellie with discomfort. He is terrifying, his face though calm, projecting a fierce aura through his tired eyes. But with his poorly kempt beard, half-combed hair and shirt hiding wrinkles below the collar, all that’s left in her heart for him is sympathy. He’s a victim of Mr Astella, a warning of what will become of her if she stops listening.

“Were you stopped at the gate?” Mr Astella asks.

“Me and everyone else.”

“Must’ve thought you were homeless.”

“No, they recognised me quite quickly. It wasn’t long ago I came here with a different purpose.”

“And what brings you here now?”

“Ego. And love.”

“Aww, you’re such a sap. If I had known, I’d have brought you some flowers.”

“I still remember the last ones you’ve given me. White roses.”

“Purity and innocence.”

“She was innocent, Edward,” Pierre rasps, the hurt in his tone bouncing merrily off Mr Astella’s grin.

“We all make mistakes, Pierre. There must be a price to pay.”

“How much debt have you racked up? Billions?”

“Oh, dear. I pay my dues just like every other citizen. The government’s bleeding me dry with taxes.”

“What are you planning?” Pierre presses.

Mr Astella chuckles, “What are you talking about? I’ve shaved my moustache ages ago specifically so I wouldn’t twirl it anymore. People said it made me look villainous.”

“If only they had the guts to look you in the eyes.”

“Ah, guts. Do you reckon Amy inherits yours?”

“Keep her name out of your fucking mouth,” Pierre threatens.

“Ooh, feisty are we?” Mr Astella chirps. “I’m sure after tonight, you’ll have to say that to everyone.”

“Don’t test me. You’ve taken my wife, my career, my livelihood. My daughter is all I have left. I will stop at nothing to protect her.”

Mr Astella laughs, that debonair cackle she hears at every gala, ball or party. He hugs Ellie close to his side, “Children are precious to us, fathers. They’re our legacy, carriers of our blood and heritage. You’re not the only one who wants to protect his girl, Pierre.”

She knows he means Mia, but it’s impossible to not think – to not want – to be included there.

“Isn’t that right, Ellie?” Mr Astella says. She meets his gaze, a demand and a reminder. A blink erases the hope from her eyes. She gently shakes free off his grasp and bows.

“Yes, father.” An alien utterance, but he required it. He requires so much of her. She doesn’t want to be here, but she must have an alibi and now everyone saw her and everyone heard her. She never wanted anyone to hear it, not even herself. Flustered, she bows a goodbye and scuttles as far away as she can get from everything.

The bar receives her with open arms. She’s winded and red all over; she needs a drink and, luckily, the selection of fizzy delights is broad and deluxe. It’s tough to order one, though. She serves; she doesn’t receive and if she does, it should never come in a crystal glass with a foot. It fits clumsily in her hand and falls weirdly down her throat. She can’t thank her stars enough that hardly anyone hovers around here. They’re off to network or court or negotiate and wet counters make for seedy backdrops.

How long is it left? She peeks at the tables. They’re slowly emptying, the waiters a swarm of worker ants carrying dirty plates and cutlery by the dozen. It should be any second now that the lights dim and Amy takes the stage. Until then, she’ll do what Mia always does. Keep up appearances.

“I –“

Sean’s words stick in his throat, garnering her attention. But strangely, he’s not like the other boys, all but pointing at the part of her that interests them. He stares – at the floor, his face a very specific shade. Burgundy? Scarlet? Vermilion?

“Y-you look amazing…” he manages, his champagne spilling out his glass from all the trembling.

“Thanks,” Ellie huffs. “I know.”

“You don’t act like it.”

She checks him again. Chalk.

“What do you want?” Ellie crosses her arms over her chest. It barely hides it, but it’s enough for his tongue to untwist.

“I – saw you around.”

“So? Don’t you have to chase Mia?”

“Did Hana give you lessons in teasing or something?”

“What – do you want?” Ellie repeats, drilling every word into his thick skull.

He sighs, “I – saw you around. You don’t look so well.”

“I’m exhausted. And you’re not being straightforward. It doesn’t help.”

“Why are you so difficult?” Sean whines.

“Just tell me what you want of me and go away.”

He scratches at his jaw, brow cast in an embarrassed tremble. Twice now he’s abandoned that confident prince mask around her and while it was fun to play with him once, she’s not in the mood for it now.

“I just wanted to check on you. I suppose you’re all right.”

Dejected, Sean turns on his heels, shoulders slouched and weak. She can’t be considering giving him a chance, but – well, he was nice to talk to last time. And she desperately needs something to make minutes pass less like hours.

“Stay,” she calls after him, half-pleading. There’s no way to describe how bright he gets. “But I’m not guaranteeing I won’t be difficult still.”

“No worries,” he smirks. “I’m trained to extract information out of people.”

“I’m trained to resist that.”

“You can’t possibly compare to me.”

“You sure?”

“What drained you so much?”

“Besides my job?”

“I’ve walked a total of 12 miles today.”

Smugness drips from his mouth like wax from a melted candle. If she collects enough of it, maybe she’ll shape it into something more desirable.

“13 for me,” she says.

“You’re joking.”

“I am. I haven’t had the time to count.”

Okay, maybe she is in the mood to play with him. There’s something about how quickly he swaps expressions that makes him fun to be around. He’s a perfect blend of genuine and dissimulating. And, for what it’s worth, he seems genuinely curious.

“I’ve had to run a lot of errands lately.”

“Mr Astella’s?”

Her heart skips a beat. “N-no? Just –“

“A servant who can’t lie can’t survive.”

“Did he tell you about it?”

“Bits and pieces. You’re the sabo –“

Her hands fly to his mouth, the audible slap enough to turn everyone’s heads. However, a glare from him is enough to dismiss them all. And here she thought only Astellas had that power.

“I – am,” she says, low enough that he has to strain himself to hear.

“Tsk. Coming clean when you’re called out. How are you still in this business?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

He snickers and slots by her side, pointing his hand at a couple aristocrats. Men and women, all herded by his mother. “You see the granny with the lazy eye? I spent ten minutes nodding to her story and when she caught me, you know what I did?”

“Fumbled through an excuse?”

“No, I admitted it.”

“And you berate me?”

“I’m a noble, you’re a commoner. But, the point is that I understand. Even if you have experience, it’s hard to keep an act together for too long. After a while, the truth becomes easier.”

“It’s always easier.”

“You sure?”

Darkness envelops the banquet hall at once, an expected surprise. Whispers spring from the crowd with sneering excitement as they all turn their heads towards the stage. A weak cone of light falls upon the centre, pathetic diffuse. Ellie squints towards the far end. Two silhouettes bicker in the shadows, the smaller hopelessly trying to pass by the taller one. It swiftly resigns and lets itself be urged and mildly shoved towards its spot.

Amy takes the stand, blobs of sweat glistening all over her face like a self-made special effect. One hand is gripping the hem of her black dress, the other is trembling on a microphone. Her eyes scour the audience seeking support, but they remain seeking. She opens her mouth, utters a quick line, then recoils as if expecting a shrill speaker feedback. It takes her a good second to realise no one’s heard a thing.

Ellie sees the moment benevolence entered Ray’s body. He reaches for her hand from behind her, then a short pop floods the room. “Dummy,” comes an endearing whisper that everyone hears, causing a sniggering uproar. It quiets quickly, though. The people are saving their amusement. It’s just the beginning to what announces to be a quality comedy act.

“So,” Amy begins in a tepid singsong, “how is everyone feeling? Are you having fun?”

No response, not even a stray scoff. The silence cuts Amy’s lips into a painful smile.

“Good, good, go – od,” she drawls. A deep breath, “Traditionally, this is the moment where the organiser –“ she points at herself “– explains the aim of this celebration. Not me, though. I had none!”

Ellie hears chuckles, but she can’t tell where from. They’re everywhere, weaselling their way towards Amy. She tries taking them on the chin, but they’re a torrent of blows to her already cracked defences. She wipes her brow. It’s even sparklier now.

Another deep breath, long and shuddered, with a strange effect. From where Ellie is standing, Amy appears perfectly calm, but not entirely together. Her gaze slouches to the ground in defeat and her mouth barely opens.

“That’s a fat cope.” She pauses, letting the audience savour her embarrassment. “If you thought that was funny, I think you’ll love this. I just wanted to do something everyone would like. The students, the visitors, the elites. And I succeeded, didn’t I?”

Her answer is a cackling avalanche. Derisive, but rejuvenating; she continues in a weird tone: intimate and filled with gusto.

“But why? What made me choose this goal of all others? Altruism? Empathy? Philanthropy?” She clicks her lips, “Nah. I’m not that noble. To be candid with you all, I thought that maybe if I made you all happy, I’d be happy too. I’d prove to myself that I can do it! I’m not just a nobody, I’m worth something, I deserve to be here, on this stage, speaking to people whose pinkies are more important than my entire life.”

Ellie balls her fists. Why did Amy have to say all of that? Why did she have to make her mission even harder than it already was? She feels sick. The bitter tang of vomit fills her mouth and an unbearable noise drums inside her head, her quickened heartbeat. She searches for Mr Astella and spots him staring satisfied at Amy, only to turn to her, sussing her anxiety. He gives her a wink, then nonchalantly nods towards the ceiling. Remember the consequences.

“Me, me, me,” Amy resumes. “Really, this is all about me. I’m selfish like that. Even this confession here, it was only meant to make me feel better. Thank you for that, by the way. I appreciate it. I hope you’ve had a wonderful night so far and, for my sake, you’ll enjoy the show.”

Amy bows, but even with her face hidden, Ellie knows she’s content. The crowd, on the other hand, doesn’t know how to feel. They’re dazed, troubled, chewing her speech and hating the aftertaste. All until Mr Astella claps. It’s only him at first and because of that, it doesn’t take long for others to follow. Applauses sprout timid, then assured and before they know it, they’re all thundering their ‘appreciation’ towards Amy. Even Sean.

“Why are you clapping?” Ellie mutters.

“Because the whole room does it. It’s distasteful not to –“

“Mock her?”

“I’m not mocking her,” Sean declares. She can’t believe he, of all people, would say that and mean it.

“Then?”

A heavy frown settles on his face. “It takes guts to call out these people. I can respect that. Envy it, even.”

“She wasn’t calling anyone out.”

“Course you’d say that. You must’ve never had to justify your heinous actions to yourself. I hope you’ll never be forced to. It’s not – hey, where are you going?”

I don’t want to think about it. Ellie slinks to the shadows, hugging them until the first door. No one hears her leaving and if Sean follows her, he’ll lose her trail in an instant. She toes off her sandals, tosses them in a corner untouched by light, then proceeds towards the stairs. The cold steps bite into her feet as she climbs, the pain stopping as soon as she reaches the first floor. No one’s there, just as planned. But she wishes someone was. She wishes she got caught.

She finds her path forward by muscle memory alone. Mr Astella always liked that about her, how she could find her way through the darkest corridors and never make a sound, to alert or complain. And how she had a keen sense for precautions. Three doors down, the fourth one’s open. She passes through it, her weight on the old wood enough to make the hinges mewl. If she were a pound heavier, they would’ve surely creaked, but she was made for this.

Reaching a wall, she feels across its surface until her fingers bump into a ridge. She grips and pulls until it gives way, flooding the room with ballroom noise and a vague sense of brightness. The stage’s iron scaffolding stretches before her, now sturdy and double reinforced. She shouldn’t have any doubts stepping on it, but her toes stop just shy of kissing the metal.

For Mia. It’s not enough. For Mia, for Mia, for Mia.

Ellie hops on, hoping that she won’t find purchase, that she’ll lose her balance and fall, that the girders will give way. Maybe if she were more pious, her prayers would be answered. Or maybe if she hadn’t wasted her entire life preparing for this very moment. She reaches the pulleys holding every piece of décor in place. They’re thick steel wires. Not even the jaws of life could cut through, but every hurdle can be leapt over or walked around. She reaches below her dress and unclasps the pouch on her thigh, retrieving a small vial with great care. The experimental compound within can devour a gold ingot in seconds. To think what it’ll do for her – she doesn’t want to do it.

She sits on the scaffolding, legs dangling freely in the smoky air. The ground calls to her, but she doesn’t answer. Much as she hates it, she has a mission. If she succeeds, Mia will be happy. He’ll forget what happened, reward her and there will be no more intrigue or tension in the Gilded Castle. But at what cost?

The sounds of conversation make her look down. Amy and Ray are arguing in whispers too quiet to reach her. She looks close to falling apart and no matter how secure he seems, Ray can’t manage to calm her down. But Mia can. The moment Amy hears her concerned call, she summons her bubbliest mood. What are they talking about? Whatever it is makes them flush different shades of awkward. Heavy and somewhat remorseful, but strangely cute. Even if Mia’s not in her element, Ellie can tell she’s – happy. And she knows it’s Amy’s fault.

“Mia!” the shout is loud and clear: it’s showtime. With a heartfelt wave goodbye, Mia passes through the back curtain and takes her place on stage. Amy turns to Ray, worrying him with her serious glare. She blitzes past him and towards the dressing rooms, forcing him to follow.

They need to replace Marco still. Ellie snickers. She’s sure Amy will find someone, not perfect, but good enough. Every trouble she’s thrown at her, Amy’s sorted out, much to Mr Astella’s chagrin. He’d hoped she would snap and quit before any of the more drastic measures had to be deployed. But now here she is, rubbing the steel wire in her hand, begging it to tear through her skin. And why?

Because Amy is too good. Because she threatens so many things about the Astella name that she must be neutralised. Because she’s just like them and not because she’s special, but because they aren’t. They’re all the same. Selfish, just like Ellie.

Because she’s long realised she’s not really fighting for Mia’s happiness. She’s fighting for the right to be its only guardian.

“I’m not doing the right thing, am I?” she says out loud, all the while popping the cap to the vial.