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I would have thought he would at least come to the door.

I'm sure he must be so lonely, living by himself. I don't see why anyone would turn down the offer of friendship, especially a Vandeline.

Maybe he's scared of me, maybe that's why he didn't open the door. But he's the one who held me at knife point. Why should he be scared?

Or maybe he was sleeping.

Or maybe he's dead. Maybe one of the rooms collapsed in on him and that was the end of that.

Goodness, why is everything so complicated?

My mind is hurting now, and I think the slight sniffle I have developed is my intelligence flowing out of my brain.

Ick.

"Mari?" Mother Whisper is standing in the doorway to the living room, a gentle smile spreading over her face as she sees me laying across the couch in misery.

Mistaking my anguish for lingering wine in my blood, she crosses over to me, taking my hand in her own, and pulls me to my feet.

"Poor girl, you shouldn't have had so much to drink last night."

"Mother, it's not the wine tha-"

She sighs, cutting in with a hint of distaste. "Lying is not at all becoming to a young lady. Come, I have something to show you."

I purse my lips shut, allowing myself to be led from the room.

Her fingers are cold, unnaturally so, and I feel as if I am holding hands with a granite statue.

Down the white marble staircase, she leads me, past the faded oil canvases and tapestries of old, past the heaps of dried and dusty bouquets the servants have laid in the corridor for removal.

Where are we going?

Am I in trouble?

Did she find Laurette?

Past the kitchens, and the dining room, she takes me, past the gardenia hall, and the winter room, until at last, we stand before two pairs of unblemished, shimmering, silver doors.

Now even my blood has lost its warmth.

The Wilted Room.

"Why are we here?" I hiss under my breath.

Her grip on my hand tightens, refusing to let me pull away.

"Mother," I protest, desperation creeping in, "Mother, why are we here?"

The doors begin to slide open, silently, effortlessly, and she turns to me, her face glazed over with concern. "Cordelia saw you leaving to the Vandeline Manor this morning." She whispers, like the words hold so much power they could bring the walls crumbling down around us.

"What?" My tongue is heavy, and I can't look away from her, but the nonchalance in my voice serves me well. "She said that?"

Of course, she did, she's Cordelia.

I've snitched on her countless times; so, she must see this as revenge.

We Ophera's are vengeful things, I don't blame her, I would have done the same.

Mother Whisper averts her gaze, tugs me after her into the expanse beyond.

It is a quiet place, the only sound being our faint breathing, and the occasional sigh of a breeze through the open door we entered from.

It is the most colourful room in the house, despite being a grave.

Thick, damask, drapes block out the sun, and flowers line the floor in a carpet of blossoms, every step awakening new scents of divinity.

Purple, pink, white, baby blue petals all crunch under my feet as I tread behind Mother Whisper. Each step I take is closer to death.

There is a glass bed at the furthest point of the room, it seems to glow in the candlelight, shimmers of gold and amber skimming through the air, playing on the folds of my dress, and on my skin.

Laying on the bed, with a bouquet of wilted roses clutched to her breast, is a young woman.

Her skin is sallow, and deathly pale. Satin strips cover her eyes, and raspberry stain has been painted onto her lips, so that all who gaze on her will forever remember her beauty.

She draws no breath as she sleeps, and likewise, I dare draw no breath as I look on her.

She was the fifth Ophera sister, Evangeline.

Mother Whisper drops my hand.

"Do you know why we come here?" She says in a hushed tone.

"Yes, Mother."

"It's a reminder." She continues, as if I hadn't just answered the question. "A reminder that no Vandeline is ever to be trusted."

She moves closer to the body, drawing her fingers across the glass cover that shrouds the bed.

"Do you remember what happened to her?"

"Yes, Mother."

Once again, ignoring my answer, she speaks, her voice wavering with every word. "She trusted a Vandeline, and in return, they killed her. And do you remember how they killed her, Marianne?"

I don't reply, as my answers seem to be useless anyway.

"They tied her to the Orien Bridge, and watched as the tide swallowed her. Minute by wretched minute the water rose, and they laughed. They laughed as she died, Mari. They thought it was humorous to see a girl drown." Mother Whisper wipes a single tear from her cheek and straightens her posture.

"I don't want that to happen to you." She says, firmly, "I won't let it happen to you."

A horrible fog guilt of has begun to crawl over my skin.

Should I really have been trying to make friends with a Vandeline?

After what happened to Evangeline?

But surely, that was six years ago, surely the Vandeline boy wasn't at fault. He couldn't have been much older than I was, a child of ten.

"You saw them?" I ask, "even the children?"

"Yes." Her eyes narrow, "even the children."

"Oh. Of course."

I'm truly the silly girl Mother Whisper always said I was.

Everyone knows the Vandeline have wickedness in their blood, and blood is present since birth, so they must be evil since birth.

"Don't you ever go to that Manor again, do you understand?" She says harshly, and I nod.

"Not again." My twisted tongue lies, "never again."

Never being, never again today.

That Vandeline boy is still by best chance at a true friend, since the other youths won't be near me even when etiquette demands.

Mother Whisper's words spin in my head. Nobody likes talkative girls.

But I'm sure he doesn't have anyone else to talk to, and he must be so, so lonely. He has to like me.

And besides, an oath is an oath, and I swore not to tell, and anyone who breaks an oath is cursed forevermore.

"Oh, dear child." Mother Whisper embraces me tightly, "dear, dear, child. Don't ever me like that again."

"I won't, Mother." I mumble into her shoulder.

She releases me after a moment longer, and holds me at arms length, inspecting my face with a newfound sense of admiration.

"You brave, silly thing." She laughs, and then, in a darker undertone, "don't worry, sweet, we'll make an Ophera out of you yet."