“It worked,” I whispered under my breath, but I didn’t dare to move, as my knees had suddenly turned very wobbly and unreliable.
Celestia glided to me and took hold of both my hands. When she spoke, her voice was different, too. Imperial. “That it did, my dear sister. And we have you to thank for that.”
I blushed despite myself as my sisters and the ghosts gathered around us. And it wasn’t only to pay homage to the Crescent Empress, who stood before them still bare of any jewels and clothes, but also to acknowledge me for the part I’d played in the ceremony. It was a curious feeling, to be the center of attention because of something I’d done, rather than because of how I look, but I think I quite liked it.
This time around, the dizziness that always follows a spell came with a delay. When we broke off the embrace of sisters at last, Celestia guided me to the sofa before the windows, though I assured her I was fine. But when I did lie down on the sofa, I instantly dozed off. I came around only when my sisters had already swept the floor clean of the soul bead shards and sewn the curtains shut.
Alina dashed to check on me. “Are you all right? Please, tell me you’re all right!”
I held a finger up, against my lips, to remind her to keep her voice down, but I did smile at her. I felt great, not only physically, but also because of what I’d achieved.
While I got my bearings—I might have been a bit dizzy still—Celestia saw Alina and Merile to their room and Elise into hers. Of the ghosts, there was no sight. They must have left us while I rested.
“How do you feel?” Celestia asked me when we were alone in our room. With our lamp no longer working, it should have been dark. But it wasn’t, as my sister still radiated our father’s light.
“Tired,” I lied. In truth, now that I’d napped for a moment, I felt invincible and ready to face any challenge posed to me. Yes, Scribs, I recognize the ridiculousness of that thought all by myself. Hence the lying, though I’m not proud of that.
I undressed, and we went to bed, and there was no need to talk more. We both knew what had come to pass and how it may yet alter the course of events.
Scribs, I’ve seen my sister tired and happy and worried. But never have I seen her in such an utter state of contentedness as when she closed her eyes. She’s become what she was meant to become.
The Crescent Empress.
Sorry for the long pause, Scribs, I had to stop and really think about it. Here goes.
I wonder if in some convoluted way my sisters and I have become what we were supposed to become in this house, if we have done so due to the circumstances or because this was our father’s plan all along.
Alina is no longer afraid of the things she sees or even the Great Thinking Machine. She believes in the promise Celestia made to her during the council of sisters, that we’ll keep her forever out of the gagargi’s reach. As a result, though her mind-rotting disease may have gotten worse, she seems healthier now than back at the palace, and in the end, I suppose, that’s the thing that matters the most.
Since the magpie incident, Merile has grown up. Even though she still acts childish at times (like when she continues to insist that she and Alina really saw the witch in the garden once), I know in my heart that she would do anything to protect Alina. And there can’t be a greater quality to cherish than utter selflessness. She’s brave, too, and now that I further think about it, we should thank her for Celestia becoming the Crescent Empress. If she hadn’t demanded answers, Celestia would have never conceded how dire our situation was, and the ghosts wouldn’t have revealed the location of the soul beads.
Elise… I don’t want to write these words, but Scribs, I need to get this off my chest. So, here goes, regardless of how terrible this might sound to you.
Elise isn’t the sister I knew back at the Summer City, the buoyant girl I so envied. I don’t think I can trust her anymore. I don’t even want to talk with her. It feels to me as if nothing we ever shared was true.
And I really don’t like the person my sister has turned into. These days, her opinions are so wild and outlandish that sometimes I think she’d still be ready to side with the gagargi regardless of what that might mean to us. The worst thing is that she seems to genuinely believe that that would be the right thing to do.
I don’t know how she can do this to us, her family! The ghosts call her a traitor. Perhaps that’s what she is.
Scribs, would it be such a very bad thing if I never said another word to her?
Can we continue with what happened tonight? Thanks.
When I was sure that Celestia was truly and deeply in the land of dreams, I got up as quietly as I could. I know, what a silly thing to do, but Scribs, tonight I felt as if I needed to get up, out into the drawing room, and meet once more with my father.
Hence, I retrieved the key to our room from the wardrobe’s secret compartment. I don’t know how Celestia always opens it so easily, but I was sure I’d wake her up with all the prodding and pushing. Luckily enough, my sister remained fast asleep. I prayed thanks to Papa, snatched you with me, Scribs, and sneaked out.
In the drawing room, Moon’s light trickled in through the holes of the sewn-shut curtains. My father’s shine drew me to him, and I felt as if I were drifting, barely more than a ghost of myself. I hesitated to unravel the thread—Celestia never lets me touch it. I think she fears that I might accidentally snap it, and I’m tempted to agree with her. But tonight, there was no other option. I lowered you on the floor and set to work.
I thought I knew what to expect when I drew the curtains apart. But I was wrong. So very wrong.
The crack in the glass is at the same level with my eyes, and as the light seeped in, it felt as if I were directly meeting my father’s gaze. I was blinded and granted sight. The world ceased to be and went on without me. I was no more, and yet I was more than before.
As I stood there, frozen, my father spoke to me, words of light that I didn’t understand then, and have still not been able to figure out. There were images, too, or perhaps they were visions, but they went past so fast that I can only recall one. Merile’s rats running through a dense birch forest, a bird black and white framed by the Moon’s light. An echo of the future, perhaps?
To be honest, I have no idea.
I don’t know how long I stood there. I don’t really care. Eventually a cloud slipped to cover the Moon, and when it passed, my father had shared with me everything he wanted me to know. Yet I didn’t feel like sleeping, rather like writing, and so I settled on the sofa chair closest to the window.
Tonight, my account has been full of important events that will no doubt bear historical significance in a century or two. But I think I’ve written enough of that now, wouldn’t you agree with me, Scribs? Yes?
Good. For I only have two or so pages left, and I want to fill them with something lighter, but very personal still.
THE LETTER!
I’ve been dying to write about the letter since the Ball, but haven’t. I needed to first make up my mind about a few things, including the kiss that could have been. Needless to say, I really haven’t yet, but I’m ever so slowly running out of time to do so.
Here’s what you need to know.
Celestia and Elise gave the letter to me to read while they fussed with my impossible hair. They reassured me it’s from K, that it was smuggled here by the Poet, under the false bottom of the box of chocolates that left a bitter taste in my mouth. The letter might eventually do likewise.