It was sometime in my fifth year of life that despair finally claimed me.

I was returning to the kitchens with the remnants of tea after a particularly wretched day. The twins had been at each other's throats all week over some trivial slight and their mother's patience had frayed to almost nothing. My only desire was to clean the tea set and go to bed for the night, but life had different plans for me.

Someone had purposefully left a puddle of slick soapy water at the entry to the kitchen. I was tired and didn't notice it until my foot slipped out from beneath me. The tray and all of its contents tumbled to the floor, the porcelain shattering on impact.

I managed to catch myself with my hands and I felt shards of the broken teapot pierce my skin. For a few breathless moments, I knelt there - listening, waiting, completely silent save for the pounding of my heart. Surely someone had heard the tremendous noise and yet another punishment was imminent.

But there was no commotion from upstairs, no raised voices, no impending punishment. I let out a breath and dragged myself to slump against the wall and sat on the cold floor. My ankle throbbed and the cuts on my hands stung. Pale ichor oozed from my wounds.

The shattered porcelain gleamed in the lamp light. I cautiously reached out to pick up one of the larger shards. The edge was razor sharp.

I contemplated that sharp edge. I imagined what it would be like to slice open my veins and let whatever I had instead of blood spill out until I was completely empty. Could it free me from this? Would it even work? Could I even be killed in a way that mattered?

Time seemed to stretch out as I teetered on the edge of oblivion. It yawned open before me, ready to take me into it's embrace.

I was so tired…

"Ella?" The word was quiet, barely a whisper.

I hadn't heard my name spoken aloud in almost three years. It cut through the fog of my mind, startling me back into awareness… back from the edge.

I raised my eyes. Ariane was standing in the doorway staring at me with wide eyes.

Under other circumstances, I might have flinched, might have scrambled to my feet and mumbled an apology as I cleaned the mess. Maybe I would have if she had arrived a few minutes earlier, before the panic had morphed into numbness. I was in shock, and I didn't care anymore. It didn't matter what the consequences of idleness would be. Nothing mattered at this point.

We stared at each other for a long time.

Finally, Ariane closed her eyes and scrunched up her face as some internal conflict reached its conclusion. She took a breath and bent down to start picking up the shards. I stared at her hands as she picked up each piece, her movements precise and careful as she avoided the sharp edges. She didn't look at me once, not until the mess had been cleaned.

Finally, she looked up to meet my gaze again and she reached out with the same precision. Her eyes implored me with a silent request and I didn't resist as she took the final shard from my hands.

She picked up the tray with the shards and stood. She hesitated for a moment as she regarded the spot on the floor where it had shattered. She spared me one haunted glance before she disappeared with the tray.

Something broke inside me, and I hugged my knees to my chest. I thought my tears had long dried up, but they fell now.

 

---

 

Something changed after that night.

My life became easier in some intangible way. Ariane’s attacks ceased suddenly and I no longer found myself as collateral damage in whatever battle she was waging against her sister. Florina was no less relentless in her torments, but they somehow landed softer. Ariane didn't openly acknowledge what had happened, but I was certain that she had begun shielding me, redirecting the worst of it.

I began finding chores completed before I even started. Small, innocuous things that wouldn't catch the attention of my stepmother: sheets folded, tea sets cleaned.

In the presence of her mother and sister, Ariane treated me with the same brusque indifference she always had when she had been quietly doing her part to make my life hell. But in those moments we passed in the hall or her mother allowed me to bring meals to the study, she regarded me with a sort of timid curiosity.

I was utterly baffled by all of it. I was half convinced that this was some new chapter in my torment, that she would start doling out kindness only to snatch it away when it would hurt the most. I wouldn't put it past her, she had proven herself both patient and malicious enough to attempt such a thing.

But despite my dread, despite everything that had happened to me in my years in that house, a tiny flicker of hope rekindled inside of me.

 

---

 

A week later, I was shocked to find a book in Ariane's laundry. Initially I thought it had fallen in by accident and I almost returned it to her room. But… Ariane was too careful, too deliberate. Nothing she did was accidental.

Was this a gift? Another tiny kindness? There wasn't any other explanation.

Victor had given me gifts and he had certainly acted kind towards me, but there was always some ulterior motive. He was driven purely by his own hubris and I don’t believe he ever saw me as a person. I was just a thing to him, his creation. He wanted to craft me into something that he could show off. Every gift he ever gave me was given with that singular intention.

I was bewildered. If Ariane wanted anything out of this exchange, I couldn't determine what it was.

I didn't know what to make of it, so I did the only thing that did make sense - I read it.

The book was a fairy tale adventure with a silly, frivolous romance. It didn't seem at all like something Ariane would read. Had she picked it because she thought I would like it? Was it an old favorite that held a place in her heart? Was this a test of some kind?

I felt like this was a game and I didn't understand the rules.

In the end, I scrawled a note on a piece of scrap paper with my honest reaction. I placed the note in the book and placed it on her desk when I collected her laundry in the morning.

Later that day, the book had vanished, restored to whichever shelf it had come from.

A few days passed without incident. Ariane barely acknowledged me, muttering requests as she always had, as master to servant. With increasing dread, I wondered if I had completely misunderstood whatever game she had been playing.

Then another book appeared. A tragic historical romance. Interesting, but too dark for my tastes. Again, I scrawled a response and the book was quietly restored to its place in the library.

It went on like this, a book would appear and I would provide feedback. The first few were obviously her probing, trying to determine my preferences, but over time the selection became more tailored to my tastes. I found myself devouring them, losing myself in them over long sleepless nights.

As she provided more and more books, Ariane began rewarding me with feedback of her own, a ghost of a smile or a subtle exasperated shake of the head as we passed each other in the hall. I found myself beginning to eagerly anticipate those moments when I would discover a new title hidden away. Despite the lingering sense of foreboding that this was all an elaborate trick, I found myself craving those tiny shreds of human interaction.

 

---

 

And then came the day of the storm.

Elisabetta had taken Florina out for some social event and wouldn't return until the next morning. It was all part of their desperate attempt to climb back up the social ladder. The twins had grown into women and were now of marrying age. Elisabetta had dragged Ariane along for the first few engagements, but she seemed to have written her daughter off as a lost cause.

Even so, there was precious little in the way of a dowry for Florina, so she and her mother worked ruthlessly and relentlessly towards building the social connections they would need.

The storm rolled in suddenly and violently that afternoon, setting me on edge. I hated thunderstorms, they reminded me too much of laboratories and angry mobs and gunshots.

But one of the first things I had learned in that house was that my toils didn't stop for the weather. So I gritted my teeth and kept my head down and made Arianne's tea. She was in her study, hunched over a book on her desk, her pen scratching as she took notes. She didn't look up as I entered and set the tray down on the desk.

As I turned to leave, the scratching of her pen paused.

"Ella"

I nearly jumped.

I turned around wordlessly, terrified of what could come next. I wanted to cringe from the piercing gaze that was fixed on me.

"The thunder frightens you"

I blinked.

It wasn't a question. Both twins had discovered my fear of thunder shortly after my arrival and used it relentlessly to torment me.

To punctuate her remark, there was a crack of thunder just overhead and despite my best efforts, I flinched.

I swallowed and nodded.

"So stay until the storm passes, don't be alone"

There was something in her eyes that was exceedingly rare, something desperate, something hopeful. I remembered seeing that look in her eyes when Victor had caught her entering the study. She wanted me to stay.

Perhaps she had come to the conclusion that the company of a monster was better than being alone.

"Alright," I said, finally breaking my silence.

To my shock, she simply nodded awkwardly and turned back to the notes she was scribbling, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. I was surprised to feel a stab of annoyance. I was used to her casual indifference, but to invite me to stay and then ignore me?

I had half a mind to leave, let her know that I was a person with my own free will. But… the storm did frighten me and I was grateful that I didn't need to be alone.

I let out a breath and took stock of my surroundings. I suddenly recalled the dreamy feeling of being in here those first few days before Victor died, when I could just lose myself in the books. As with my first week of servitude, I only ever entered when ordered to bring her dinner and I had always made a quick exit, lest I fall victim to her wrath.

I glanced back at her, unsure what was expected of me, but she simply continued to ignore me.

Fine.

If this was a test or another one of her games, I could make a show of ignoring her too… and if she was truly ignoring me, I supposed there was no harm disregarding her directive to never touch anything in this room.

It wasn't as if she could my life any worse than it already was…

I felt myself inexorably drawn to one object in particular. Every time I entered, my eyes caught upon the violin sitting perched in a nook amongst the shelves.

It wasn't the one that Victor had given me when I first came to be - that one had been destroyed with the rest of the castle. Nor had it been here when Victor occupied this space. Ariane herself had brought it after taking ownership of the room. I had never heard her play, but it was positioned in the direct line of sight from the desk.

I ran my eyes along the gleaming wood enviously. It was spotless, unblemished by any fingerprints and there was the tiniest layer of dust. When had it last been played? Had it ever been played at all?

My fingers twitched, desperate to pick it up. I wanted to play, more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.

Thunder crashed again and the spell was broken. I jerked my hand back as if I had been struck. I couldn't play with that storm raging outside.

I made a slow circuit of the room, taking in the details I missed in my habitual rush to leave. She had kept all of her father's books, though they were organized according to her own rigorous standards. Scattered amongst the books were all the little tickets and curios that Victor had collected over his life.

It always struck me as odd that she would choose to be surrounded by things that reminded her of her father, strained as their relationship was. There was a certain practicality to keeping the books, but why keep everything else? Her mother and sister had shown no such sentimentality, the contents of this room were the only sign that he had ever occupied any space in this house.

Well… that and perhaps the cellar laboratory behind the hidden door, but to my knowledge it had been locked and unopened since the night before he died.

I snuck a glance at the pile of open books on her desk and suppressed a shudder when I realized they were all anatomical texts.

After nearly completing the circuit, I found what I had been looking for. Tucked in a high shelf, almost as an afterthought, was a small collection of fairy tales and myths and legends. I don't think Victor approved of my love of tales of adventure and romance, but it was one of the few indulgences he granted me on occasion. It felt like something that was wholly mine, something separate from the grand design he had for me.

I hesitantly reached out to pluck something familiar from the shelf. I glanced back at Ariane and our eyes met. She noted the book in my arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Tea?" She asked.

I opened my mouth to inform her that I had only brought one cup, but she had produced a second one from somewhere. She raised her own streaming cup and took a sip, not breaking eye contact.

I stared at the empty second cup for a moment with mild unease. This reinforced my suspicions that this whole encounter was staged. Knowing her, she probably rehearsed all this in her head, trying to prepare for every possibility. Well, if this was a game, I'd have to act unexpectedly in order to win.

"No, thank you," I mumbled. The space between her eyebrows creased slightly in bewilderment and it took all of my effort not to smile smugly.

I settled down onto the sofa and began to read.

 

---

 

I must have dozed off. When I awoke, the lamps had been turned down and Ariane was absent. The rain fell in a soft patter outside, with none of the fury from before.

My eyes fell on the violin and I found myself moving towards it once more. I told myself that I shouldn't, I didn't know how Ariane would react… but I needed it. I needed it now desperately that I had needed anything before. It was like there was an emptiness inside me that yearned to be filled.

After one last furtive glance at the door, I reverently picked it up, breathing in the scent of the varnished wood. I took a moment to tune it, my hands shaking slightly.

Satisfied, I raised the bow and drew it across the strings. The sound was pure and beautiful. I began to play, hesitantly at first, but my hands remembered what to do.

I didn't play any particular piece, I simply poured myself into the music: all of the despair and all of the grief threaded through with that tiniest flicker of hope that had come so close to being extinguished. I closed my eyes and nothing else existed in the world besides me and the violin and the music. And somehow, as I played, it felt as if a hole was being filled in my soul and a tremulous joy crept into the music.

As I finished and the music faded into silence, I basked in the echo of it, feeling at peace for perhaps the first time in my short life.

I opened my eyes with a sigh and there was Ariane. She was standing in the doorway, staring at the violin, her eyes glistened wetly.

"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I… just…" I didn't know what else to say.

"He used to play," she said flatly, not really looking at me.

Oh…

She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

"I should have realized that he built a musician," she said softly, more to herself than me.

I didn't know what to say. I quickly and carefully replaced the violin on its stand. I turned back to face her, hands folded and head down, and I waited for my dismissal… or punishment.

She blinked at me, seeming to remember I existed, and moved to sit on the sofa. She closed her eyes and seemed to be collecting her thoughts.

I didn't know what to do with myself, so I stood there, perfectly still.

She let out a shuddering breath.

"I need to apologize," she said, scrunching her eyes further shut. "The way I've treated you has been… I have stood by and let my mother and sister treat you horribly. I have treated you horribly.

"When my father brought you here, I hated him, and… I hated you. I hated knowing that all that time that he was gone he was working on you. I hated him for abandoning us, for abandoning me. And then he died and there was just you. I looked at you and saw evidence that my father didn't love us. It was like… we weren't good enough for him… like I wasn't good enough.

"The only thing you ever did was exist and I treated you like a monster, like something less than human. I should have treated you like a sister."

Tears began to flow freely down her face and she let out another ragged breath.

"When I found you that night in the kitchen, I realized what I had done. That place you were in? I've been there. And I did that to you. Nothing I can do can change what I did, but I'm so sorry."

Her face crumpled and she began sobbing in truth.

I sat down next to her, unsure of what to do. I hesitantly reached out a hand to touch her back in a way I hoped was soothing. She flinched at the physical contact and I drew my hand back. What was I supposed to do? Nobody had ever shown me compassion or tenderness before.

Maybe it was the strange and distant familiarity that had developed between us over the past few weeks. Or maybe it was that look of desperate loneliness she had worn. The words were out of my mouth before I really understood what I was saying.

"Thank you," I whispered, "for stopping me. Thank you for… for being a friend."

She sniffed and wiped at her face.

"Are we friends?" She asked. The hopeful look was back in her eyes. Her typical mask of indifference had cracked and the desperation was plain on her face.

Was this friendship? Could it become friendship? I didn't know what friendship felt like, all I had were ghosts of memories from someone else's life.

She had been so cruel to me over the years, but in this moment, I saw that she was desperately lonely. Despite everything she had done to me, I wanted to cling to this fragile bond we had formed.

Maybe we didn't have to be alone.

"We can be," I replied. "If you'd like."