I sat back and enjoyed the gentle wash of feeling that came over me. It was not the highest high, but it was also very far from any even remotely low low. It was just enough that I didn't have to think, but also just the right amount that I still could. If I wanted to. Thinking was like gambling. The bet is something like ignorance, but not quite. It's the state of unpreparedness and the surprise more than ignorance, but the bliss of it is much the same. I wanted not to be attacked again, not to be a risk and a hazard to all those around me. If I thought about it, then the chances that those goals were accomplished would go up. At the same time though, thinking about it meant that the excuses I could tell myself would dry up. When failure inevitably knocked my door, it would be well and truly my own.
***
~Mary~
The first sign was the obsessive standard to which things had been shifted back to where they had been. The table that Mary had been using as a desk had been pushed back into its original corner. If it weren't for the newly bound paper that took its place on the bookshelves, Mary would've thought she had traveled back in time. Chella stepped around the corner.
Mary leapt at her, smothering Chella in a hug before she managed to open her mouth in greeting. The tears came unbidden, but were not wholly unwelcome. Even knowing that Chella would likely spend an inordinate time making sure that there was not even the slightest bit of staining in her clothes, Mary clung to her. Careful hands rubbed her back and stroked her hair. There was no attempt to interrupt her sobs, just the steady reassurance of the one who knew her best.
"You should not be worrying yourself over me, my lady. All that matters is your own wellbeing," Chella said, "The Duke has caught me up and I believe I can assist you in your task. Just direct me as you see fit."
Mary fought to regain herself and countered, "You haven't had even a day since you woke up!"
"It's exactly as you say, I have been sleeping for so long that it is only natural that I return to my duties. Please, my lady, let me be of assistance now that I am able to do so once more," Chella pleaded, the desperation in her voice bleeding into every word.
It wasn't until Mary finally caved and let her start reading some of the reports that had begun to back up that she seemed to relax. Mary herself gave up on the backlog and started from the latest batch, trusting Chella to fill in the blanks.
***
"It finally feels like the whole family is back together, doesn't it?" Mellok asked.
Chella had managed to both catch up in the reports and assist the chef with the cooking. Like always, she ate as if she wasn't able to taste any of it, giving away no hint at how exceptional that it was. Mary still felt a note of joy every time she reaffirmed that Chella was awake.
Mellok didn't let his question hang in the air for long though. "I'm sure you two have been busy with all that has been coming in lately. It's been a rough couple days since the prince went and made a mess of things. I just hope that you're leaving yourselves enough time to live a little. Even if you've been helping me immensely, it's still my job in the end."
"Don't worry Dad, we won't go overboard or anything," Mary said.
Chella chimed in, "I will be sure to keep an eye on the miss so that she does not endanger her health with overwork."
"Chella, you should pay attention to yourself as well, I wouldn't want you putting yourself back in bed with how much you push all the time." Mellok laughed. "It has been a few days though, do you think you're up for going back to the academy, Mary? I have no worries in the way of your studies, but I made many fond memories there when I was your age. It was how I met your mother after all!"
Mary choked on her soup. It was no longer such a sore subject since it happened so long ago, but her father had also taken to relating some of his stories from back then. Some of them were funny, some even romantic for all that it was awkward to imagine her parents' falling in love, but he had eventually run out of those, and at some point he had started telling her about their more adventurous outings.
"I remember once when I snuck her past the old bag who used to run the girls dormitory and out around to the copse of trees in the corner of campus. It was a pretty popular spot most of the time, but that night there was a celebration, so everyone else was at that. It was a bit prickly, but the moon was full and we brought one of the blankets from the dormitory. Do they still have those white and red blankets with the different patterns in squares about a handspan wide? Anyway, so she took my wrist and the moon was only so bright, so I could only really see her face looking up at mine, but it was the most beautiful I had ever seen her. She only get more beautiful as she got older mind you. Then she put my hand over her heart and–"
Mary escaped from her father's awful storytelling. Normally she would have borne with it, but she felt it was now somehow unbearable to listen to. She knew that the spoon full of soup she had been holding had probably made a mess, but it didn't seem all that important. She slammed the door to her room behind her and collapsed onto her bed.
The sheets and the feather mattress beneath rose to meet her like a pool of water. Mary let herself submerge, the sheets on the edges of the bed being pulled in to gather around her. The mattress pushed uncomfortably up against the bones in her nose, but she did not attempt to reposition herself. It was exactly what she had expected and things going as she expected was all that she could ask for.
There came a knocking at the door and Chella's voice, "Do you mind if I come in?"
Even now she was a burden. Chella hadn't been awake for even a day and she was already worried for her. She wasn't as beautiful and gentle as her mother had been. She wasn't as smart and careful as Chella. She wasn't as honest and resilient as her father. She had locked herself away and cried for months after her mother had died all while her father had kept the kingdom from falling apart even through his grief. The least she could do would be to not make them worry, whether they were here or somewhere out of reach.
"Come in," she called out after rolling off of her face.
Mary watched the door swing inward, and then Chella, with a look of deep concern, stepped through. Chella's eyes stayed fixed to her even as Mary sat up and arranged herself in some semblance of proper form. It was a tactic to signal that things were fine, but Chella still took each step as if she were approaching a stray cat and she was afraid that it might bolt. Whether it was because of the image in her head or for reasons more related to her feelings, every step closer made the feeling of wanting to flee get stronger. Part of it, Mary knew, was the irrational fear that she had disappointed Chella somehow. As if she had let her down by showing weakness despite the fact that she was not the one who had been unconscious for days.
Chella sat down on the edge of the bed, close enough that if Mary had wanted, she could reach out and touch her, but off at an angle so that the route to the door was clear. Sometimes, Mary wondered if the small things that she noticed were there at all, or if they were just things that she ascribed meaning to of her own accord. This time though, it just made her feel more like a threatened animal, not to be reasoned with, just to be appeased.
"What's wrong?" Chella asked.
It wasn't about to be twice that she cried on Chella's shoulder in a single day. If she told the truth, then it was as if she were diminishing what had happened when Chella had first been hired. So she spun out webs of lies in her head and discarded them as she found their holes. Chella knew her well enough to infer that it wasn't really embarrassment. Enough stories had taken their turns for the sensual before that this one hadn't been all that bad. She had made her exit too forceful to allay concerns with something unimportant like a lack of appetite or being tired.
"It's just that–" Mary cut the words as if they were hard for her. In a way, they should have been, but the lies came smooth as silk. "Just that you were asleep for so long, and–I was so worried. Then Dad was talking about Mom and I just–couldn't."
Still moving slowly, Chella reached out a hand. Mary took it and felt Chella lightly squeeze. It almost brought on the tears, but the lies had helped to stop up the parts of her that could feel. Mary retreated there, to where webs hung and it was dark. There was no breeze to sway the castle that she spun, no gate through which visitors could enter. Mary could barely remember which strands were sticky and which were not. For those parts of the castle, she just added more over them, layering new lies over the old ones that she could only vaguely remember.
It wasn't as if she wasn't good at anything, it was just that she didn't particularly like what she was. The stories made the princesses guileless and loyal so that they could wait for their princes to save them. They made the commoners honest and brave so that they could overcome their hardships. They made the witches like her so that they could bake pies out of the stupid ones.
