SAL had almost forgotten how the world outside looks like. The last she remembers of it was a bright place with sunlight tinging everything yellow. Conversations, light and flitting they were. Now, it was uncertain if those memories were even real. The saccharine happiness tells her it was probably an image she had seen before in the books and thinking like this only makes her imagine things.

But imagining was not so bad. There would be a vast field with the greenest and softest grass she would then lay onto. A prince in a long coat would wake her up from her sleep, smiling sweetly at her. Her brother would be a tease, telling on her to anyone else. But she would not mind, because she was too happy to care.

Loud neighing of horses knocked her out of her reverie. Sal glanced at her surroundings. Fading fleur-de-lys patterns painted on the ceiling. Cold wood rubbed against her skin as she lay on the floor. Books strewn around the place built a quirky kind of forest and mattresses dangled from her bed. The maid would be really angry.

The neighing did not stop. Scarier still than the possible anger of the lady was these times of the month. There was clip-clop of horses’ hooves that was surely then followed by merry voices of men. Sal crawled to the edge of the wall to ensure a more secure hiding place.  The names who owns the voices she has memorized but the noise all sounded foreign to her. Sal clutched to her veil and wrapped it around her head and hair as she further holed in the wall.

Three knocks sounded on the door. Sal tried to sit up but ended up clutching her knees against her chest.

Keys jingled as the door opened to reveal the maid. The maid then went straight to the capiz windows to lock them tighter.

“ You’re not a rug, Signorina. Sit up.” The maid whispered.

Sal tried to mutter a word but ended up dragging herself up onto the bed as the maid sat by the table. Neither of them uttered a word as faint conversation drifted by, all of it in a language the maid would not understand. An hour on with both of them stuck in silence until the horses whinnied again and carriage wheels clattered did the maid stand up.

“ Stay here, I’m going to check.”

As the sounds dwindled, so did the pit in her stomach. She would never be used to this. Even as she understood the conversations of the visitors, their ideas all went over her head. After all, it was a sinful thought to try and be curious. What if they do notice her?

The maid came back. She navigated across the dirty room and adjusted the veil on Sal’s head like she always does every few minutes. Sal could barely see her room through the thin fabric when she looks straight up ahead but at least her face was not visible. It had then been easier to look down.

Rustling sounded across the room. Ah, the maid must be cleaning and putting her things back in place. “ Sometimes, I wonder what kind of wife you’ll be.” The maid muttered, ever the blank tone in her voice.

But Sal sat upright, her toes wriggling as she put her soles together. Being married looked so good in the stories she’s read for all the princesses lived their happily ever afters. The wedding could not come any sooner.

The maid motioned to her so she checked the piece she started embroidering days ago. The threads are all over the place and it was not as smooth as a picture as what the maid had shown her before, but it was good progress.

The maid shook her head at the sight of her work.

“I’m sorry,” Sal said.

Sal sighed. The job was enjoyable at least, but it was not good enough. The maid would not even teach her cooking, too afraid she must be that Sal will burn a house.

“It was almost impossible to think the Signor would arrange for a marriage “ The maid muttered. It was clearly to herself, but Sal was almost trained to hear the conversations people did not want to hear. She can’t help it. She has ears. But sometimes, it is perplexing for a marriage seems like an unprecedented blessing.

“A good wife should be responsible for her husband.”Sal repeated one of the mottoes the maid has been saying. But inwardly, it was not something to mind.

The maid only stared at her. At the very least, Sal knew that the statement would satisfy the maid. Despite all the maid’s doubts on her abilities, there was no need to doubt. Marriage is when she’ll have to live and stay with another man in another house. It seemed like it will be more fun than here.

Sal shot a look at the capiz windows. Will her new house have windows gray like that? Or will they have no windows at all and set a bed and a table on the roof?

“Do you think I have to live outside after the wedding?” Sal clasped her hands together, waiting for a reaction at least. The maid leveled a quick glare. She should feel nervous then.

It was one of those dangerous questions so Sal clamped her mouth shut and gripped her veil close to her head.

“Only the Signor knows.” The maid replied.

Sal’s hands crumpled. She should have known better than to let the Signor’s name be incurred in conversation. Is he even in the Casa right now? The man comes as quietly as he goes like a ghost. The presence of visitors earlier tells her that he was in the Casa. It is not right to feel too at ease.

SAL gripped the veil tight onto her head as she secured her seat on the corner of the wall. The Signor could knock at any minute. Keep the veil on. Do not let anyone else see.

The visitors were not leaving yet. A pit in Sal’s stomach formed as their conversations trickled in. An hour of silence came afterwards signaling to her that they have already come inside. Even more so than that, the Signor could check on her soon. She knew the routine. It will only usually be an hour, or three at most of silence when the talk would be done inside the Casa. Three hours at most that she would be uneasy.

“ How do you do? I greet

The little bird as she flits”

A vague, faraway melody floated in the air, singing. The words melted into La’s and Sal can’t help but laugh to herself. Then, the melody turned into whistling. She straightened herself as she laid her body straight on the floor, staring at the ceiling, imagining the feeling of floating as the melody seemed to rock her to sleep.

She stood up to lock the doors and bar any possible entry with her bookshelf, not minding the books that have fallen to the floor. She opened the window with one long, heavy push. Wind brushed past her causing her tresses to brush past her face and the veil precariously teeter to slip from her head.

A tall, lanky man missing his overcoat stood on the roof tiles.Sunlight gleamed on his face, making him shine. How smoothly he glid across the roof and slip in the railings surrounding the window. The man’s face has the authority of a father and the gentleness of a mother.

Her Ren. Hers alone.

When he was at arm’s reach from the window, Sal took his hands, goading them to take off her veil.

And take it off he did. The veil flew off Sal’s head and landed limply on the floor. Everytime he stares at her it was like she was the most beautiful woman she has ever seen. That feeling is almost indescribable.

Sal sat on the table, waiting for Ren to make his way inside like he always did. But the man only smiled. This young man, really. Sal leaned in close, letting him whisper what he has to say.

“I just thought of something wild,” The man had the most discreet grin. How could he say those words with such delicateness like he’s lulling a baby to sleep?

“What is it?”

The man only took her by the hand as they approached the windowsill. He went out with his hand holding hers. Sal looked at the long wooden line separating them from each other. Her hands trembled. She has never tried walking on the roof nor even go out of her room unassisted.

“If you close your eyes, you will see everything.” Ren said.

So Sal closed her eyes shut as Ren kept her hand held and guided her through her movements. At first, a certain loss of senses grabbed her, but hearing the young man’s voice kept her grounded as he kept her through.

“You can open your eyes now.”

And so Sal did. A warm breeze flushed across her face as warm orange light of near sunset washed over the surroundings, rendering everything a soft orange. She reached a hand towards the clouds, how they seem to be in reach. The gardens and the gates Casa stretched across her sight and beyond the forests with a small hint of a village with nipa huts peeking on one side. On her far left was the roofs of all the other houses. There were people, but it was strange watching them from above. Sal was up high, like a bird watching the ground.

“I feel like a bird.” Sal said as she tried to balance her feet on the roof.

“I see a magnificent swan.” Ren remarked.

Sal held his hand tight, remembering the story of the ugly fowl and how he liked telling that story to her. The butterflies in her stomach morphed into that from excitement.

“Have you coursed through the whole roof of this Casa?” Sal asked.

“Yes.”

“How does it feel?”

“You have to see it for yourself.” Ren said.

The two of them, walked around the roofs. Sal felt it silly. They were like cats making trouble around the place. But she was too happy to care. For all she knows, the maids would think it was a cat wreaking havoc above. The two of them could run, jump, and dance as they explored the parts Sal could.

Half an hour passed with the two of them sitting precariously on the roof like madmen, but it felt too short for her. Too short even as the days before their wedding drew near. They sat near the edge of the roof, watching the skies turn pink and purple. She stared at the man as she edged a finger across his cheek and onto his mane of dark hair colored by white streaks.

“You have not shown me your escape route before, am I right?” Sal asked.

Ren shook his head.

“Can you at least tell me where?”

“Would you follow me down there?” he laughed.

Sal paused. Ren was a fairy, so of course he can run through and climb walls and appear on the roof like an otherworldly creature, like a creature of dreams. But she was not. She was a puny little girl. She stretched her feet, watching the sun seem to settle in between them. It was like being pulled in.

“I will.”

Ren breathed in as he stretched his arms in front of him, “It will be a bit tasking physically. You’d need your legs strong.”

Sal ran a hand across her weak, little legs.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there. But first,” he stood up. ”We’d need to cross the place, and then turn right.”

Sal let Ren lead the way. Their steps quieter and calmer than before. The wind turned silent as the cool breeze of the night slowly settled in with the crawling absence of sunlight. It felt more serene contrasting with how they looked like lovers escaping some evil stepmother. Sal laughed to herself at the thought.

“We look like eloping lovers,” Sal teased.

Ren turned to her. “Well, we could right now.”

Sal glanced down at the gardens below the roofs. The sight seemed like gravity pulling her down. Eloping sounded so exciting and so wild and ---

“I don’t know.” the words escaped from Sal’s mouth. She clamped a hand over it. Those were not the words she would’ve wanted to say, but her hands trembled at the thought of reaching the stairs to get down. “I’m sorry.”

Ren cupped both of her cheeks, “It’s ok. You did fine. You did great today.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Do you want to get back now?”

Sal nodded. The man then assisted her in getting back to her room. His quick visits always ended like this. It must be disappointing to always cut off that small sliver of joy whenever they meet with her doubts.

As he bade her goodbye by the windowsill, Sal clutched onto his sleeve. “I’ll wait for you on the wedding. I’ll do better then.”

As he bade goodbye, Sal clung to the remnant of the warmth of Ren’s touch on her hand. It was all she could afford right now. Sal removed the bookshelf blocking the door, lest the maid get suspicious and eventually tell on her to the Signor. For what she knows, this marriage is a privilege, a mercy from the Signor.

 She drowned herself in a fairy tale that afternoon for there was nothing else to do. Books provided her enough company for a whisper and a rustle outside is bad company. At least in stories, she could count Happy Ever Afters.

Sal settled into her chair as she read in what little daylight left as the sun comes to set. It was almost surreal to fathom this state. She awaiting her wedding like a fairy tale heroine expecting a prince. It was almost unreal.

Sal saw herself in flowing, white robes standing in a marble balcony underneath a wide vast, starry sky like it was for the heroine in the book.

Sal paused at the next lines and closed the book prematurely.

'Deny thy father and refuse thy name,

and if thou shall not,

Be but sworn my love

And I shall no longer be a Capulet.'

She shook her head. Begone, thoughts! Perhaps, spoiling the end would ease her a bit and then-

Sal gasped.

Whispers flitted in the air. At impulse, Sal jumped towards and hid on the corner. Her eyes turning to the door, to make sure it is locked, or if not at least. The maid would come soon. How could Sal not notice the visitors coming in the house? Perhaps they did not come via a carriage this time? Why would they not use a carriage? No, that was a stupid question. Stop. Was it a stranger this time who came? Someone whose name she is unfamiliar, a stranger to their house?

Sal hushed herself, holding her small hands together and her head covered by the veil as it blanketed her whole body.

Whispers went louder and turned to words as if if the people were right just under the room, down on the first floor. Vague conversations drifted by, the words she could not fully ascertain or the topic of their conversation but she was certain of one thing. Fear.

“Take me out of here now. I’m scared.“ It was a female voice. It was almost trembling, soft.

Sal twiddled her fingers. The woman’s fear must be getting to her too. Who was speaking?

“I can’t believe you’ll let me be dragged to ruin.” Voice raised. Voice trembling. That is it agitation. There was a hush. Her words coming back to a whisper.

“If the Signor could stomach to do that monstrosity--”

“Et yo nadere cognoscere cuos va fassire."

She held her breath. Caligarian so far has only been the tongue of merchants and of the older Signors, not of women or much less, maids. A creeping sense of fear came. Who are these people?

“Pashiense, vos et yo no deseo to preovocare cuo suspiciosco."

"Et yo oir facto succedio. Ayuda me."

“Help me.” Sal echoed the woman’s words. The two left soon afterwards. A suffocating sense of dread and repeating thoughts kept Sal up that night. That voice, it was the maid.

SAL knew the questions might blast out of her any minute, but she tried to reel it in. It was hard more so especially when she is sitting across the maid herself.

The woman as blase and placid as ever was like a doll who was not given a smile to perhaps scare a child by a grumpy dollmaker. And like it was always said, grumpy people are old maids.

“Were you an old maid?” Sal asked.

The maid did not look up from the cloth that she was sewing. “That was rude, Signorina. You would not ask the Signor a similar question.”

Sal pricked a finger on the needle at the mention of the Signor. Her mind ran back to the conversation she witnessed a few days ago. It was hard to wrap her head at the calmness of this woman. It did not occur to her perhaps that she was afraid of someone. If it was the Signor, any servant is afraid of their master and she seemed different and-

“You seem to be getting bolder these days. You do not want to upset the Signor who was gracious enough to you.”

As easy it was given, as easy it was to take away. She ran her hand across the embroidered threads outlining Ren’s full name. Duren Leaugood Lidelse. She gripped it tight, as if he will be wrenched away from her. Their adventures and meetings have always been in secret but if anyone were to discover this unruly girl, such a grace of marriage they’d deem her undeserving.

Sal nodded, “I’m sorry.” Should she add her thoughts? Or an explanation? There was no need to. All she needed to do was obey and apologize for her behavior for the past days. She’d been asking too many questions it seems.

Sal stared at the woman in front of her. Was she also asking too many questions before? She was afraid too. Only children and little girls get scared, not older women like her. Then, perhaps, was she mistaken in thinking the voice was hers?

“Mi apologias. Et yo comportarsere.”

“ Empty words? I hope not.” the maid replied.

Has the maid always replied to Caligarian? Did the Signor and his visitors speak enough of the language that she knew how to speak it now? Her throat dried up. Words stuck in her throat.

“I’m thirsty. Can I go-”

“Stay here. I’ll get it.” The maid clucked her tongue as she went out.

Blood pooled on Sal’s finger, dropping on the embroidery of Ren’s name. Horses neighed outside telling her that visitors have come. The maid quickly came back, and they both settled onto their usual routine of holding in silence until there was another signal that the visitors have left. The silence was torture, this time. Alone she was in her thoughts.

She watched a the maid stayed quiet, deferential. It did not occur to her until now, that perhaps, she too was afraid. And who else was there to be afraid of?

“Was it the Signor who came?” Sal bundled up her hands in her skirt.

The maid paused, “You remembered to be filial this time?”

It was more proper to nod, at least, no matter how embarrassing it was for how unfilial and ungrateful as she was as a daughter. But it was something else. Was it better to wish him to leave? Sal wrung her hands. Fairy tale heroines don’t have to think this way. Yet, here she was.

“Yes, so I hope you do behave.”

The maid left for awhile. At her exit, Sal threw herself in a frenzy, tidying up the books strewn on the ground and the unruly mattress on the floor, hiding her stash of notes and sketches in the place. She checked the windows, to see if there was a trace of a dent or a hole in the capiz windows. She sat herself on the table on the window and secured the veil on her head., practicing the part and posture of a proper lady. A proper lady who’s about to be married.

She kept herself by the table, resisting the urge to go hide under the table or the corner. The Signor hates her doing that. She covered her ears as gossip and formal, fake, repetitive greetings filtered through the window. Remember, it was rude to listen in. It is improper to ask too many questions. Tamper yourself, she’d reminded herself.

She’d promised to contain herself but how could she. People were not visiting the Signor. They were visiting her brother.