The next few days passed in a daze.
I woke up, whimpering as I peeled myself off the floor of my library, feeling more sore and brittle and dull then I had in ages. Disappointingly enough, the memories of the night before had flowed as easily as a river. It did not sting or burn or tighten around my throat— I felt calm— detached, like if I tried hard enough, I could pretend last night was simply a bad dream. I went through my day, habit pushing me to fumble out my dress, wipe off my makeup, pick my contacts out of my eyes, and then take a bath.
The steam and the heat of the water helped some, instilling some errant warmth into my deadened limbs, so did changing into fresh nightclothes— there was little need for me to leave the premises this day, or the next couple, for the matter. I’d reasoned that I had little in the way of pressing obligations that would prevent me from spending the day sleeping, if I so chose.
The memories of the argument with Arthur sat behind my eyes. I did my best to ignore it.
I tried that, at first, crawled into bed in the middle of the afternoon and tried to drown my worries in sleep. I ended up lying there for nearly two hours, staring at the corner of my room. Nothing changed.
I tried to get work done, dragging myself to my library and pouring over the numerous research journals I’d filled over the years. I found myself staring blankly at my own handwriting, eyes unfocused. All I could focus on were the ways I messed up.
Eventually, I sighed, dragged myself to a random part of my library, and dropped onto the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. Nothing I did helped. Nothing struck at the cobwebs that had taken root in my mind.
My mind cycled through the events, trying again and again to scrutinize and reason some kind of mistake in what I did. It only got so far as the first couple moments, when Arthur had caught up to me in the snow, before falling into numb and static detachment, echoing, It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. Can you blame anyone for not wanting to be your friend? Look— even Arthur’s left because he can’t stand being around you.
The words settled in my mind like a fog. I felt horribly lethargic, like anchors had been tied to all my limbs.
On the second day I’d returned, my rumbling stomach had pierced through the fog of my mind to drag me to the kitchen. Inside, Esmerelda was cleaning. Her back was turned, and I silently hoped that she wouldn’t hear me enter and I’d be able to leave before she could strike up a conversation.
I’d found it hard to move— keeping up any semblance of a normal conversation felt actively daunting. A brief part of me debated simply turning around in the doorway, and just grabbing something to eat later. My mind weighed the effort needed to walk back, then come back again later.
My bare feet stepped over the threshold, silent. I padded towards a cupboard where I knew bread was kept and—
“O— oh!” Esmerelda yelped, nearly dropping the duster in her hand. “L— lady Estelle— I’m sorry— I didn’t see you…”
I slowly deflated, my hand falling away from the cupboard. My gaze fixed onto the counter below the cupboard. “… Apologies, I didn’t mean to scare.”
“No— no it’s…” she paused, and I couldn’t make out her expression out of the corner of my eye.
I knew how I probably looked; Sallow and gaunt and exhausted, most likely. I hadn’t eaten in nearly two days. My sleep schedule had slowly been destroyed. I couldn’t find sleep whenever I tried, and any tiny snippets I could find left me feeling more tired than before. I couldn’t find the energy to brush my hair or fix my outfit in the morning, so I walked around my estate in a nightgown. Most of my time had been spent laying in my bed, staring at some random mote of dust as my mind slowly cycled what felt like endless fog.
“It’s completely okay,” she finished. “Are you hungry?”
I didn’t respond, mulling over whether she’d believe me if I lied. Probably not, rationale supplied, she caught you with your hand halfway towards your breadbox.
I simply nodded, and she let out a sound of relief. Her cheery tone came back. “Okay! Sit down, I’ll prepare it right away.”
Numbly, I sat down in a chair across the kitchen island, my eyes fixed to the counter top, doing my hardest not to think of anything at all. Some time later, Esmerelda had nudged me and given me a bowl filled with some kind of soup I didn’t recognize. It looked hearty and I’m sure it was delicious— everything Esmerelda made was— but I found myself incapable of finishing it. I had taken a couple sips, and muttered a halting apology to my maid as I left it unfinished. It tasted like ash in my mouth.
The next couple days passed in a similar mire. I’d wake up, debate whether I truly wished to get up, lie in bed for another hour while thinking about how badly I messed up, pull myself up when Esmerelda came to see if I wanted lunch, ignore her quiet looks of concern, try to eat something, give up several bites in because it tasted of nothing, sit down in my library to try to get something— anything— done, fail, and then collapse into bed exhausted despite having done nothing.
In all that time, my Shade never once pulled me into my dream to speak. I heard nothing from her. Each night, I’d hesitate before crawling into bed and falling asleep. Every morning, I’d wake up having dreamt of nothing, feeling barely refreshed despite the long hours I’d slept.
I wasn’t sure it was a good thing, that even my Shade refused to speak to me after that disastrous night.
Abandoned even by yourself, an errant thought whispered. How sad is that?
It mattered little, I eventually decided while staring at my ragged reflection. The world wouldn’t wait for me to figure out my problems, and it wasn’t fair of me to neglect my duties. No one was coming to check up on me, and I was just as lonely as the little girl who’d been locked into a closet by her mother.
It wasn’t anything I wasn’t already used to.
I had sighed, rubbing at my face with my hands as if I could evict the bone-deep exhaustion that had become a permanent resident growing up. It didn’t help, evidently, and I ended up throwing myself into another long bath and a million other little responsibilities that I distracted myself with.
[][][]
I stared down at the list in front of me, trying to decide which task to work through first. The list was a daunting thing, put together shortly after I’d decided to actually do something about my recent routine of moping. Though, even I knew I was simply finding things to distract myself, rather than actually treating the source of the problem. My little list had contained everything I could think of doing, from the most mundane, to the things— with some brief hesitation— that plagued me the most. It had nearly twenty items on it, and only six were actually done.
“Had you a chance to peruse the preview the Juispe group sent?” Javier asked.
I didn’t glance up, picking absently through the pile of papers that littered my desk, trying to decide which affair to handle next. “I have not.”
“Might I suggest that you check the list I’ve compiled for your viewing?”
“Right— as you say.” I stared at my desk for a moment, wondering where I could’ve left the preview they’d sent. “Uhm…”
I frowned, not entirely sure where I’d left the letter they’d sent containing their catalog. In all reality, I wasn’t certain where anything was. After another heartbeat spent staring at the piles like a lost child, Javier reached forward and retrieved a stack of papers, sliding them over to me. “I… yes, thank you, Mister Carrol.”
“Of course, Lady Estelle.” Javier bowed, turning to leave. “If you require anything, please call for me.”
“I will, thank you.”
I began flipping through the Juispe auctioning catalog— a thick stack of papers with neat little illustrations and boxes explaining the details of each item. Besides that, on another sheet of paper was a small list Javier had procured for my benefit— his personal recommendations, taking into account my inclinations over the years.
Normally, I’d ignore the whole matter of deciding myself— at some point, I’d grown to trust Javier’s judgment enough to let him pick and purchase whatever he’d thought necessary from the auctions— but I needed the distraction. Doing something so… mundanely boring and detached from spellwork or research or anything else in my life felt nice.
That said, distraction might’ve been an understatement for what I was currently doing.
Following my rather disastrous dinner, and then my subsequent days of unproductive moping— which only got worse each time I tried to actually sit down to do something— I’d decided that, at least for the time being, I should focus on easier tasks. That had led to me shoving all my papers, books, and journals together and dragging them up into a random, second-floor study far removed from my library.
The study had proved to be a good idea— the desk had sat in front of a window rather than in a corner, and while the shelves occupying either wall were all empty, the massive desk had made it very easy for me to lay everything out. That said, while the desk was much larger than my desk in the library, the sheer amount of tiny little things that needed my attention that had piled up still made it look messy. None of it was particularly strenuous or time-consuming, it was simply the fact that there were so many of them that had locked me to this desk for the last six hours.
All the while, my guilty conscience had flickered back to life, whispering that I should’ve been furthering my research, or doing something that actually mattered. I ignored it, because my better sense knew that I wouldn’t have the level of focus needed to commit to a long-term task, and instead focused on clearing out all my littler jobs first.
All of it helped some— the change in environment, the focusing on unrelated tasks— it all drew my focus away from the looming disaster in my life that had made it impossible to get anything done. Though, as I worked through half of these, it still felt as if I were wading through a mire.
At least you’re getting something done, I quietly praised. The sentiment felt hollow.
Eventually I finished cross-examining Javier’s recommendations and the catalog, writing down which I’d want, and which he could ignore, and crossed it off my list. I briefly looked it over again, before glancing at the large stack of letters in the corner. I grabbed the most recent one. It had an unfamiliar emblem in it’s dark-green wax: an alchemical flask of some kind.
I opened it, not really expecting anything, and found that it was a letter from Professor Sigurd.
To the young heiress of House Laurent.
I simply wish to remind you that my offer of tutelage still stands. While I am not pressing you for an immediate response, if you would like to discuss the terms further, I am available for a meeting.
Best wishes, Sigurd Fleming
I frowned, memories of my meeting with him slowly resurfacing. I still thought his offer was suspicious, but his other advice had been worth thinking about, even if I wasn’t planning on fighting anytime soon.
At the very least, it would give me another task to absently use to distract myself. I added “look for useful combat artifacts” to Javier’s list of auction items then set the letter to the side, in a new pile I mentally labeled, “high priority,” and grabbed another letter at random. This one was one I recognized as unimportant, though I gave it read just to be certain.
With great honor is it that I invite— I heaped the letter onto the pile of papers I’d already checked before finishing it. Another party between nobility, another thing I’d stopped bothering to attend years ago. I couldn’t stand the posturing and politics. The next letter wasn’t any better, Earl Sutherland’s son seeing if I’d be amenable to meet— I quickly wrote a note to Esmerelda that he was not to be allowed on the grounds if he showed up, and both wrote and struck through a new task on the list labeled “Give Esmerelda instructions.”
I slowly worked my way through the rest of the letters— I responded to concerns from Professor Heron, as well as working out the schedule on the classes I’d teach for him; briefly came back to Sigurd’s offer afterwards, and then set it aside again for the same reason as before; searched briefly through my stack of papers to make sure I wasn’t missing something important from either Clara or the Warden and found nothing; noted down the names of studies released in an academic journal for later perusal; and ignored invitations to events that I didn’t care for. Notably, there was one event that seemed promising— it was an invitation to a forum hosting experts from differing fields. My interest died when I saw that the event date had already passed.
After the letters, I worked on skimming the numerous books on anything that was slightly related to summoning or malevolent spirits to try and place the voice I’d heard during the Virgulta incident— but my search had proved just as fruitless as the first one in Belfaust. Then came handling the Vitrine crystals I still possessed, they had stayed in my room for the duration of my moping stint, and I couldn’t come up with any current use to put them towards, so I ended up scrounging up a book on Abjuration before stowing the crystals in the farthest room in the house and drawing a rudimentary ward around it. A part of me was vaguely concerned about the damages if they blew up— there were still six remaining of the original eight, and even one was enough to probably level a decent chunk of my estate, but they hadn’t blown up so far, and I couldn’t find the energy to search for a better containment ward if things went wrong.
Eventually, by the time the sun had begun setting and the spell-lights within my study had to be activated, I’d reach the last paper I had needed to check. It was the Dreamspinning request for Penelope Oliver I’d received shortly before my meeting with the Gilded Cage. I’d never responded to it.
I set the letter down, sighing. Did I really want to do this?
I flexed my hand, my concentration light as my ether spilled into the spell. A pale sliver of light cut its way into existence, before winking out as I reined in my ether. I did it again, letting the spell drag on into minutes before letting it drop.
Despite my lack of casting over the last couple days— and any other circumstances that might’ve made me despise magic— I didn’t. I actually rather liked it— though that in part came from the fact I was undeniably good at it. The act of casting, the narrowing of concentration made it feel rather freeing, that all one could do was focus upon making intent into reality.
It was a good a distraction as any, and would demand all my attention for the duration.
Better than most. I rang a bell at the end of the desk, and shortly after Javier came back in, bowing.
“You required me, my lady?”
“Mhm.” I stood, stretching before sliding the note I’d left to Esmerelda and his auction instructions towards him. I glanced at the Dreamspinning request. “Have Stephen prepare the carriage.”
