Chapter Text
Day 1
Hello
The first time Elise tried to leave was her most successful.
Her then-nanny was chatting with the one of the maids in the garden, when a young Elise simply walked away, with no particular plan in mind. She kept walking, out of the garden, past the courtyard, and beyond the unlocked gates.
The Von Dutch Estate was secluded, beyond the Rondon countryside, nestled deep in the woods. Her big eyes, black as the night sky, bounced about, studying every speck of her new environment. In her distraction, she tripped over a large root, coursing through the earth like a pulsating vein. She fell flat on her face and immediately began to cry. Her then-nanny managed to hear this cry and took her back, although after that day, she was Elise's nanny no longer. Elise never knew what became of her.
Future attempts were more planned out, but she never got farther than the gates. Elise always felt eyes upon her, the staff had become vigilant in their fear, throwing themselves at her to accompany her. Every waking moment, every step.
But it wasn't just them. After a time, she felt her own body betray her. She could not run for more than a few seconds, or climb out a window, or even hunch in the shadows for very long, before her spine began to curl, her muscles clenched like a rag squeezed of all its water. Sometimes she would feel as though her head were trying to unscrew itself from her neck, then her body would fold in on itself, and she would faint.
She was never going to leave.
Only in dreams, and in the deepest black of night, would she ever feel like herself, feel any peace.
She was permitted to be alone in the garden, after a few months of good behavior, although she could always spot a shadow or silhouette of some servant, watching her from a distance.
She flipped a page of her book and reached for her cup, only to find it empty. She placed it back on its plate, and there he was, as if manifested from nowhere, summoned by the delicate tinkling of porcelain.
It was her father's new “charge” as he called it, but Elise knew better. It was just the latest in a long line of child servants. There was a dozen or so running around, Elise could never keep track of them. Her father had begun collecting them after the Great War took a sizable chunk of his old staff, and apparently it was worth the extra time to train them, since they barely understood the concept of money much less how much they ought to be paid, and they could be sustained on scraps like abandoned dogs.
Most of them went as quickly as they came. Elise never bothered to learn their names, but this one was curious. She had heard her father talk to his peers at parties about a boy in the slums with healing powers. She assumed this one must be it, but she had not seen him do anything interesting, he could barely put together a sentence when she asked him harmless questions, so she lost interest.
The boy was about Elise's own age, though it was hard to tell. He was shorter and skinnier than her, so fragile looking she thought a stiff breeze might take him away. He had wavy dove-grey hair and wide eyes, as big as saucers, staring at her.
“Hello, Miss,” he peeped, his voice small and shaky as a church mouse.
"Oh, it's you," she said cooly. She almost didn't recognize him. When the boy first arrived, he was caked in dirt, his hair slicked with oil, and his clothes torn and tattered. She studied him now, in his trimly tailored waistcoat, his clean pale face, his groomed hair. He was like a rat picked off the streets and scrubbed to a shine. She loved overlooked and misunderstood animals, people didn’t realize how sweet and intelligent rats were. But they were also short-lived. Best not to get attached. “Daan, was it?”
He nodded.
She closed the book and sighed. "I take it Father has assigned you to watch over me, yes? Make sure I don't do anything irrational?"
Daan chewed his bottom lip and tilted his head slightly. It looked as if forming words in his head was painful and saying them aloud was a foreign experience. "I was," he began meekly. "That is, Baron Von Dutch said I was to watch you, but he also said I was to obey your every command."
Elise rolled her eyes, as if this boy could do anything for her. "Well, Daan, why don't you fetch me more tea? I've run out."
"Yes, Miss!" he grabbed her empty cup and ran off.
Elise sighed and returned to her book. She preferred fiction in the daytime, and her study of anatomy under cover of night, where the staff or her father was much less likely to intrude or scoff. She had long given up protesting or pointing out that women were going to medical schools these days. Her father allowed it because it could not hurt for a woman to knew how to stitch a cut or clean scrapes, but that was all it would ever be. She was above such work, he said.
He didn't understand. No one ever would.
"Here, Miss," said Daan with her teacup, filled to the brim, droplets falling onto the grass.
"Wouldn't it make more sense for you to bring the pot?"
"Oh..." he looked down at the ground, a thin film of water forming over his eyes.
"No, no, it's fine. Just ... fetch me some milk for it, would you?"
"Yes, Miss!" and he was gone again.
Back to her book. An old favorite of hers, the pages became frayed, the cover worn at its corners, but well-loved, and great comfort. A princess of the sea makes a garden all her own. Her sisters have their own gardens, but the littlest princess has a statue of some nameless, beautiful boy. How silly, Elise thought, but she liked the idea of a garden all her own.
Her sisters were permitted to travel to the surface, and they would come back to tell the others of their findings, but the littlest one traveled the furthest and stayed the longest. At least they were permitted to go out at all, Elise thought.
When it was her turn to see the surface, the littlest princess watched a young prince atop a boat and rescued him from a storm that had killed all the other sailors.
Based on her maps, they were only about a day's travel on carriage to the nearest beach. Her father thought it pointless, she would only burn her porcelain skin, and she was too weak to ever swim properly. She was sure her father would point out this storm as just one more reason she should not go.
"Your milk, Miss," Daan appeared again with a small pitcher, slightly more force in his voice, surprising Elise just as she was losing herself in the book.
"Oh! Well, go ahead, then."
Daan trembled slightly, delicate pale fingers clutched the pitcher as he angled it against the teacup, though his wide eyes remained on her. Milk dribbled on the rim.
Elise sucked in a sigh. He was trying, she told herself. "That's enough, thank you," she reached for the spoon, and the sigh escaped her mouth anyway. "Sugar?"
A flush of red bloomed across Daan's white face, and he nearly dropped the pitcher. "I'm so sorry, Miss. I forgot."
"I always take tea with a pinch of sugar. I can't have much, but I prefer sweet things. Please try to remember that."
"Y-yes, Miss. Of course, Miss."
"Well, off with you, then. And bring the pot this time. I intend to be here a while."
"Yes, Miss," and he ran off yet again.
The beginning of a smile cracked her gloomy face. He was eager, if nothing else. She hoped her father would not immediately dispose of him. He had disposed of servants for less, though.
Back to the book again, she wanted to see much far she could get before Daan came back. The littlest princess traded her voice for two human legs so that she could walk on land and dance with her prince, but every step was like knives cutting into her feet, slicing the meat of her heels, running up her ankles. A fair trade, she always thought. She never liked the sound of her own voice, even her father’s friends and peers would wince at the sound of her laughter. It was cracked and awkward, like the bleating of a goat, not silvery and sweet, like the princess in the book.
and dancing seemed such fun. Her pain did not come from her feet, she did not know the source. None of her books had any answers.
Elise reached the part where the prince married another woman when Daan came back with sugar. Her sisters rose from the waters and offered her a dagger. The prince’s blood would spill, and she would have her tail back. She closed the book and pushed it across the table. She knew how the rest of the book went, but she was suddenly not in the mood.
Daan noticed this as he gingerly placed the sugar jar down. “Shall I get you another book, Miss?”
She turned to him. He looked at the cover of the book and frowned, as if wondering what about its contents upset her. His eyes were a greyish color, with speckles of light blue, like an overcast sky. She had not noticed before.
"Daan," she began as she shoveled a tiny bit of sugar into her tea and stirred, the tiny tap of silver against the inside of the cup. She studied his face as she sipped. The tea was lukewarm by now, but that didn't matter. Sugar did not agree with her, too much made her body shake, but she still relished its sweetness.
His eyes were wide, stuck on her, like the was the only creature in the world who mattered. His bottom lip quivered, he looked as though he were ready to cry. He looked like he would do anything to make her happy, to rectify his clumsiness. "You're to do as I say, yes?"
He nodded so fervently Elise briefly though his head might tear off, like a poorly stitched ragdoll.
She took one more sip then put the cup down, her mind made up. "Well, then, I order you to take me out of the Estate, past the gates."
Elise did not think Daan's already pale face could turn whiter, but it did. "Miss, I can't. I'm not allowed to leave."
"But by my father's own instructions, you're to adhere to my every wish, obey my every command, is that not what you said?"
"It is, but ..."
"It's settled, then," she got up and took his hand. His skin was bitter cold. "Escort me to the gates."
Daan looked up and down, at her Elise's face, then to their clasped hands, their entwined fingers. Back and forth again, as if he could not believe she would dare touch him.
Elise smiled. The boy was cute, now that she was up close. A few years from handsome, for certain, he was still growing into his face. His wide eyes and big ears were awkward against his gaunt cheeks. But she could almost picture a perfectly angular jaw and fine sculpted cheekbones, supporting his arched nose. Perhaps someday, if he made it that long.
"Come along, now."
A heavy gulp traveled down Daan's throat before he nodded and walked towards the gates, her hand in his. He was careful not to clench her hand too hard, but she could feel the beginning beads of sweat, the urge to squeeze.
Daan maneuvered past the gazebo and all the shrubbery, as if he knew the shadowed spaces the staff could not spot them. The gates came into view, and he pushed them open. Elise's heart began to swell, this was almost too easy.
She tried to maintain steady breathing as they walked pasted the ivy-strewn stone columns and into the world. She had only been here once, on her first attempt. The wood was as murky and wild as she remembered, but this time she was not alone.
She looped her arms through his, so they would walk side by side. "Thank you," she said.
Daan's face became wholly red. "I, that is," he stuttered. "Where to, Miss?"
"Surely if we keep going, we'll reach Rondon City eventually?"
"I," his eyes bounced around. "I think I remember the way the Baron took me. Once we get there, I can show you the whole city. I know it well."
"Oh, is that so?" she said, squeezing his arm. "Can you take me to a place with books? I've read most of the ones at home."
"Yes, easy, Miss!"
"I heard my most favorite book is also a ballet. Would you take me to the ballet, too?"
"Anything. Anything you want."
She kept both arms wrapped tight around his arm, and they walked further through the forest. Daan lead her delicately across harder terrain, around puddles and slow over large roots.
But not much time passed before his eager smile diminished, and his hands became sweaty. He looked at both their dirty shoes and frowned.
A fog encircled their ankles and obscured the path. Daan swallowed hard again.
"This is taking too long," Elise pouted, releasing herself for the first time and stomping ahead. "There has to be civilization somewhere."
"Miss, maybe we should go back. Maybe someone knows the way out better."
"Nonsense, we've already come this far--!"
"Miss Elise!"
Elise's voice stretched into a wail. In the fog, she lost her footing, and her little frame tumbled down a deep trench. Daan rolled through the muck after her, but the damage was done. Her back was in the dirt, her dress torn. Her leg twisted in the opposite direction.
"It hurts!" she cried. "I think it's broken!"
"Don't cry," said Daan, his voice oddly steady, his sky light eyes studied the curvature of her leg. The coy flush had drained from his face, he was oddly serious at that moment.
"Don't tell me what to do!" she squealed. She wanted to kick him, but the pain was like a sword running from the bottom of her heel to her knee. Just like the princess in the story.
"I can fix it," he said, stern and steady. "Just try to calm down."
"Fix it? How can you possibly..."
He shuffled through the dirt and lowered his head to her. His cold fingers still looped around her legs. "Just focus on the sound of my voice."
Elise chomped down on her lip and shut her eyes tight, waiting for whatever was to come. Her body braced for pain, her skin taught with tension, but what came was soothing relief. Daan's cold fingers became cool like a spring breeze, erasing the blistering burning pain.
His words were warbled, but his voice was calm. She felt the weight of his words, felt the shape of his intent, rather than hearing them, as one might a lesson or lecture. His whispers sparked images of all the possibilities to come to her, how pretty she was, how the world was all there, waiting for her.
She felt her body soften, all the tightness eased away.
A single moment of sharp realization as the bone of her leg snapped back into place, the fracture sealed up, as though she were made of clay, being reshaped. She gasped in relief.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"I fixed it," he said, as though it were the most common thing to do. "You should be able to walk now."
Elise was timid, but Daan took her hand and slowly lifted her back up. The ball of her foot touched the earth as though nothing happened at all.
"We should go back," he said. "We can try again when I re-learn the path."
She pouted but conceded. "I suppose I didn't dress for the ballet anyway. But you will take me, won't you? Someday?"
"Yes," she said, grasping her hand, a gentle smile. In that moment, Daan looked just a little more mature. A little less boyish.
Elise squeezed back, and they walked back together. She would blame the dirty clothes on her nanny. She had already gone through so many, what was one more?
But this boy, she wanted to keep.