Alex Zandra

(continued from Part XIII | Act I | Act II | Part XV)

Lou opened her eyes slowly, taking a moment to adjust to the morning light filtering in through the blinds of the apartment window. Her gaze lazily clung to the painting that hung on the wall as she took deeper and deeper breaths, easing herself out of her sleepy haze. She still wasn't as well-rested as she'd hoped. But she had also made it through the night without dreams or nightmares, so she figured she'd chalk that up as a win.

She stretched, pushing the covers into even more of a heap. This was the third time she'd opened her eyes this morning. Maybe this time she'd actually make it out of bed.

And she did, a half hour or so later.

Lou remembered how much it had hurt to wake up in this bed the first time, though it was for very different reasons. She'd gladly take that kind of pain again over this one. At least those mysterious rib bruises had healed quickly thanks to the equally mysterious witch's treatment. It would take more than a balm to soothe what Lou's heart was feeling right now, no matter how deeply she massaged it into her skin.

She rubbed her face as she sat up on the side of her bed, her modest nightie fluttering slightly in the breeze. Now that she was thinking about it, she never had learned what had caused those injuries. Talking it out with Frederic and the Prince had shaken loose some cobwebs from her memory, enough to remember that nothing—and no one—had come even close to her current body during the coronation. Had it happened afterwards, then? Before Frederic dropped her off?

Not that it mattered anymore. Physical wounds healed. And if they did so without scarring, that was as good as them never having happened in the first place. Lou's body had been lucky; she couldn't say the same for her heart. She reached for the glasses on her nightstand.

She stared at them, through the lenses, as she held them open in front of her. It took her a moment to recognize that she didn't need them anymore. Putting them on every morning had become another ritual, a way to get into character and hide the person underneath. She wouldn't miss the constant worry of being recognized, the fussing to maintain the pretense of being someone else. But she would miss the friends she'd made as Glasses, the little moments of joy in a life otherwise defined by back-breaking work. She folded the frames up and put them back on the nightstand, keeping her hand on them for a while, until she could no longer bear all the memories they brought up. She took a deep breath, then let go.

Judging by the height of the sun and the bustle outside, it was well into morning. Le Petit Chaperon had opened its doors and people were noisily going about their business on the floor below, some invariably sticking around to grab a bite. Lou figured she ought to do the same as well. This was her last day here, after all.

She stumbled to the small washroom, a welcome luxury of what was otherwise a modest apartment. Being in a royal safehouse had its perks. She went through her usual morning routine—rinse, clean with soap, lotion, apply cream to brush... wait. No, she was out of the special conditioner. "Focus, come on, focus," she mumbled to herself as she emerged back out onto the apartment proper. She didn't know how long she'd be away from the city. She would have to visit Chez Gaston before leaving today to stock up, or else her hair would get all frizzy again.

She pulled open a dresser drawer. She had accumulated a few outfits during those first couple of weeks of awkward shopping and attempting to live the city life. On the day she left for the castle with barely anything to call her own, she was fully expecting everything in this room to be reclaimed by the owner, the next guest, or whoever was handling the upkeep of safehouses at the castle. It had been a pleasant surprise to find everything exactly where she'd left it. Maybe now, she could make better use of these clothes.

Lou picked one of the more rugged dresses she owned. She'd be traveling all day, so something fitting for the open road felt more appropriate. That said, she'd also be meeting some important new people, so making a good first impression was key. She should probably add an accessory, something that looked a little nicer. Maybe that bolero she got on a whim that first week? She decided to go for it, checking out the result in the body-length mirror nearby.

Yeah. Yeah, that worked.

She posed this way and that to make sure her outfit looked acceptable. Then she turned around again, faster this time, making the lower half of her dress rise up a little as it spun.

Lou smiled in spite of herself, the color rising to her cheeks—if only for a moment.

It all felt different this time around. Her first few days in this place had been a mess of worries and fumbling around in a body that felt uncanny to her; a body she still thought she was borrowing, and would be expected to return. But now, she knew: it was hers. Hers to do what she wanted with, no matter what. When she and the Prince finally talked that night, when she realized they wouldn't be switching back, there had been an initial wave of shock, of fear. But by morning, she was happier in her body than she'd been in a long time. Maybe ever, in fact.

Part of her wondered if she would ever feel that happy again.

Today didn't quite feel as hopeless as the last few days had, but that wasn't saying much. She really had needed a lot of sleep and a lot of water. She would need a lot more. Considering how much she cried in the last few months, even just the last few days, maybe by this time next year she'd have drunk the ocean.

Lou took another deep breath. She'd be back up here to pack up and leave, but for now, her rumbling stomach told her she ought to get some breakfast. She grabbed her handbag and headed downstairs to the bakery proper.

The smell of freshly-baked bread had become a mainstay of the apartment upstairs, but on the ground floor it was inescapable, like a grandmother's warm hug. The old woman who ran the place with the help of her daughter and her daughter's daughter had been up since before dawn, preparing a wide array of sweet and savory delights. Lou stepped up to the counter, keeping an eye on her favorite table over in the corner, by the front windows. With any luck, she'd be able to get to it before someone else did.

She looked at the apples on display in their cozy little basket on the counter. The Prince had always had a soft spot for these, which meant that she now did too. Sometimes she wasn't quite sure where her new body ended and her old mind began, but when it came to food, she'd inherited a lot of new favorites. Her hand hovered over the fruits, trying to pick the right one. They all looked slightly different. She knew one of these would taste better than the others, but she could never get it right. Her hand trembled. She always messed this up.

"Oh! Allow me, for old times' sake," the old bakery owner said as she rushed over with a spring in her step. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then selected an apple and handed it over.

"Thank you," Lou said quietly as she accepted the fruit. She reached down to give it a shine on the hem of her dress. She bit into the apple, and—bliss, followed by relief. Somehow the old lady got it right every time. Lou was reminded of that time Dusty had tried to teach her how to tell different kinds of rice apart, to no avail. After a very embarrassing attempt at risotto, Lou had been relegated to potato duty for quite a few meals. Even she couldn't ruin potatoes.

"And how are you doing today, Your Majesty?" the old lady asked as she restocked the pastry display.

Lou looked up at the kindly baker for a moment, then back down to the pastries. She didn't have the heart to be honest with her, not even on her last day here. "I'm... doing okay," Lou replied, torn between the pear tartelette and the peach one. She opted for the former. "You know you don't need to call me that anymore," she added, self-consciously.

"Oh I know I don't need to. But you still deserve to be treated like a princess every now and then." The woman smiled as she slid Lou's plate over to her—with a little macaron thrown in on the side. "Just like you still deserve sweets. After all, you kept the Prince safe all these years!"

Lou smiled weakly as she thanked the old baker, putting her apple down onto the plate as she picked it up. She'd really miss this place. At least here she didn't have to worry about coming up with a different identity or a character to play. With the royal decoys still in town, everyone was used to meeting an occasional reminder of the Prince's former look. Everyone also treated them fairly well, as they all had put themselves at personal risk in order to protect the one whose face they wore—some more literally than others.

"Well, if it isn't the bodyguard!" said a voice behind Lou.

— end of preview

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(continued from Part XII | Act I | Act II | Part XIV)

For the longest time, there was nothing else.

Just echoes in the dark. Stray whispers in the murky fog. A world of vitreous smoke, illuminated by distant lightning in thunderclouds. And in the center, where it all began, there was her.

And she was drifting away.

It took a lifetime of wandering to find her again, an existence spent searching the formless unknown. An eternity of sifting through ghosts in the mist, a cavalcade of grey on grey, expressions frozen on faces that vanished in the breeze. But there she was; what was left of her.

A bit of ground to call her own.

A sprawled out pose in parts unknown.

Herself, her own skin, cold as stone.

The fog was clearing, yielding to the void. A light, like sunrise, arose to banish the surrounding clouds to blissful oblivion. This world of formless smoke was vanishing rapidly, shrinking in on itself. But there was no fear in that impending nothingness; only release. Only peace. Where else, then, to spend the last moments but in her company?

Where better to lay down one's head than against her bosom, still and cooling, and wait for this warm all-encompassing glow to subsume everything?

But there came a spark. Pain, ferried by shouts. One cry, the same cry, repeated over and over like a ritual to the beating of a thunderous drum. Her face remained still, her skin remained stone, but across her chest there came a fracture; a fault line like a lightning bolt, glowing in rhythm to the beat of each yell, of that same singular word so loud it threatened to tear the world asunder. And not an idle threat—for any ritual, repeated long enough, performed with sufficient passion and strength, could rip a mountain from its roots. Could bring a statue back to life.

In the face of such a display, how could anyone decline to be summoned? How could anyone refuse the undeniable truth of being wanted?

The pain became louder. The shouting, inescapable. There came a beacon of light among the light, searing in its singular purpose: to bring a long-lost wanderer home. And so it was answered.

And so she awoke.

Lou gasped loudly as the covers gave way to flailing arms. Where is she? There were flashes, images, memories. Frederic, looming overhead, haggard, eyes bloodshot. A familiar sight in the dark of the night; a comforting one.

Lou tried to shake away the dream, or nightmare, unable to tell either apart. What had happened? Where was this? All it took was a cursory look to confirm the sun was up—just barely—filtering through the loose curtains and lighting up the modest apartment. This place looked familiar. Ah, right. One of the safehouses; the one above a bakery. Already the smell of freshly baked bread was coming in through the crack in the window.

Sitting up immediately proved to be a bad idea as Lou winced. Something was wrong. This was pain on the level of broken bones, but even then it was much more intense than it was supposed to be. What was going on? A quick look around the room didn't reveal any danger, but it did catch some movement by the wall—

And then Lou saw her face.

Her Majesty's face, staring, wide-eyed, from the bed on the other side of the mirror.

Lou stared, trembling, unblinking. The realization came and went, bouncing off several times as if something deep inside refused to believe it. But when she gingerly raised a shaking arm, spread out her fingers, made a fist—all movements identical and accounted for—it was impossible to refute anymore. It was her.

She jumped out of bed, stumbling to her feet, catching herself on the edge of the nearby dresser. Pain wracked her entire body but she didn't care. Lou put a hand up against the mirror, mouth agape, head shaking. Her Majesty's face was staring back at her. Her eyes, uncannily different, tired; her makeup, tear-streaked; her lipstick, smudged. What had happened?

Lou limped back to the bed as the pain caught up with her. She sat on the edge of the mattress, wincing, putting a hand out to the nearby nightstand for support. If this was happening... if she had Her Majesty's face, then...?

Her hand slipped on a piece of paper. She quickly caught herself from falling over, then brought the note closer. This was Frederic's handwriting, hurried and smudged as it was. Lou's breath caught in her throat as she read.

Sir,
Her Majesty is safe, in the castle, in your body.
Sending someone for first aid.
Rest and heal in place until I return.
—F

She read it again, and again, hoping that after enough times, she would find reassurance in those words. Her Majesty was safe. That was all that she needed to know, in theory. In practice, she had many more questions. Who had attacked them during the coronation? Had they fled? Were they still a threat? Surely Frederic would have mentioned something.

But perhaps Lou's second-in-command had been in a hurry. When time was of the essence, only what was strictly necessary was communicated. Therefore, she needed to take each line to heart. Her Majesty was safe. Someone was coming to the safehouse. Lou needed to stay put. Perhaps it was still dangerous outside after all. Especially considering the current situation.

Especially considering the importance of her cargo. Lou looked into the mirror again. She was in Her Majesty's body. Regardless of the how or the why, that's where she was. She needed to keep it in pristine condition until all of this could be reversed. And she had her work cut out of her, considering the pain coursing through her chest. Had she already failed? Was she like this when Frederic had left her? She almost reached for the opening at the top of the outfit she was wearing; almost. But no. This was not for her eyes to see.

She gingerly leaned back onto the bed, trying to stay comfortable, while awaiting the mystery doctor. She only hoped she was doing this correctly. She—

CLACK!

Lou bolted upright, immediately regretting it as white hot pain shot from her solar plexus all the way to her chin. Something had shoved itself into the window's opening, some sort of... stick? A silhouette behind it jammed the piece of wood sideways, then up, lifting the window the rest of the way. A hooded head peeked into the room.

— end of preview

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(continued from Part XI | Act I | Act II | Part XIII)

Lou looked down at her bunk one last time. A modest bed, pushed up against the wall, surrounded by others just like it. She truly had been prepared to spend years here. Maybe she'd have made her last night in it more meaningful, had she known. She wasn't quite sure how one would go about doing that, but after hearing so many of Sleeves's stories about their aunt, Lou had gained a soft spot for rituals.

She looked through her side of the nightstand drawer one last time—finding a half-full lotion container she'd gotten from Gaston—and threw it along with the rest of her things onto the wolf pelt cloak she'd laid out on the bed. She folded the fabric over and rolled it up, tying it off with a rope around the middle that she could use as a carrying handle.

She was packed. Time to go.

Lou knew the numbness would fade. She had done her best to comfort herself, to think back to all the times she'd survived far worse, but the crushing solitude looming overhead would catch up sooner rather than later. There was no place for her in the Prince's plans; she needed to go where she could process that in peace. She needed to leave.

"You think they're still at it?" Dusty asked, walking into the room with the others in tow.

Sleeves shrugged. "They must've come up for air at this point. Heh, I can't get over how unsurprised the head maid sounded about the whole thing."

"I guess this sort of thing happens!" Chiffon said cheerfully. "Though, you should talk to my cousin about it. He was stationed outside the Prince's chambers last night, and the things he heard—oh!"

"Heyyy, look who's finally back!" Dusty said as she ran up to Lou before she could make good her escape. She gave her a hearty slap on the back. "Nice of you to join us, you wild animal."

"I gotta say, Glasses, I'm impressed." Sleeves gave her a sedate thumbs-up. "Never thought you had it in..." Then they noticed the makeshift bedroll she was holding. "Oh."

"What do you mean oh? What is it?" Dusty looked to Sleeves, then back.

"I'm sorry," Lou finally said, her arms trembling. "I need to leave."

Dusty's expression dramatically softened. "Hey, hey, it's okay Glasses, this stuff happens!" She gave Lou a comforting pat on the shoulder. "You don't need to leave over this, you hear me? There's nothing to be ashamed of! C'mon, you can help me with kitchen work and tell us all about it at mealtime!"

"Oh! Yes, please do!" Chiffon added with an encouraging smile.

No matter how desperately she wanted to, Lou couldn't stay any longer. She had broken down so, so many times in the span of a single day already, and there was still more to come—feelings that she couldn't quite understand, staying just out of reach. Part of her wondered if she would ever reach the bottom of this well of emotions her new body had opened up. Would she be crying like this every day for the rest of her life? Just how many tears had she been holding back all these years?

She needed to rest. She needed to sleep for days. Maybe weeks.

"I'm sorry," Lou said, drawing upon every last bit of strength to maintain her composure. "I can't stay. I... I have to leave." She took a shaky step toward the door.

"Wait, what do you mean you have to?" Dusty stepped in her path, holding her by the shoulders. The softness on her face was gone, once again replaced by steel and sharp edges. "Glasses. Is he making you leave?"

Lou looked down. Even after everything that had happened, she couldn't hold anything against him. Whenever the slightest spark, the tiniest flame of anger would ever dare to ignite in his direction, it would be instantly flooded by an ocean of tears. He had never led her astray. What would it say about her if she were to betray that trust now, when the stakes were so high? "I'm sorry," she finally said.

Dusty released her hold on Lou's shoulders. She cracked her knuckles. "Gods, I am going to tear him limb from limb."

"Please don't!" Lou implored, reaching out with a trembling hand while the other strained to hold onto her bedroll. They couldn't understand the scale of it all—how this was much bigger than just one person—and she wasn't equipped to explain it to them right now. What's more, no matter how she felt about the Prince... she didn't want him to suffer. "Please. Please be kind to him."

Dusty let out a dry chuckle, grabbing Lou's hand and holding it tight. "Honey. Sweetheart. Babycakes. Absolutely not." She gave her hand a pat. "But fine, just for you, he gets to keep his limbs."

"Are you gonna be okay out there, Glasses?" Sleeves asked, doing their best not to sound too concerned. "Do you have, like... family? Friends in town, or something?"

Lou shook her head. "I have a... a place in the city. And an escort. I'll figure it out." She took another step toward the door. "Thank you, everyone. Thank... thank you so much."

"Wait!" Chiffon said, returning to the huddle. Lou hadn't even seen her leave. The taller maid held up a folded letter, hastily written. "I have a little time before my next shift. I can walk you out, okay?"

Lou nodded. She said her goodbyes—exchanged hugs—and that was it. They may have been simply coworkers, but she knew firsthand how strong the bonds forged by proximity over time could be. Whether the feeling was mutual or not, to her, these three had been her friends. And now she needed to leave them behind.

The first step was hard. But once she was outside, walking along the grass in the shade of the interior wall, the going became a little easier. She was glad Chiffon was there, if only for a bit more time; if only for a distance she could see shrinking before her eyes, step by step.

"Here," Chiffon said, handing her the letter she'd written.

"What's this?" Lou asked, opening it with one hand. It was some sort of... introduction?

"The Shepherd's Troupe! I toured with them before coming to work here at the castle. They travel a lot, but they're usually not too far from the city this time of year. They're good people, and they can always use an extra pair of hands." Chiffon smiled in that comforting way she did so well. "I think they could be what you need, even if it's just for a little while."

"Thank you, it's..." Lou squinted, trying to read Chiffon's scratchy handwriting. Her glasses had gotten more smudged than she'd realized, despite her best efforts. She took them off, letting her bedroll down on the grass for a moment while she reached for her cleaning cloth—and could not find her apron pocket. It suddenly hit her that she was no longer wearing her uniform.

"Oh, let me!" Chiffon said, taking the glasses to clean them.

Lou read the rest of the letter, no longer caring about keeping up the pretense of needing glasses. Nonetheless, she brought the paper up to her face to look closely at the signature. "Wait, this is from...?"

Chiffon bounced in place merrily. "That's me!" She handed back Lou's glasses, face beaming with warmth. "Now that you're leaving the castle, it's only fair you get to know. Hi, I'm Marguerite."

Lou smiled back, taking the folded eyeglasses in her hands. "Hi Marguerite. I'm Lou." There was probably no harm in it. Right then, she just wanted to be honest with her friend.

Chiffon grinned. "It's nice to meet you..." She gasped in astonishment as she got her first good look at her bare face. "Lou, you're so pretty!"

"Ah, th-thank you!" Lou said, instantly flustered. She reflexively fumbled for her glasses to hide behind them, but her trembling fingers couldn't quite open them up properly. She wasn't used to getting compliments about her face. Especially now that it was, truly and completely, her face.

"I can't believe you! This whole time, you were hiding such a cute face from us!" Chiffon pouted as she reached out to cup Lou's cheeks, pushing aside the hair framing her features. "This lovely... face..." she said, trailing off as her mock anger faded into wide-eyed surprise.

Lou's chest tightened. Oh, no.

— end of preview

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