The Golden Chain

The evening was stifling. Andromeda stood on her balcony, nearly choking on the summer air. Her silken nightgown clung to her skin, a rather expensive alternative to sweat. Despite the oppressive heat, she preferred her porch to her room's too-perfect temperature. The exhilarating breeze was a reward for her efforts, far more than the stagnant air of her bedchamber. And yet, as she stared out into the open expanse of sky before her, she was struck with a troubling thought. This was irrational. And that could not be tolerated. So, before shame could creep in, she went inside and promptly shut the door. All was cool and comfortable and quiet once more.

The windowless room was enormous, an expanse of cold marble. And yet, she longed to be back outside in the unpleasant and sweltering air. Andromeda folded her legs demurely and tried to ignore the desire lurking in the back of her mind. Surely it was better inside, in the utter perfection of 25 degrees Celsius. Wasn't it madness to wish for anything less than perfection? These thoughts distracted her as she prepared for bed.

After a skincare routine consisting of no less than ten steps, she began the equally exhausting process of quieting her mind. It seemed that this would be one of her restless nights. With her brother's wedding the next evening, she needed to stay refreshed. But, no matter. A few teaspoons of medicine and Andromeda had drifted off into serene, perfect sleep.

She awoke around half-past three, to an insistent rapping on her door. "Who is it?" she said. Surely no one had spotted her on the balcony? And, even if they had, she hadn't committed a crime. She hadn't even committed an infraction. Still, her heart beat faster until she heard the reply of "It's Edward." That was the confirmation that she needed to open the door.

"What took you so long? I was out there for 15 minutes," he said.

 "I was asleep. Do you realize how late it is? Do you want to miss your wedding?" Andromeda said. She hoped that her defensiveness hid her exhaustion. Despite being a surgeon, Edward had never been particularly fond of his sister's liberal usage of sleeping medicine. She expected his anger, or, at the very least, some irritation. But he was unusually calm.

"Drom, I need to tell you something. Don't get angry. And don't tell me to think things through, because I have. And, please, don't tell anyone until tomorrow morning. Do you promise?".

 Her mouth went dry. "Do you promise?" he repeated, a note of panic in his voice. She must have whispered a reply, because he continued.

"I'm leaving," he said.

What? Why? "When?" she breathed, choosing the simplest question. He looked at her chidingly, as though she was a small child, and suddenly the two years between them felt insurmountable. She knew when. He would leave the moment she let him. A dull headache spread across her temples, but she refused to cry. She wouldn't ruin her last meeting with her brother by embarrassing herself.

"Alright, then. Why?" This gave him a moment of pause.

"Do you remember Amelia?" he finally asked. Andromeda did, but it took a few moments. She was one of the Commons who used to work in their kitchen. A few years before, the Council had deemed that she would be better in a different household. Andromeda had never put much thought into what had happened. Servants came and left all the time. She hardly noticed, and rarely questioned it. It was the will of the Council.

She knew that her brother was fond of Amelia, but everyone was. She was a beautiful girl, with golden hair and glowing skin, and a laugh that reverberated around the kitchens. It was amazing really, that such beauty could be created naturally, without modifications or planning. But, underneath that radiant smile, she was flawed, unbalanced, ordinary. Edward smiled slightly at her recognition.