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CHAPTER FIVE: "who i am and who i was."
SHE DIDN'T REMEMBER FALLING ASLEEP. One moment the frozen chill of the night was cutting fine lines into her skin and the next, Mercy was glancing at herself in the mirror.
It was hard to grasp where she was at first. Whether she was sleeping or seeing, remembering or forgetting. The only constant being the fine line that stemmed from who she is and who she was. At first, this place had all the makings of a nightmare in it's eerie emptiness and deafening silence and yet it couldn't have been. Mercy knew nightmares - or at least, she knew the feeling they left behind. This was too visceral, with the silken kiss of her dress as it fell to the floor in a purple kiss and the calm tug of an early morning breeze sending her tightly coiled hair into a cloud of soft brown curls around her face.
The dress was purple. Purple. Fabrikator.
It took a moment for the unrecognisable surroundings to swim into focus and when they did, Mercy wondered how they ever could have been anything else. This was her old room in the Little Palace. If she'd turn down the halls, she'd find Zoya Nazyalensky in all her sullen glory hurling insults at anyone who looked at her unfashionably.
But, if this was the Little Palace, that meant -
"You look marvellous." The Darkling's voice was cold but Mercy felt her lips turn up into a smile. No, not her lips. These were the lips of a stranger, of a girl long dead. "The King will be pleased."
"It's an honour to serve, moi soverennyi."
It's an honour to serve. Even in through the looking glass of a dream Mercy felt her stomach churn at the phrase that even now sent chills down her spine.
The Darkling was beside her, tugging her chin upwards with his forefinger until his gaze met hers.
"You do know how important this is, don't you?"
"Yes, moi soverennyi."
He took in the tailored perfection of her cheeks, the absence of any blemishes of youth made her look much older than her years. Although, perhaps that was exactly what he wanted. "Genya says you'll take to life in court very well."
Mercy bowed her head. "Genya is an excellent teacher."
"She is a rare talent, just like you."
Mercy remembered the conundrum that plagued her every waking moment at the Little Palace; forever torn between Etherealki and Fabrikator, never truly one nor the other until the Darkling took an interest in her potential as another gift to the Lantsov's, another weapon he could wield to cripple the monarchy from within.
