Thread Apart

One

"Are you excited for your Day of Threading, miss?" The handmaiden asked while simultaneously brushing through my hair. I was growing tired of the same conversation. Of giving the same lie.

To admit my truth--even to myself--would be an act of defiance. Possibly treason. So, I plastered a smile I always hoped was convincing, and replied, "Of course. I'm counting down the days."

"Oh, to be in your shoes, miss. Fated to a Lord." She added, "A handsome one at that."

"Yes, the Ones Above have blessed me. I only wish to honor that blessing." The Ones Above were either playing a cruel joke or testing my faith. I often wondered if there were others like me. Questioning and doubting the validity of their Match leading up to their Day of Threading? I couldn't possibly be the only one.

Everyone else always looked so... complete. As if the missing piece in their life was found whenever they were with their Match. I longed for that contentment. There was just something about Lord Willem that always felt off. Even from our Day of Matching when we were barely children. I often wondered if he had the same doubts as I, but that was not something I could ever ask.

I had been raised to believe that a Match was absolute and highly coveted. To be chosen by the Ones Above was a great honor, and that the Ones Above were never wrong. My mother was thrilled when they delivered the news of their soon to be Matched daughter. And there was no way I could disappoint her. I wouldn't allow myself to.

The handmaiden was wrapping up my appearance. Twisting my hair up into a simple, but formal braid crown. I was to meet with Lord Willem today.

As we were nearing our Day of Threading, we were granted weekly sessions together. I longed for the time as children when these sessions were only monthly.

I felt the handmaiden place her hands on my shoulder, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Absolutely beautiful."

I couldn't help the blush that invaded. Compliments had always made me uncomfortable, especially when genuine. "Thank you."

"Oh!" She jolted upright, "I had almost forgot. Your mother wanted me to give something to you."

I sat up in surprise, feeling my heart swell. I had not seen my mother in so long. I had to move into the Briarton Estate in order to prepare for the Day of Threading. The day when Lord Willem and I would be officially joined and the Ones Above will have bonded a permanent thread between our spirits. A golden thread of fate.

I did not know what to fully expect on that Day. Matches were only told to show up with a clear devotion to the Ones Above and to our Match. I often feared the Ones would see into my soul when my Day finally came, and find me to be unworthy. And sometimes, only sometimes, I'd wish and wish for exactly that.

The handmaiden returned with a small, but beautifully wrapped box. "Would you like me to open it for you?"

An odd request, but perhaps she feared me getting a papercut. "I think I can manage, thank you."

Carefully, I slid a nail through the baby blue wrapping and then pulled the lid up, revealing a silver hairpiece. An intricate floral design and deep, blue jewels lined the piece. I brushed my fingers over the object, appreciating my mother's good taste.

"Oh, that is quite lovely, miss. Your dear mum has impeccable taste," the handmaiden repeated my thought aloud to me. "I believe this will go perfectly with your gown today. Would you like me to fasten it?"

I gave a genuine smile this time, and nodded. "Yes. Please do."

The piece lined up perfect with my braid, giving an elegant touch to a rather simple look today. And with that, I was ready for my session with the Lord.

Lord Willem wasn't really a lord. Not yet anyway. But myself and the members of the estate were to begin referring to him as such in preparation for our Day. I, on the other hand, would not be referred to as a proper Lady until after we have had our Day.

The walk to the tea room always filled me with a sense of impending doom. My handmaiden followed in suit. She was to remain outside the room with Lord Willem's Steward until our session has commenced.

The large, oak doors always appeared even more tall and even more foreboding each time I faced them. The Steward and handmaiden held them open for me, and I had to bite back my thanks. It was technically looked down on to show gratitude, after all... why thank someone for simply doing their job? A sentiment I wholeheartedly did not agree with, and so kept my thanks limited to private spaces.

"Miss Charlin." Lord Willem had already been standing, in anticipation of my arrival. It would have been considered rude to sit before one's guest had arrived. He bowed as if it pained him to do so.

"Lord." I returned a similarly pained curtsy. If there was only one thing that Lord Willem and I had in common, it was our utter distaste for formalities. I did not have to look behind me to see that the Steward and handmaiden had closed the doors. Lord Willem and I were alone.

I never knew what to expect from our sessions. As children, typically it would be a light meal and some lessons. Now, we were given more freedom and less chaperones. It was now always up to the Lord to decide our session. Sometimes he wanted to converse, which would exhaust me as there was always a layer of double meaning. A test to see who can outwit who. Sometimes, he chose silent reading. My preferred method of spending time with the man.

"That is quite a beautiful hairpiece," he pointed out. "I had heard your mother had been looking for something to adequately compliment your beauty for some time now." I knew his mother and my mother talked. I assumed they had sessions not much dissimilar to the Lord and mine's. The hidden insult was not lost on me--a jab at my family's economic status. My mother had probably saved and saved until she could afford such a gift. Once the threading was complete, she would no longer have to worry about such things. But that was still both so close and so far off. Less than a year now.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"So formal today." The edge to his tone snapped my attention to him. It always felt like he was trying to poke at my buttons. Trying to force me to drop my mask. To see the real me.

I took in his appearance, thinking back to the handmaiden's comment. 'And a handsome one at that.' I guess some might call him handsome. He was tall, with narrow features and a strong nose. His inky, black hair was slicked back. It always reminded me of black tar.

I did not know what to say in response, so instead I stepped forward to the chair across from him and took my seat. That was his cue to take his, but he continued to stand.

"Is there something the matter?" And to be cheeky, I added another, "My Lord."

The Lord turned away from me, facing the far window in the room. "I thought it'd be lovely to have our session in the gardens today."

I thought I spotted a strip of pink brush his cheeks, as if suggesting the gardens was embarrassing. Was he feeling the pressure to officially court me? With our Day drawing nearer and nearer?

Over the years, I had come to know the Lord as existing with a thin layer of cruelty over everything he said and did. But moments like this, I wondered if he was wearing a mask, too. A mask to hide his nerves. Who would want an anxious man as their Lord and Fated?

My mind often raced round and round. Could I come to love the Lord? After the threading? When we could finally drop our masks. If we were both hiding our selves from each other all these years, I daydreamed we would be laughing together at how silly we were and how we had lost years getting to truly know each other due to those damned formalities.

"That would be lovely," I agreed, standing up. Our eyes met and the pink had dissipated from his face.