Assecula || Sebastian Sallow & Ominis Gaunt Polyam.

Prologue ; Dove

There used to be a pair of doves that made their home and hearth within the great gnarled knot on the apple tree hanging over the dilapidated fencing of the Orphanage. The memories Rowan shared of the white-winged pair were the etchings of watercolour bleeding across a torn page. An endless expansion of fleeting childhood innocence despite the bleakness of an otherwise gunmetal-grey atmosphere. This single apple tree and all its beautiful birds and bugs were a halo overcast upon Rowan's heavy shoulders.

Everything always seemed to have more colour when they were able to sit outside and study the world as scholars so often detailed in books Rowan could only dream of reading - but scripture was their limitation as they so often fought to sound out the blended letters of gospel alone. They supposed Grecian scholars and their wise words would be spared for far smarter children than the gutter rats of London and all their loveless woes, but it never stopped Rowan from dreaming.

Some children at the Madame Menagerie's Orphanage dreamed of adoption. A misplaced stork come to carry them where they belonged. The older children wished for a miracle that could strip them of whatever misfortune landed them in the decrepit tomb they'd come to call a hovel - and not a home.

Rowan harboured no such fantasies. Picture books of unicorns, dragons, and all manner of witchcraft were banned in the Madame's homely state, and thus Rowan never sought out childish dreams of fancy. Though they did lend themselves a moment of respite watching the doves above idly exist in a world of their own design. They cared not for prospective parents who sized up children like cattle for auction, nor did they bother with peeling wallpaper and all the mould that ate along weather drywall. They loved only each other and the sky that beckoned them so sincerely to greet her.

Rowan caught them just as they took flight and vainly thought that they might be able to fly too with enough determination. They'd dared to scale the interwoven fencing and its rusted etchings one morning. They'd wanted to dare the coming dawn well in advance. Of course, when one challenges the heavens it's no surprise that Rowan was left wanting. One sprained arm later and that fleeting dream was just as quickly crushed, but it never took away the reverence with which they watched the nesting doves fly each morning. They laid beneath the tree in a haze for many hours that day, as it was one of the few moments they truly indulged in godless fantasies of more.

The Madame found them later that day, not out of necessary concern, but to fetch the little thing for visiting prospectors - parents - who rarely gave the willowy twig more than a once-over. Still, the Madame of the house offered up each child like a sacrificial lamb, and Rowan was no different on good days and bad days.

She always reminded them that Rowan was the picturesque figure of their mother - soft cheeks and full lashes that gave them a doe-eyed look. Their eyes were dark enough to be a trap, for no sonnet nor hymn could ever properly describe the fleeting gold flecks that danced around their irises like the siren call of Midas - and all the woeful sins such men wore upon their brow. ''Owlish," the other children at the menagerie would correct in the sequestered memories they shared tucked beneath moth-bitten covers.

The Madame spoke of Rowan's mother in equal hands of scorn and pity for the girl barely older than the teens preparing for the world. Unwed and unloved she passed in the bloodied sheets of the guest room. She had eyes like Rowan's and the same straight-edge black hair, though hers had been woven into an enchanting braid with wilted flowers that Rowan kept tucked beneath their mattress - safe beside the fat bedbugs and all of their little nests.

Then, the cat came.

It was a terribly large beast with crooked whiskers and a matted orange coat. Rowan swore that you could count each protruding rib beneath its long fur if it let anyone close enough to touch it. While the gaggle of wide-eyed girls crooned at the little monster, Rowan watched it from afar as the cat sat beneath the apple tree with a taunting glare.