Once upon a time, the realms of Chance and Men lived in peace and harmony. The balance of the worlds was perfect. Unfortunately, the thirst for power and magic is an inevitable poison, as insatiable as the noble families of chance. Their thirst led...
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Chapter 9
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The veil of night still covers the sky when I hear a light knock on the door of the room. Still feverish from my dream, I struggle to extricate myself from the sheets and open it slightly. A smiling face greets me, Xavier.
I step aside to let him in. "Are you alright?" I ask, not knowing what else to say. "I brought you this." He holds a ceramic basin of warm water under his arm. In the candlelight of the room, the steam appears orange. He approaches the vanity near the window and gently places it down. He moves towards the door as I run a hand through my hair, which is so tangled that I wince in pain while untangling a curl.
"I can help you if you want," I startle when I realize he is still there, looking at me with concern. "I understand what you're feeling, all of this is..." he doesn't finish his sentence, but I can sense the emotion in his expression. Of the four friends, he's the only one in whom my instincts don't scream at me to be cautious. He seems so... fragile. His skin, paler than his sister's, bears blueish circles under his eyes that I hadn't noticed last night.
"Are you sure? Helping a woman get ready, it's not..." I think of Papa, who would have flown into a rage to protect my honor upon hearing this proposition.
He chuckles before reassuring me, "Alice, a woman's body has never stirred the slightest bit of desire in me..." He confesses this without a trace of embarrassment. My father would have gone mad, but not me. I understand what he means and I smile, agreeing to his request. I sit on the creaky chair, facing away from him.
"You're so different from your sister. Why are you doing this for me?" I reach out for the fabric soaking in the water and rub my face, relaxing as the warm moisture reaches my cheeks.
He leans down to open the drawer of the desk, and I see him take out a brush with a handle made from a seashell as white as foam. "May I?" I nod again, and I feel his hands untangling the strands of my tangled mess. For a moment, I think of my mother's hands, which, just yesterday, were busy creating braids for my updo.
Only the sound of the brush in my hair and the water trickling from my hands resonate in the small room's echo. The atmosphere brightens slightly as the veil of night grows lighter, allowing the light to emerge between the clouds.
"My sister is quite pragmatic. I can't blame her; we've already lost so much..." His voice sounds like a whisper. I say nothing in response, and he continues, "She just doesn't want to lose me too. Alice, she's not a bad person, far from it." I look at him through the reflection cast by the window in front of me. He appears thoughtful, his hands still busy with my hair. "How did you both end up here?" I ask. A sad smile appears on his face.
