Exile

Part 1

Book 1

The snow fell gently outside of Immi's window. She always sat there, looking longingly at the village below. Her father never let her outside the house. He thought of Immi as his delicate, proper little girl. She was seventeen; she should have had some independence. Yet here she sat, watching the people watch her. Everybody did. They were mesmerized by the long, blonde hair that no one saw in the village. No one really knew her, though. Her father kept her locked up because of her mind. The call was never-ending. She had visions of her home bursting into flames with her in the center. Immi was separated from society because she was a freak. She was dangerous. Everybody loved her; no one knew better. Father made sure of that. All the public saw was the stunning, kind, graceful Dutchess, who waved and smiled at them while they worked.

"Children, show your respect. Wave at Dutchess Imogine."

"Smile at Dutchess Imogine."

The only times Immi was allowed out of the palace grounds was at public announcements or ceremonies. And then, of course, at courting festivals. Her father was already trying to find her the wealthiest, most powerful husband in all of Crane.

"Imogine, come for dinner."

"Yes, Father," said Immi, waving one more time to a little boy in the square.

Immi dawned her gloves, cape, and slippers and gracefully walked down the stairs.

"Ah, there's my little sunflower," said Immi's father, beaming up at her.

"Hello, Father," she said, giving a courtesy.

The maid escorted her to the table, and Immi froze. Her eyes darted to the candelabra on the table, the fire. Her hands sparked, and the maid jumped back, reaching for the goblet of water and drenching the candelabra so the fire stopped.

Father spun around looking around for the guilty servant. "Who put candles on my table?!" he yelled, livid.

"Me, sir," said the new maid on staff.

"I trust you know my daughter's condition?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why would you put that cursed thing on my dining room table?!"

"I-"

"I want no excuse! You are excused from your duty. Permanently."

The maid let out a pathetic sob and ran for the door.

Immi stared for a moment then sat at the table.

"I'm sorry, Imogine," said Father, his tone no longer harsh and scathing. "We can't have you having a fit again do we, sunflower?"

"No, Father," said Immi.

"Exactly. Now, Imogine, we must discuss the men who called today. William Beckett, the merchant, seems like a wealthy man. I'm sure you could tolerate him, could you not?"

"I could do it for you, Father."

"Of course, you could, sunflower. Now let us eat before you get excited, dear."

Immi loved her father but he was a very arrogant man. He only cared about how no one knew Immi was a Pyronic. If anyone knew... It wasn't a good thought.

They ate in silence, Immi thinking of how she longed for tomorrow when her father would let her take a walk with Atlas, her best friend. Father was thinking about how he would hide Immi's skill from the courters.

Immi went back to her window after dinner.

She watched all the ordinary girls, disappearing and reappearing, changing their blonde hair to brown, purple, and blue. Immi wished she could do all those things. That she didn't have to be always inside. But there was nothing she could do about it.

She knew she would most likely go insane someday, from the never-ending call. She knew when she did people wouldn't understand and she would probably be killed.

She just tried to think of things she did have. She had money, she had beauty, she had books, and she had Snowy the dog, who she loved dearly.

"Well, Snowy," said Immi, "It's not all bad! I have you!"

Snowy looked up at her and wagged his tail.

It wasn't all bad.