BROKEN BEGINNINGS

Chapter 7 - A Dress In The Attic

"How... many... more... stairs--" I wheeze, dragging myself up what seems like the thousandth step. "I lost... count... at seventeen... floors..."

"You're doing great! Only four more levels to go!" Esme calls down, still bouncing about happily despite the  treacherous climb... probably because she can float or fly or do whatever she does to stay in the air. I smile up at her. Esme is alway so happy, and really, sincerely cares about me.

She's almost like the little sister I never quite had.

I manage to trip over the very last step and crash onto the rotten floorboards and almost falling through the hole I had created. I yelp and pull back... only to fall down the last flight of stairs and smash my head against the white-washed wall of the landing.

"Here we are!" Esme giggles, completely oblivious to the fact that the floor was about to collapse from my body weight. The advantages of being a ghost.

I glance up at the rough wood door in front of me; it certainly didn't look like it was hiding a magic wardrobe behind the bare wood with barely a chip of paint. I take the handle with caution, not sure what the hell is behind it.

With a horrid screech, the door falls right off its rusty hinges as I try to turn the knob.

"Come on, come on!" Esme squeals, leading me into the gloom of the attic.

The wood beams are rotting and there's a huge hole in the roof, large enough for me to climb on to the moldy shingles outside.

The waning afternoon light slants onto a massive trunk, covered in cracked blue leather and buckled tightly shut. I suddenly feel a warm pulsing sensation flow through me, to the rhythm of my heartbeat as I look at the trunk that promises my future will be okay.

Hope.

Yes, for the first years, almost my entire life, I open my heart to hope.

...

Hope dies ten minutes later.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?" I wonder aloud, holding up a rounded wire cage with fabric stretched over it. The laces in the back tighten and loosen the cage-like frame.

"Weeeeell, I think they're called a corset. Mum used to wear them all the time when she went to fancy dinners," Esme comments, floating beside me.

"Well, it reads more torture-device." I scowl, trying greatly to refraining from throwing it off the roof. "There's gotta be something in here that's actually my size."

The invitation Sarah gave me said the ball would begin at eight o'clock sharp, and judging by the sun's position, I only have another two hours to get ready and down to the square.

After five more minutes of fruitless searching, I fall back onto the floorboards with a groan. "This is hopeless! Face it, I'll never find anything." I crab, trying to hold back tears of regret and disappointment.

"Wait," Esme says, peeking over the worn rim of the trunk. She suddenly reaches in and pulls out one more gown.

"What about this one?"