Crow

Chapter 4

The Lady's arrival softened Father.

Father now smiled, danced, and played. He bought the finest silk dresses for Lucinda and a thousand carefully painted porcelain dolls for Anastasia. To The Lady, Father brought vibrant emeralds from The South, luxurious pearls from the coast of Onada, glittering diamonds from the gelid mountains of The North, and blood-red rubies from the lands across the Great River. This caused no reaction in The Lady's face, yet this was never a deterrent, the mere joy of giving her precious treasures being enough for Father.

The dark, sullen halls of the ancient Maddox Manor opened their thick velvet curtains, letting in the cold light of autumn into the halls. The sun shone for the new family in Maddox Manor, and its heir was in the background, looking at a beautiful painting, unable to join. And he tried, he tried endlessly. In the few moments Father's new family deemed Corbin worthy of their presence, he made every single effort, fought tooth and nail and beak and claw, just for them merely to like him. He allowed himself to be drained every single day of all pleasant feeling just to see them happy, just so they would accept him, just so they would love him. It left him craving the tender affections he saw.

The hugs, the gifts, the smiles, and the warmth all scorned him, leaving him behind with ice-cold glares and thinly veiled insults from the part of the adults, and being subject to the abject horror and rage-filled terror his stepsisters had for him. And yet he smiled, hoping that just by the act of not showing his endless pain they would one day accept him. If he held his smile long enough, they would see who truly was inside. If he held his smile long enough, maybe he wouldn't feel happiness like the bitter after-taste of a tea long-gone stale and he wouldn't feel his determination waning with the length of the days. If he held his smile long enough, maybe he wouldn't cry anymore, maybe his too-shattered crystal heart would fix itself as if by a miracle.

So, Corbin allowed himself to become the subject of Lucinda's sick, twisted jokes. She would give him the assignments given to her by the tutors, claiming his condition would "aid" him in dealing with the work; bother him for hours on end with sharp lashes of her tongue only it was well-served---after all, it wouldn't do for him not to remember what he had done; accuse him to Father for any error that she made, leaving him to take the fall. And yet still he gently greeted her every single morning with the softest, most pleasant smile on his face, expecting that suddenly that day would be the one where she would suddenly stand his presence, where she would not look at him and see a boogeyman haunting her in the shadows. For every shove and scream, he would return it with a patient hand when she fell. For every recrimination and fault, he would take the blame and see himself punished according to the presumed crime. For every lonely hour and cold evening, he would give her quiet company and warm blankets. This never changed her mind, seeing it upon herself to punish the monster in the room beside hers.

For Anastasia, he hid in the shadows, learning every single secret shortcut and every private passage he could find so that his uncanny appearance would not scare her. He would stay after hours baking delicious treats for her, trying to recreate the sweet sensation of the boy's boon, and left them in the doorway to her chambers, only to see Lucinda claim them as her own. And Corbin allowed her, after all. He was only an intruder in their relationship, he couldn't suddenly appear and take a mile of their hearts and claim it that way, a lonely, dark corner was all he could ever wish for, in the end.

Father continued on his path, and Corbin found it harder to keep him in his heart. The thread between them had been growing thinner and thinner, feebler and feebler, weaker and weaker. Yet Corbin's determination was resolute. He would not change his mind.

But, by far, the worst was his attempts to get closer to the mysterious Lady. Any single conversation he started was answered with a monosyllable, any compliment met with cold gratefulness, any attempt to approach her met with easy distancing. She wasn't outright cruel, by any means. She rarely said virulent comments or snide remarks, but there was an unfeeling glacier in her eyes whenever she saw him. Though her words were not insults, they could dig deeper into his heart than anything Lucinda could ever say, deeper than anything anybody could ever say. In her pointed gaze, there was a pure avulsion in it, her fair features mangled by disgust. In Corbin's opinion, The Lady just had to learn he wasn't as bad as he appeared, that she would warm up to him and finally accept him and one day show him the affection he felt lacking like a limb.