Gears Among the Roses

April 2nd 1892

Quickly I was pacing, my legs grew heavy, I was leading the monster. Courage came and I allowed myself to face the monster, it was my father. His eyes shooting daggers into my soul.

The rush of fear woke me from slumber.

Lifting my feet over the edge of the bed, a cold chill met the bottom of my foot. It was only a dream. But life is just as horrid. What's the point of living?

My fathers maid jumped out of a window earlier this spring, her husband was killed above ground and she became lonely. I attempted light chatter with her, but she never responded, a certain emptiness longing in her eyes. I felt her pain, I felt loneliness.

Am I destined to the same fate? I hope so.

For years I have been through hell, my mother Neva died giving birth to me, or so my father told in my younger years. I imagine that's when he became mad. Ever since I can remember I was experimented on, age five was when I had my first gear placed inside of my body. The searing pain of that day is burned into memory, much too well. Poisons injected, the blood spilling from my veins, more gears, a little more pain each day. Pain is something I am immune to. All the pain for in one day, the hopes of a war above ground. The town I live in, 'Cloak-and-Dagger', was built for the purpose to prepare for this Cloak War. Above ground seems impossible to think. I have never seen it. "The weapon can not look upon the battlefield until it is time to fight." The stinging words of my father, he repeats them to me once a day.

What time is it? Maybe enough to fetch a knife from the kitchen. I wanted death. I deserve the luxury.

Opening the curtains, I saw the same dull outside, this town never has color. Faintly I heard the chime of the morning bell downstairs, my maid Clare would soon be here to prepare me. She was the closest I had for a friend, and I knew she despised me. Another day was about to begin, one step closer to death. I was now certain, tomorrow, April 3rd 1892, would be the day that I killed myself.

Footstep sounds grew closer and a knocking was heard on my door. "Enter!" I commanded, sitting back into the soft feeling of cotton sheets on my bed.

"Time to get up Miss Cecelia!" Clare announced, her voice just as high pitched and bothersome as always. Maybe I hated her just as much as she hates me. "Up! Up! Up!" she squeaks, I reluctantly obey and stand up. Clare fixes the mess of sheets, just as she had for the past sixteen years of my life. "Isn't it a lovely day?" she attempts, why was she talking to me? Go away.

"Yes." I whisper softly. I have learned the less speaking I do, the better. All maids of the household must report to my father if I do or say anything disobedient.

"Well. Let's get you dressed." Dropping the dark red skirt by my feet I step into it and lift it up to my lower waist. "Corset." she mumbles, her knots are tight in the back, too tight. "Sit, Cecelia." a chair beneath me, I know this routine too well. Tomorrow I get a change. Clare pins my wavy auburn hair back on both sides, if it were my decision I would let my waves be free and comfortable. "All done. Your father is in his lab waiting, go now!" she is smiling, why is she happy but I am not? For a single second, I wanted what Clare had.

"Ok." Is all I say, Clare nods and leaves, good for me. I slowly lace my new shoes, a present my father bought on his travels in France recently. I didn't want to go, but I twist the doorknob and walk downstairs, to the basement.