— Dr. Amelia Voss, “The Decline of Artisanal Alchemy”, page 18
When Mina returned home, the house was quiet.
The fireplace was still crackling, with its warm light calmly illuminating the living room. Emily lay sprawled on the couch, with her body half-draped over the edge, and her blanket tangled around her legs. Her head was smushed into the cushions as she snored softly.
Mina paused in the doorway and studied her for a minute. She stepped closer, crouching beside the girl, and eased her upright. Careful not to jostle her too much, Mina reoriented her so she lay properly, her injured arm draped over her stomach. She adjusted the blanket, tucking it under Emily’s side to prevent her from rolling over and hurting herself further.
Mina watched her for a moment longer. There was a quiet vulnerability in the way Emily slept, all curled and small. And seeing her lay there with all her injuries, it only made her look all the more innocent. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She didn’t deserve anything that happened to her.
Mina tried not to let it bother her and went to take a quick bath before retreating upstairs. She sat on the edge of her four-poster bed and buried her face in her hands.
It had been a pleasant evening, enough so to help her ease some of the tension that had been stirring inside her all day, but she couldn’t forget how Karaline pressed her earlier. It stung like a blade against her skin. She wanted to argue against all her points, but she couldn’t. Karaline was right about all of it.
She had taken Emily in, but had she truly given her a home? The couch wasn’t a room. The floor wasn’t a place for her clothes. Was she failing her? She couldn’t even protect her like she said she would.
Mina let out a heavy sigh. Her gaze drifted down to the golden ring hanging from her neck. It glimmered in the light from her bedside oil lamp. She held the ring between her fingers and stared longly at it. In it, she saw her reflection, distorted just enough to look odd, but it was still nothing compared to what she actually looked like. The sight forced Mina to look across the room to her ornate mirror, where she dropped her towel, and stood before it.
She traced her fingers over her forearm, over the twisted, mottled flesh where the holy water from her own blade had seared her. It wasn’t the worst scar she had received, not by a long shot, but it was still bad. Like all her wounds inflicted by holy water, they would heal eventually, but never like the ones without it. Anything from fangs and claws would be gone in seconds, with no trace of them ever being there. But holy water did something else to her body, something more permanent, like how wounds should be.
And she certainly had a lot of them.
The oil lamp made every scar, every gnarled ridge of her skin, look deeper. Her arms bore the majority of them, covered in old lash marks, burns, and cuts. Some scars crisscrossed over others and snagged beneath her touch.
Her left breast was little more than scar tissue, twisted and hardened like old tree bar. The other fared better, but not by much. Scars ran down her ribs, some thin and hardly noticeable, while others were deeper and more violent-looking. She hated how they tugged and stretched when she moved, how they felt like old rope pulling against her flesh.
Her stomach wasn’t spared, with deep, jagged lines crisscrossing over the rough flesh. Even her pelvis, her thighs, and her hips were all marked. There were places where the skin had been carved away, parts of her that were simply missing, both to blades and brands. She hated how her stomach pulled tight when she bent, how the scars tugged and stretched like a spider’s web. She hated how her thighs bore patches of skin that didn’t match, puckered and torn from wounds that refused to heal smoothly.
Even her pubic region wasn’t spared. Scars laced there too, causing the skin to feel rough, and twisted, and leaving her pubic hair to grow in uneven patches that made it look all the more unappealing. It was the same with her underarms, where the burned and mutilated skin caused the hair there to grow unevenly.
Some nights she found it impossible to tear her eyes away from the lines of her hips, and her thighs, the sharp angles of her shoulders, and the parts of her body that were misshapen, uneven, and missing.
She grimaced at the sight of herself. Karaline had said several times that she could find a man if she wanted to, but it was a lie. A man might look past the scars on her face and her more brawly physique, but once he was to lay his eyes on her naked body, he would look at her with nothing but disgust.
She turned from the mirror, pushing the thoughts aside, and retrieved a fresh roll of bandages from the dresser. They were for her arms, but she didn’t need them, not really. They were only scars after all, but she found the bandages comforting. There was some security in feeling the cloth wound tight against her forearms, knowing that when her sleeves rid up, no one would see the mutilated skin beneath. The scars on her arms, her torso, and her thighs were all easy enough to bury beneath clothes.
But there were some scars she could never hide.
She lifted her head, and her gaze was drawn, inevitably, to the most painful scar of them all. The scar that marked her face. The ‘X’ that split her right cheek. One line crested the bridge of her nose, slashing down to the edge of her chin. The other cut across from just beneath her eye, dragging to the corner of her lips.
She’d tried to hide it, at first. Scarves wound tightly over her face. Masks pulled up high. She’d let her hair fall long, tugging it across her cheek like a curtain. But it never worked. The scar was too large. Too bold. Anything she wore to hide it only drew more attention. It made it harder to see and was oftentimes more uncomfortable than if she were to just leave the scar exposed.
Eventually, she stopped trying. She told herself it didn’t matter, that it was better to let them see. Better to bear it proudly. But that didn’t stop her from feeling like a freak. That’s what they saw when they looked at her.
All but one.
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Her fingers brushed the golden ring that hung between her breasts. It was the one reminder that not everyone had seen her as a monster. That someone had looked past her pain. That someone had once loved her, despite the scars. Maybe even because of them.
She never would have expected things would turn out like how they did. She was always so cold towards him, but despite that, he still accepted her. Before she knew it, her heart had been thawed by him. The way they were drawn to each other, the way they felt at ease around one another. The way he touched her, the way he made her feel, how her senses came alive. The way he turned her brain to mush as they shared a deep kiss, and as her body pressed against his. The way his attentive tenderness gave her entire body such a deep, electrifying, and addicting pleasure. She would lose track of time, never wanting it to end. Without pain or fear in the way, with how their bodies would meld together.
Karaline had told her, time and again, that she needed to feel that again. To lose herself in it. But Mina knew better. It would never be the same. Not after him. Not after knowing what it could be.
She finished binding her arms and pulled on a loose, comfortable shirt before slumping on the edge of her bed. She rested her elbows on her knees, and her head sunk into her hands. Mina gave herself some time to clear her head, to distract herself with anything but her scars, but they kept leading her back to the same vivid image she had seen earlier that day.
Emily.
The way her face scrunched up in pain, how her tears streaked down her cheeks. Mina couldn’t unhear the girl's ragged, broken sobs, the sharp cries of agony that had torn from her throat.
Had she said the right thing?
When Emily cried, Mina froze. She’d seen the girl’s anguish, but she hadn't known what to do, what to say. The words that came were sharp and clinical, words she’d told herself over and over in the dark when her own pain had been too much to bear. The words were meant to harden, not to heal.
But Karaline was right.
Emily wasn’t a soldier. She wasn’t hardened steel. She was a girl. Seventeen, and already scarred by loss, violence, and fear. She’d lost her family. Her home. Her dignity.
And Mina had given her a couch and a blanket.
Vanity might not have meant much to Mina at this stage of her life, but she understood why it mattered to Emily. She knew the longing for beauty, for normalcy. For skin that wasn’t torn and ruined. Mina never had that luxury. Not after what had been done to her. If only the girl could heal like she could, knit itself back together, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so broken. Even while she slept, Emily looked fragile. Small. Her face looked soft and young. But at the same time, she looked exhausted and hurt, and vulnerable.
She stood quietly, and after taking a long, deep breath, she walked to Luna’s room.
The air was thick and tale. The bright colors once painted on the walls had faded, cobwebs hung in the corners, and dust coated everything. The desk, the shelves, the small bedside table.
Mina crossed to the desk and ran her hand along its surface, releasing a cloud of trapped dust into the air. It was thick and gray, the floating particles like suspended constellations.
Slowly, she made her way to the bed, where the two wooden dolls rested against the pillows. Mina reached down, lifting one of the dolls gently. She blew away the dust, and cradled it in her hands, pressing her forehead against its carved head. The wood was cold. Lifeless.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Emily woke to the sound of heavy thumping.
For a moment, she lay still, trying to ignore the sounds and drift back to sleep, but the sharp stab of pain in her arm yanked her awake. She winced, sucking in a breath as she pushed herself upright. The blanket tangled around her legs, and she kicked it off with a frustrated grunt, groaning as her body ached with every small movement.
She glanced down at her arm. It throbbed, wrapped tightly in bandages that were already beginning to itch beneath the skin. She flexed her fingers, testing her range of motion, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain shot down to her elbow.
Wonderful.
She carefully swung her legs over the side of the couch, her bare feet pressing into the cool wooden floor. For a moment, she sat still, trying to gather the will to stand.
Another thud echoed from upstairs.
The front door was left open, and the crisp morning air was blowing in.
Frowning, Emily pushed herself up and padded toward the doorway.
Mina startled her as she came down the stairs, hauling a mattress behind her. It looked new, and hardly used, kicking up clouds of dust as it bumped against the wooden steps.
Emily tilted her head, watching as Mina wrestled the mattress down the last few steps. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Cleaning.”
“Cleaning… what?”
“The house,” Mina said with a flat tone.
Emily followed Mina outside. A clothesline stretched between the kitchen window and the thick arm of an old oak tree. Its branches swayed gently, and beneath one hung a wooden swing. Sheets, pillowcases, and old covers fluttered in the wind.
Emily blinked, confused. “Where did all this come from?”
Mina propped the mattress against the wall. “The room upstairs.”
Emily frowned. “There’s a room upstairs?” She tried to sound casual.
Mina turned just enough to glare at her. “The one you snuck into.”
Emily’s heart thudded, and a flush crept up her neck. She opened her mouth to deny it, but Mina’s gaze pinned her.
“I… I didn’t—” Emily stammered.
Mina narrowed her eyes.
Emily sighed. “Okay… maybe I just took a tiny peek.” She looked down, curling her bare toes against the grass. “I was just curious.”
Mina’s eyes softened slightly. She turned back to the mattress, stripping it of its dusty sheets and tossing them over the clothesline. “I’ve been thinking,” she said in a softer tone. “You’ll need your own room.”
“I… I will?” Emily replied with a spark of excitement.
“The couch isn’t going to do. Not in the long run. So… I’m giving you the second room upstairs. It… it belonged to my daughter. Luna.”
Emily gulped. She’d assumed, but hearing Mina say it, hearing that name spoken aloud felt different. “You… had a daughter?”
She nodded once, slowly. “And a husband. Nathan.” She paused, taking a long, deep breath. “Queen Lockhart took them from me.”
She had said it so bluntly, so matter-of-fact, but Emily could hear the pain beneath her words. “I… I’m sorry,” Emily said softly. It felt like the only thing to say.
Mina shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. And I’d rather you didn’t mention them. I just… want you to know.”
Emily swallowed and nodded somewhat disappointedly. She would have liked to hear more about them, but she understood if Mina didn’t want to. Still, it was the only thing she had managed to learn about Mina. She couldn’t help but get the feeling there was still more she was keeping from her.
Mina turned back to the clothesline, adjusting the sheets so they hung evenly. “You can use her room,” she continued. “Only if you keep it clean. Keep it dusted, the bed made, the sheets folded. Understood?”
“I can do that,” she said quickly.
“Good. Then today, you’re helping me clean it.” She paused. “As best as you can, that is.”
She nodded.
“And… Emily. I’m sorry. About what happened.”
Emily blinked. “You mean… my mistake?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry for what happened to you. For the scars. I know what it’s like.”
Emily stared for a moment, not quite sure what to say other than; “Thank you.” A moment passed, and then Emily’s stomach growled.
Mina looked back at her and smirked. “Let’s get you something to eat first.”
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