shattered by merely existing. He lifted a hand, patted the boy’s shoulder and escaped to the night.
Escaped to sort the conflicting needs pulsing through him.
27
What You Are
Alexia dreamed of him smiling at her, although she didn’t know if it was night or day, and then she woke.
Scratching noises turned her head. She inhaled and convulsed under infuriated wounds. She breathed shallowly, aware of the throbbing in her knee, shoulder, side, and arm. But her head didn’t ache like it had.
Had he destroyed all sense? Had he damaged her so thoroughly that nothing remained? Was she dead already?
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Still here,” Bellezza returned acerbically. “Isn’t that refreshing.”
A rattling, like several marbles, spilled across a wood floor.
Alexia tried to shift off her sore back, but failed, moaning.
Bellezza chuckled. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
The child laughed more. Alexia closed her eyes against the sound. Bellezza made a perfect match for him, equally beautiful, equally enigmatic, equally cruel.
The vicious girl passed the day doing whatever with her noisy toys. Alexia spent it listening and wishing for Sarah, or Father, or Rupert—anyone to rescue her.
The door whined open. Her head swung around. Lester’s form blocked the light.
He jangled a platter against the she-demon’s cage. Bellezza’s baleful eyes flashed in the daylight.
“You ready to eat, worm-hill?”
“You ready to die, dung-pile?”
He laughed and turned Alexia’s direction. “And what about our little Sparrow? Are you hungry?”
She nodded. He let himself into her cell and fed her like yesterday. Bellezza watched through the bars with intense odium, chocolate-colored eyes never wavering. If not aware of the fierce intelligence behind that mask, Alexia would have believed her a porcelain doll, perfect, empty, terrifying.
“How you feelin’ today?” Lester inquired kindly. His tone was so much nicer than yesterday she almost choked on her food.
“I am all right,” she lied.
“With an arm what looks like it’s barely hanging on, you say yer all right?” He glanced Bellezza’s direction. “Sparrow here shows promise, don’t she?”
The impossible little princess prickled.
“Well, I hope it, ” he nodded back at Bellezza, “ain’t been too awful to cope with for one night.”
“Why am I here, Lester?”
His empathetic dark eyes gave her hope of escape.
He hopped up, kicked Bellezza’s food into her cell, and left them alone. Alexia noted how the girl’s rice splattered up over her dress and the diffident rage tensing her face before the door fell shut.
Alexia sniffled, halting for pain. Tears started. She wanted to see Sarah again and Father, and even Mother! She wanted to call Rupert a dolt and entertain Abby’s hopes of a good match. She would amuse strangers and flirt with tactless gentlemen—anything if it meant leaving this nightmare behind—anything if it meant living!
And yet just to see his scarred face again . . .
“Are you crying?” The harsh sneer interrupted her thoughts.
Alexia couldn’t trust her own voice.
“You are.”
She tried to stop the tears.
“That is so pitiful.” Bellezza’s final statement sent her over the edge.
“Oh shut up,” she snapped back. A long silence followed. She usurped the time to drain her emotions thoroughly, wishing over things that would never be, yearning for years she would never know, wondering why she had been so thoroughly stupid!
And yet, just to see his face . . .
“It is miserable, isn’t it?” The child’s soft voice thrummed with pleasure.
“What is miserable?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“You enjoy watching others despair?”
“Yes,” she affirmed frankly. “What else is there?”
Alexia had no idea how to respond.
An hour ebbed by before the child spoke again. “Are you done?”
“What does it matter?”
“He is coming. You might not want to be seen . .
Escaped to sort the conflicting needs pulsing through him.
27
What You Are
Alexia dreamed of him smiling at her, although she didn’t know if it was night or day, and then she woke.
Scratching noises turned her head. She inhaled and convulsed under infuriated wounds. She breathed shallowly, aware of the throbbing in her knee, shoulder, side, and arm. But her head didn’t ache like it had.
Had he destroyed all sense? Had he damaged her so thoroughly that nothing remained? Was she dead already?
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Still here,” Bellezza returned acerbically. “Isn’t that refreshing.”
A rattling, like several marbles, spilled across a wood floor.
Alexia tried to shift off her sore back, but failed, moaning.
Bellezza chuckled. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
The child laughed more. Alexia closed her eyes against the sound. Bellezza made a perfect match for him, equally beautiful, equally enigmatic, equally cruel.
The vicious girl passed the day doing whatever with her noisy toys. Alexia spent it listening and wishing for Sarah, or Father, or Rupert—anyone to rescue her.
The door whined open. Her head swung around. Lester’s form blocked the light.
He jangled a platter against the she-demon’s cage. Bellezza’s baleful eyes flashed in the daylight.
“You ready to eat, worm-hill?”
“You ready to die, dung-pile?”
He laughed and turned Alexia’s direction. “And what about our little Sparrow? Are you hungry?”
She nodded. He let himself into her cell and fed her like yesterday. Bellezza watched through the bars with intense odium, chocolate-colored eyes never wavering. If not aware of the fierce intelligence behind that mask, Alexia would have believed her a porcelain doll, perfect, empty, terrifying.
“How you feelin’ today?” Lester inquired kindly. His tone was so much nicer than yesterday she almost choked on her food.
“I am all right,” she lied.
“With an arm what looks like it’s barely hanging on, you say yer all right?” He glanced Bellezza’s direction. “Sparrow here shows promise, don’t she?”
The impossible little princess prickled.
“Well, I hope it, ” he nodded back at Bellezza, “ain’t been too awful to cope with for one night.”
“Why am I here, Lester?”
His empathetic dark eyes gave her hope of escape.
He hopped up, kicked Bellezza’s food into her cell, and left them alone. Alexia noted how the girl’s rice splattered up over her dress and the diffident rage tensing her face before the door fell shut.
Alexia sniffled, halting for pain. Tears started. She wanted to see Sarah again and Father, and even Mother! She wanted to call Rupert a dolt and entertain Abby’s hopes of a good match. She would amuse strangers and flirt with tactless gentlemen—anything if it meant leaving this nightmare behind—anything if it meant living!
And yet just to see his scarred face again . . .
“Are you crying?” The harsh sneer interrupted her thoughts.
Alexia couldn’t trust her own voice.
“You are.”
She tried to stop the tears.
“That is so pitiful.” Bellezza’s final statement sent her over the edge.
“Oh shut up,” she snapped back. A long silence followed. She usurped the time to drain her emotions thoroughly, wishing over things that would never be, yearning for years she would never know, wondering why she had been so thoroughly stupid!
And yet, just to see his face . . .
“It is miserable, isn’t it?” The child’s soft voice thrummed with pleasure.
“What is miserable?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
“You enjoy watching others despair?”
“Yes,” she affirmed frankly. “What else is there?”
Alexia had no idea how to respond.
An hour ebbed by before the child spoke again. “Are you done?”
“What does it matter?”
“He is coming. You might not want to be seen . .
Similar Books
