One dropper-full every day. Preferably in the evening.
Her fingertip traced the postscript.
May you have more good dreams—
Later that night, Alora awoke from a nightmare of melted bones, screaming.
***
George had never been down Opulence Mansion’s lane before, and so Alora told him all about it as they neared. His ears continued to prick forward and back, listening to her prattle.
“Do you notice how thick the forest grows here? At night there are flowers,Moonflowers, which glow silver. It’s a different light than the moon, more magical, and they smell like—” Alora scrunched up her nose. “You know, I can’t remember. But it was lovely.”
She wore her cloak even though anyone who had dealings with her would recognize George and her cart should they see her upon the lane—which she didn’t see a way around. Master Merridon hadn’t told her what she should do with her bigger supplies, and so she’d decided to do what she’d always done.
She glanced back at the rolls of paper and the bucket of glue, all accounted for. “At night, the mansion opens for business, and members walk to it carrying lanterns to light the dark. There are many.” A frown creased her features beneath the cowl. “And I’m to be one of them…at the end of this.”
Would she use it? She didn’t know. She could imagine herself, she supposed, sinking into the curved tub hidden behind Door One, her image reflected back to her from every angle. She could imagine focusing on that singular memory, the one that caused an entire town to shun her, that caused relief to enter her parents’ eyes when she'd announced she was leaving at just twenty-two. They’d been happy to see her go, both for her sake and their own. She could allow that memory to siphon away, and then perhaps the shame would follow.
She’d think on it.
George slowed as the gate loomed. She scrambled from the cart when the guard stepped forward, pushing back her hood so he might recognize her.
“Hello, again,” she said with a smile, only for it to falter.
Distress showed plainly on the guard's face. “Miss Pennigrim. You’ve…returned.”
“Well, yes. I’ve a job to do.” When the painted guard only looked between her and the donkey with apparent unease, she began to feel uncomfortable herself, reaching into her satchel. “Lemonade today,” she said.
The guard took it, and she was thankful. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t. “You are too kind, Miss Pennigrim. You are...” Again his eyes shifted between her and George.
“What is your name? Are you allowed to tell me? You may call me Alora.”
Finally, a faint smile. “Reginald.”
Alora grinned. “Reginald. I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to bring the donkey, but I’ve a large supply of wallpaper and no way of transporting it.”
Reginald’s smile deteriorated into a grimace. “Yes. The correct thing to have done was to approach Master over the transport.”
Alora’s face fell to match. “Oh. What should I do?”
The guard appeared torn over her question. He began to say something then stopped, changing course. “Thank you for the lemonade, Miss Alora.” Then he turned his back to her, walked to the wall, and bent. Alora watched as he spoke into a gold funnel, piped from the ground. “Just a moment, please,” he said, facing her once more.
Alora nodded her appreciation, coming around to pat George on the nose. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Reginald take a sip of lemonade, smacking his lips at its end. “Reginald?”
“Yes?”
“Did you mean what you said the other day? That I might not be allowed to leave should I be too late?”
Opulence Mansion’s gate swung in.
Reginald stared at her in silence awhile, his face perfectly, maybe purposefully, blank.
“Yes, I did.”
Alora’s breath caught at his words. “But—” And then her heart stuck fast as well. For out of the gate came a great wheelbarrow, and pushing that wheelbarrow was the greatest man she’d ever seen.
Alora’s eyes refused to blink away the image of those same hairy, muscled arms raking a man bodily into the hedges, though she could see now how he managed it so easily. The giant of a man glanced toward her, his sunburned brow lowered, his lipspressed closed. He had long, gray hair down to his shoulders which were covered in a golden tunic stretched tight. He lumbered over to her and coughed, clearing his throat.
