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The mask is an artwork of metal and jewels with various shades of silver and blues and wings attached to the right side to match the ones on my back.
It’s an artful take on a luna moth. Unique enough to catch attention, but far more subdued than last night’s ensemble.
“Almost perfect.” Mother’s voice pulls me from my self-examination.
“Mother.” I turn to greet her. It doesn’t escape my notice that last night, she had declared me perfect, yet she clearly finds me wanting today.
“Ladies, please leave us,” she orders.
Once the maids are gone, she stalks closer, one hand holding a small box and the other gesturing for me to sit on the bench at the foot of my bed.
I can’t breathe, wondering what level of horror she has concocted in that box.
She opens the lid, and my knees nearly give out with relief.
Shoes.
They’re just shoes.
Bolstered by that realization, I ease forward to examine the exquisite, iridescent slippers. My brow furrows, and the expectant expression in Mother’s painted features tells me my relief has come far too soon.
I reach out in trepidation, my nail clinking on the heel of the shoe to confirm what I already suspect.
Glass.
Is this a game? Has she strengthened them somehow?
My fingers trace the ridges of the floral shaped crystals on the outside, sliding down the heel. I’ve never seen anything like them, and I might be tempted to admire them, were it not for the cruel glint in Mother’s violet gaze.
Will I be able to stand in these?
“I need you to understand what is at stake, daughter.” Her voice lacks all emotion. “You fled the ball in a hurry last night, something else you failed to mention. When I said I wanted all eyes to be on you, be assured that is not what I had in mind.”
My stomach hollows, her next words solidifying the apprehension in my gut.
“You see that I have no choice but to correct your path, to keep you from the temptation of running off again.”
She leans down in front of me, taking my ankle in her iron grip and sliding one of the slippers onto my foot. All at once, it’s like a thousand wasps have swarmed everywhere the shoe touches.
I inhale a deep, slow breath, counting in my head to ward off the pain. My features don’t so much as twitch in reaction as she does the same to my other foot.
This doesn’t compare to what she trained me for, but it’s an effort to remind my body of that.
“Good,” she says, and I’m not sure whether she’s referring to the shoes themselves or approving of my stoicism. “The burning sensation will wear off, eventually. It’s an alchemical reaction to the adhesive on the shoes.”
Adhesive?
“And should you decide to run again, you should know that these shoes are designed to break from the inside out. You shouldn’t be inclined to waste any of your dances this way, either, least of all on someone who jeopardizes my entire plan.”
My stomach turns. “Mother, how will I—”
“I wish it hadn’t come to this. I have always valued your obedience,” she cuts me off, taking my chin in her hand and gripping tightly. “If you mess this up, I will no longer have a use for you. And you know what happens to those I have no use for?”
I force myself to nod.
“Good,” she says, standing up. “I didn’t work this hard to arrange this marriage just to have you ruin it. I expect better from you. Come now, your carriage is waiting.”
I wish her words were angry, that there was any emotion in her voice at all, but there isn’t. Somehow, that’s worse. Taking only a second to secure my fan to my wrist, I follow her out the door on gentle footfalls, cautiously gauging the durability of the slippers.
Each step is a tenuous balance, a metaphor for my entire life, where one wrong move could shatter everything.
