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Her head was turned my way, eyes open and lifeless. Then the blood came out of those eyes, her mouth, her ears, creeping across the white marble, mingling with her platinum hair, the orange silk of her dress. All that orange and red, stark against the white.
The diamonds wrapped around her forehead and her wrist twinkled expensively in the lights.
Her arm was twisted wrong, as were both of her legs.
Even so, she lifted her head.
I started backing away.
One side was caved in, the blood dripping in thick globs from the wound.
Her jaw came unhinged as her mouth moved.
“Broken.”
I turned and ran into Ian.
He was now in old-fashioned eveningwear, staring down at Dorothy.
“No more carnations for her,” he said.
A tap on my shoulder and I looked that way.
Marble-white Persephone had left her post.
“Will you come with me?” she asked. “It’s time to go to the fields.”
I shook my head, heart in my throat, fear coating my skin, and raced by Ian and into the night, onto the lawn, through the trees, to the moors, going in the direction I saw Daniel take. Running. Running.
I saw them, all three of them, pushing and fighting among the nighttime shadows of heather. Virginia in a pale dress that shone in the moonlight.
It was blue.
“You pushed her!” she screamed.
“No, you pushed her!” David shouted back.
They both turned on a shadowed man, just a body wearing evening clothes, no face.
William.
“No, you pushed her!” They yelled at him.
Virginia then looked to me, and her screech felt like it shattered my eardrums, “BROKEN!”
I whirled in fear and found myself in a big space made from stone. There were large fireplaces. Coarse furniture. Hanging tapestries.
My eyes went direct to her.
She smiled at me.
Rose.
“They’ll burn me alive for this,” she said gleefully. Then, like she was of my time and not wearing a gown and kirtle, her hair hidden behind a structured hood and veil, she cried, “Worth it!”
She cackled.
Wet splashed on me.
