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Valerie leaned in, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “Mircalla,” she whispered back, her voice thick with yearning she had been holding inside her. She would no longer deny it.
Their lips met and the world around them faded away, leaving only Mircalla’s ravenous touch. Her lips ached with the taste of her. Her heart was a ricocheting bullet yet she was as calm as daybreak over the glistening snow. Nothing was lost; all was raw, bold, and unconditional. The swell of Mircalla’s chest, the curve of her cracked lips, her trembling chin.
Mircalla held her tighter, their bodies crushing into one another, as she placed her lips on the crook of Valerie’s neck first, then following the traces of her wound. Valerie moaned. She began to tremble, her tilted back and her throat pulsing, as if she had been waiting for this moment.
“Oh, Mircalla.” Valerie sighed, pulling away slightly, her eyes filled with wonder and trepidation. “If I could, I would tear this flesh apart and crawl into you.”
Mircalla grinned and kissed her again, reaching out to cup her cheek, erasing every thought, flooding her mouth with a sense of escape that Valerie had never felt before. And tonight, she was bright and fearless, like a tear that would not hold stitches.
Valerie had been missing Mircalla like a pebble missed its bed at the bottom of the ocean, she was thus unmoving. It seemed trivial and mundane, but gave her a purpose, an imposing will to live. She must have changed. She felt it in her bones. Her heart was beating in her chest like a streaming river and she listened to its humming melody. It was steady, it was fast, and now, it was hers. She had longed to be seen, loved, and kissed, and she, for the first time, heard the sound of her heart as a song of devotion.
They could not stop laughing after Mircalla pulled back, giggling like schoolgirls racing to the carnation meadows. Valerie put her head on Mircalla’s shoulder and she planted a kiss on the top of her head with a sigh. Her hand was drawing circles on Mircalla’s back, as if to memorize the bumps and lines on her skin, and Mircalla, in turn, stroked her hair.
16
A soft hush pressedagainst the windowpanes. Valerie opened one eye, then the other, with Mircalla’s hair woven through her fingers, blinking away the remnants of a dream. For days, there was only smoke rising, but today, the winter sun, muted by the swirling flakes, dappled the room in silver and gold.
On the other side of the bed, Mircalla nestled beneath the quilt. A gentle smile played on her lips, almost lost in the rise and fall of her breath. Valerie traced the curve of her chin with a phantom touch, her heart swelling with something closer to tenderness, gushing abundant from her fingertips. She listened to the muffled creak of the old house settling under the weight of winter. She knew she had angered the house, betrayed its legacy, yet she did not care.
Valerie got up and poked the fire and looked in the mirror. Was it a dream—a beautiful, irresistible dream—that intoxicated her and rendered her so miserable? She touched her neck, her heaving chest, searching for proof that she had really been kissed and held close. Was this the same pounding heart, the same trembling hand?
“Good morning, my lady,” Mircalla murmured behind, eyes glinting in the pouring light.
“Do you fancy a walk?” Valerie asked, a mischievous edge in her voice. “I want to show you something.”
Getting Mircalla to her room without Ethel seeing them proved to be a more difficult task than she had initially thought. Ethel was constantly moving from room to another—considering the state of the rooms, it was surprising—humming a tune to herself and going through the first chores of the day. They almost got caught when they were turning around to the hall where Mircalla’s room was located. Ethel would have seen them if Valerie had not covered Mircalla’s mouth and pulled her aside.
Once in the room, Valerie took a few breaths, trying to ignore the muffled sounds from the next room where Ethel was working. “Do not change into your dress yet,” Valerie instructed Mircalla, grinning. “I have a surprise for you.”
The next step was convincing Ethel to hand over the key to her husband’s room. After that humiliating first night, they had never shared the same bed again, nor did they step into each other’s room unless absolutely necessary. It felt strange to break this silent agreement between them.
As expected, Ethel was completely reluctant and against the idea. “But Madam,” she screeched, “Sir Ethan does not even let me clean his own room! He requested me to carry the key unless he informs me beforehand.”
The naked terror on her face annoyed Valerie. “Ethel, you’re not listening! The doctor said he would get the clothes Mr. Vertigo wanted when the weather cleared. And it looks like the roads are clear today. I saw carriages passing by. I have to prepare Mr. Vertigo’s belongings before the doctor arrives.”
Ethel glanced around in guilt, as if Ethan could see her, and then handed her the key. It was a rusted, ornate thing that felt heavy in Valerie’s hands. As soon as Ethel curtsied and took a few steps back, Valerie turned a corner and walked down the hallway, her skirt rustling behind.
When she stood in front of the door, she could smell whatever that was inside: pungent, sharp, like wet dogs. Valerie could not say anything about the room itself, for the heavy velvet curtains were drawn and the unused furniture was hidden under the sheets. She tripped over a bottle and almost fell, struggling to steady herself. The bed was not made and the crack of light from the hallway showed the piles of clothes, books, pens, and bottles of ink scattered everywhere. This was not a room of a gentleman, she thought, it was of a madman. On the far corner of the room stood another mahogany table. She had never made sense of why her husband kept a personal desk in every room, yet she could not help but take a peek. Crumpled papers, napkins, half-filled liquor bottles and empty glasses covered every visible surface. Drawers were left open.
Valerie found a stub of a candle amidst the blocks of sealing wax and lit it. The flickering flames revealed a more disastrous mess than she’d anticipate. Four pairs of trousers hung on his chair, wrinkled and the bottom hems folded, as if in a hurry. She tucked two pairs under her arm, covering her mouth, and turned to leave just before she saw a letter sitting on top of a shredded envelope. It had been folded and unfolded many times, yet the marks were clear and delicate, whatever this letter was had been handled with care. She would have walked away if this were another day, if she had not been pestered for months, if she had not recognized the name. Yet, there she was, rolling her tongue to say it. Emery Vertigo, it said in small, cursive letters. Another quick glance captured her husband’s name and before the fragments of words cascaded in full sentences, Valerie grabbed the paper and slid it under the bodice of her dress.
“Madam, have you got what you need?”
Valerie hurried down the hallway and gave the key back, her heart thumping, her ears ringing. She stopped by her room before seeing Mircalla, thus anxious and shaken, and hid the letter under her mattress. She caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror, her cheeks flushed, a flimsy glaze over her eyes, very much like tears, yet she did not want to cry. On the contrary, when the rush of her deed faded away, a sense of calmness had come over her.
Mircalla was perched like a bird next to the tall window, watching the sun glistening over the peaks.
“Here I am!” Valerie announced herself, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “My apologies, I didn't mean to keep you waiting.”
“Oh, I’ve been wondering if you skipped town because you find me awfully boring!”
“Nonsense!” Valerie crossed the room and cupped Mircalla’s face. “You are my best friend. I would never leave you behind.”
“Such a relief,” Mircalla giggled. “Well, where is the surprise?”
Valerie patted the trousers, still dangling over her arms. Mircalla’s forehead creased with concern, eyes darting from the trousers to her, and a small frown curled her mouth in a rather unpleasant way.
“I’m not sure if I can really see it, darling. These look awfully like a man’s trousers!”
