[Closed] [Memory] A Life Expected

[Desiderio Morandi]

briarwood hall, vienda

afternoon on the 22nd of roalis, 2706

There was a small freckled hand on his arm.

Desiderio did not like to be touched. Mother had told him that he was fragile, and that even more than rough-housing, he was not to let the other children so much as lay a hand on him; that way, she could be sure he was safe. She had said it rather angrily, he remembered, though he could not remember when or why. Mother had bruised his arm once, when she had caught him trying to climb the western staircase which had not then been repaired. That must have been when. He remembered it hurting, but that was because he was fragile; it had been a terrible shock to Mother.

But Aurelie’s little hand was very gentle, and he did not think it could hurt. What hurt more was the sense that he was at any moment going to dissolve into tears like a baby.

Her little hand and the way that she leaned forward and spoke softly only made it worse. It wasn’t fair! He was the older one. He did not need to be comforted. Besides, he almost never cried. Or at the very least, he had almost never cried in Bastia, before. Before Brunnhold, before Benoit Bellecourt, before Briarwood Hall and the whole business of marriage.

But he looked up, and Aurelie was smiling, and so he smiled too. A little. It was the least he could do. His breathing, which had started to come fast – oh, any more and he would make himself dizzy – had calmed, and when he blinked, his eyes were sore but not wet.

Desiderio meant to reassure her. Awkwardly, he placed his hand atop hers. He hated holding hands with other children, because their hands were always so very clammy and his hand always came away smelling rather strangely.

Hers was all right. He patted it even more awkwardly, then cleared his throat and shifted. “You shall see it someday, then,” he pronounced matter-of-factly, never mind that he knew it was a lie. When she grew up, she would not want to see Caroult; least of all, when she understood why the Morandi house was full of birds and holes. Besides, it was cold, and he Aurelie did not sound much as if she liked the prospect. “And you shall see the drawings. Much sooner. I shall show you them when you take me back to my room. All right?”

But it was nice to think about, just now, and it had been very sweet, what she had done. She was very sweet, he had to admit. It was a good quality in a wife, he supposed. Not that he knew anything about it. Not that anybody would tell him anything about it, really.

She had never been to a mountain, though! How very difficult for Desiderio to imagine. It was so difficult that it might have been impossible, that she had never seen such things as he missed so dearly. Well, he had never seen a place like this before, either.

“I should like to see the fish, too, another day. I should like to see how pretty they are.” He cleared his throat again, because it seemed to him even higher than usual.

She had said they were very pretty, and she had been very quiet about it, which he did not understand. The fact that she thought they were pretty rather made him want to see them more; he supposed little girls were supposed to know a great deal about which things were pretty and which weren’t.

Mother had said there had been fish in some of the ponds in Father’s house, once, too. Not even too long ago. They were empty, now; some, especially the one in the chapel to Hurte, was covered in green and smelled strangely. He did not think Mother would have wanted him around it, but it had been his secret, back in Caroult. It had been his place, the old chapel.

Somehow, the thought of going to sail boats and see pretty fish with Aurelie made him miss it less. He still missed it horribly, and he hated Anaxas. But perhaps he could have a secret and a place here, too. Perhaps they could, he amended. Together. It was a very unfamiliar thought, sharing a secret and a place with somebody else.

“But first,” he said, shifting a little to resettle the sketchbook in his lap, “would you tell me what happened to the tin soldier and the paper dancer?”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 22, 2706 - Afternoon
Briarwood Hall, Vienda

Mother was right! Smiling did seem to help, after all. Of course Mother was right—she usually was. Aurelie already knew this. But it was nice to know that this worked with Desiderio, too, and that she could do it. She had worried that it was only Mother and Ana who could. That was true of so many other things, after all. His smile was small, but all his smiles had been small. That was all right—Aurelie didn't think that was so important, really.

As long as it was really real. And it must have been, because he put his hand on top of hers for just a little bit, too. That made Aurelie's smile really real, too. The whole thing was a little funny; she'd never held hands with a boy before today, and she didn't think she was supposed to. Except they were going to be married, and Father and Mother held hands, which meant that it was all right. Didn't it?

That was all just terribly confusing. Nobody was here to tell her, either, so she decided to worry about it later. Maybe she would ask Ana. Or... maybe not. That was confusing, too. "Oh, yes!" Yes, it was definitely all right. More than all right! Aurelie liked looking at his drawings, and she did want to know what Caroult looked like. She would be sad to stop playing together, but that would be nice at least.

"R-really? Uhm, good!" Tomorrow, maybe? Aurelie wondered if he had other things to do. The grown-ups always did, but Aurelie didn't even have lessons really because it was the summer. She opened her mouth to ask, but then shut it again. She didn't want to be too much of a bother. "Another day" would have to be good enough. It was good enough! They had all summer, anyway.

Desiderio shifted, and Aurelie sat up again too. Now that everything seemed to be—well enough, again. She had forgotten she was telling the story entirely, too excited about fish and boats and then worried about making Desiderio cry. She did want to tell him the rest, though.

"R-Right! Yes. Er, where was I..." She drifted off, biting her lip while she tried to remember. Oh, that was right! He had just fallen out of the window, and gotten picked up by the boys who made a boat for him. "Uhm! So, t-the soldier doesn't cry. B-but it's all very scary, a-and he's thinking about the paper dancer. Because, uhm, he w-wishes she was there, I think."

He missed her, Aurelie knew, and was lonely. Aurelie wasn't sure what she would have done, the pretty paper lady—she was made of paper, so she might not have cried either. But suppose she had fluttered somewhere else, and they were apart anyway? And then, in the next part, she would have been hurt! Better that they were apart, because even though it was lonely, it was safer that way.

"S-so! He's in the boat, and the boys put him i-in some water on the street. It must have rained." That wasn't in the story, but it must have done for there to be water in the street. "And the water is so fast that—woosh! He falls down the drain before the boys can catch him! And it's dark, and there are a bunch of mean rats who don't seem to like him very much. Asking him f-for his papers. But he hasn't got any, of course."

This part really was very scary; she thought this might have made her cry, even if falling out the window didn't. Down into the drain, and the dark, when you didn't even know where you were! She looked away from Desiderio's sketchbook to his face, to check if he was listening.

[Desiderio Morandi]

briarwood hall, vienda

afternoon on the 22nd of roalis, 2706

It gave him flutters in his stomach to think of the summer ahead, flutters he could not seem to account for. It was as if all the lovely glossy dragonflies on the lamp had peeled themselves off and flown right into his stomach, and were now trapped there.

Those flutters must be very dangerous, Desiderio reflected. He found himself wanting very badly that she should show him the pond tomorrow, and that seemed just as dangerous. He felt increasingly sure this was why he was not allowed to play.

And of the dragonflies – he was bent very low over his page now, trying very hard to make sure that the wings looked as glossy in charcoal as they did on the side of the lamp. Textures were the hardest to draw.

Meanwhile, Aurelie was talking again in her bright little voice, and Desiderio could not have said that he minded. It made it easier to keep the sketchbook page where she could see it; it made it easier to let her watch, and he knew by the gooseflesh creeping all up his arm, even in the stuffy-hot study, that she was watching. Quite closely.

“That is sad,” he murmured, smudging a little with his fingertip.

He did not know much of missing people. He thought perhaps the soldier missed the paper dancer as he missed Caroult. Or as Mother missed Father. That made sense; that made a great deal more sense. Mother had never danced the confisalto, but she was very tall and very graceful, and he could picture it very well. And Father – Father had never been a soldier, not like Grand Uncle Anastasio, but Mother often talked of him as if he had been made of tin. He had had two legs, of course.

But she spoke of missing him, spoke a great deal of missing him. Mother had always missed Father in a way Desiderio almost envied; she had loved him more than Desiderio had ever loved anyone, save perhaps Mother.

Rats! Desiderio shivered, thinking of how awful it must be to be washed down a drain. He had gone on walks a few times with his nurses in Caroult. He often thought about falling down into the drains and breaking his bones. They seemed so large, especially when you were very small.

Aurelie had paused, and when he looked over, she was looking at his face with big green eyes. He blinked, looking levelly into hers.

“He must have felt very alone,” Desiderio said, frowning, “even if he was a strong soldier.” He did not know what rats would want with papers – the thought of rats having a seventh kingdom underneath the streets, and of there being rat guards and rat officials, made him want to shiver even more – but he did not say that, because he did not want to upset Aurelie.

This was a very grim story for a little girl. Desiderio was not sure she should be telling it. But though she had very wide eyes, and though she was stuttering, she seemed quite intent. It was not that he was afraid, of course, even though his eyes were very wide, and he felt more and more gooseflesh. It was only that he was worried for her, his future wife. “What did he do? A rat is much larger than a tin soldier.”

The still life was nearly done, and he left off for a moment, sketching out a circle in the space at the corner of the page, and a line, and marks where eyes might be. Then triangles, for ears. Mr. Alessandri said not to draw anything if it was not in front of you, but Desiderio was very good at picturing things, and he had seen rats before, so he did not think it would hurt. It was not, of course, that he wanted to impress Aurelie; it was merely that an artist let Hurte take him where She might.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 22, 2706 - Afternoon
Briarwood Hall, Vienda

Being lonely and missing someone like the soldier must have missed his paper lady was sad. Aurelie certainly missed Ana while she was at school, and of course Mother and Father when they were away, which was often. Although she had Nurse with her, so she wasn't alone like the soldier was. So she wasn't sad, except sometimes.

Having someone to play with all summer was very exciting though. Even if he hadn't want to play with her boat, she was having quite a lot of fun watching him draw. It was like magic, almost, except Desiderio didn't have to say anything at all to make it happen and there was no change in the funny tickle of his eddle next to her.

(Aurelie was, maybe, a little jealous after all, even if it hurt. She wanted to grow up, and go to school, and do magic, too! Maybe she would even be good at it. Ana was very good at it, and so was Mother. She had only just turned seven this year, ten seemed very far away.)

Desiderio was still drawing, but he shivered when she talked about the rats. Aurelie didn't much like the rats in the pictures of the book, although once she had found some mice in the gardens outside and she had thought they were very cute. Rats were different, though. And these rats were very mean. She thought that meant he was listening after all, and not terribly bored, but she couldn't be sure. Maybe he was cold—caught a... a sudden chill. Aurelie didn't know quite what that meant, really, but it was said of people who were sick an awful lot, so she didn't rule it out.

Aurelie nodded, and her face couldn't decide if it should smile or not. She was happy he was listening to the story, but it wasn't a very nice part. No, she thought; smiling wasn't right here.

"Oh, yes, he did! Even though he was being very brave, uhm, a-and everything." Aurelie didn't think she would be so brave, alone in the dark, with all those rats yelling at her. In a boat made of paper, no less! "But he thought about the paper dancer, and that was a little better." That might work, if she were very lonely and frightened. She could think about her family, or about Nurse. That would be sad, but also better maybe.

Desiderio looked worried about the soldier. That was only fair; this was a scary part. "Well, uhm, the water is moving too fast, you see. So the rats can't catch him—he just sails on and on, right past them. And then his boat falls apart! And he gets—what are you drawing now?"

That wasn't part of the still life at all! It looked like an animal, maybe. She liked animals. Mother didn't like animals, so they didn't have any pets, but she had always wanted one. Maybe it was a dog; she liked dogs best. He had said before that he should only draw what was in front of him—and he lamp looked very good, almost really real. But she liked animals much more than lamps, so she hoped he would continue. Surely artists could draw all kinds of things they weren't seeing, too. Or else how would there be pictures in any of her books?

[Desiderio Morandi]

briarwood hall, vienda

afternoon on the 22nd of roalis, 2706

Someone I – knew in Caroult,” he began slowly, hesitantly, with a very deep frown, “said that in order to be brave, one must be frightened.” He glanced over at Aurelie; he felt very foolish, after he had said it. He felt sure he shouldn’t have said it at all.

The last of his nurses in Caroult had been a very young woman named Miss Bianchi, whom Mother had not liked, for some reason Desiderio could not remember. He had liked her very much, though she had had a very strong accent; Mother had caught him once using a word she had liked to use, which hadn’t – as far as he had known – been a bad word or blasphemous, but which had driven her nearly to turning Miss Bianchi out.

It was Miss Bianchi who had said that, though of course he would not say so; only babies had nurses, and he was grown now, grown enough to do things like cast and go to university. He had hesitated saying anything at all, in fact, and now was halfway to regretting it. It seemed like a terribly babyish sentiment, even to share with a stuttering little girl like her. Especially to share with his future wife, whatever that should mean.

But he paused, the tip of his charcoal hovering over the page. “The – the more frightened you are, the more… brave you are. So if you are very, very frightened, you must be very brave indeed to carry on.” He blinked, scarcely daring to look at her. He stared fixedly down at the page, his cheeks beginning to redden. “The paper dancer must make him very brave.”

He had not felt very brave, bawling his eyes out like a child underneath Father’s portrait. And he was not so sure how true that was, after all, because Mother seemed very brave, and she never seemed frightened; though perhaps this was because she had Father to think of, after all. Desiderio was not sure of whom he would think. Mother rather frightened him herself.

Desiderio’s brows knit a little more. That did not make much sense to him. Why were the rats there at all, if the boat could merely rush past them? All the same, it seemed rather dreadful to be carried helplessly by such a strong current.

He was applying the beginnings of whiskers to the rat’s cheeks, though the head had only barely begun to take shape.

When she broke off, he nearly smiled – nearly – but only kept on frowning. “Hmm? Oh,” he said, as if he had not considered that she might notice or ask. His cheeks must have been scarlet, for they were very hot even to him. He felt if he had reached to touch them, they would have burned his fingertips. He found he could not look over at her. “A rat,” he pronounced, lifting his chin slightly. “A very mean one, I hope.”

Belatedly, he found himself worried. Some of the other boys at Brunnhold delighted in startling or disgusting girls; they delighted in startling or disgusting him, too. (He still remembered the spider Benoit had snuck into his lunch.) But she had almost been smiling, when she had told him about that part in the story, and so he did not think her likely to be too upset by it.

“Not too mean,” he added. “I do not like rats, but they are – these ones were only doing what they were told, after all. Perhaps they thought that the soldier meant them harm.” He swallowed tightly, uncertain. “How did the soldier find his way back? To the dancer,” he added, sneaking the tiniest of glances over.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 22, 2706 - Afternoon
Briarwood Hall, Vienda

Aurelie had thought a lot about being brave, since reading this story. She wasn't very brave herself, or at least she didn't think so. So many things frightened her, after all. Too many people, not enough people. Not the dark, not anymore. Most of the time, at least. Not since getting Henrietta, who helped with being alone, too. Henrietta couldn't do much about spiders, but Nurse had said that they were more frightened of her than she was of them. That had made Aurelie feel sorry that she was so scared of them, so she tried not to be. (But they did have an awful number of legs.)

She hadn't thought that being frightened made you brave. She paused, thinking about it. The soldier in the story was frightened, too, of the rats and falling out the window and all the rest. But he carried on, anyway. So maybe that was true. "Maybe," she said thoughtfully, but not really sure. It sounded true. She thought a little more, then nodded. "Yes, I think so."

And if it was easy, then it didn't matter if the soldier was brave at all! So it had to be difficult, to be admirable. That satisfied her, and she continued on with the story.

Desiderio's face was very red when she stopped again to ask about the drawing. She hoped he wasn't feeling sick. He had said it was too warm in here. Or stuffy, at least. But they'd opened the windows, a little. And he hadn't said he was. So maybe it was all right. He seemed all right, sitting next to her while he drew; she didn't really know what kind of sick he was. Still. She would be very careful, and watchful.

"A rat! I've never seen a real rat." Now that it had whiskers, Aurelie thought that of course it was a rat, and she had asked a silly question. Aurelie had never seen a real rat before, which she hoped meant it was okay that she didn't know. And she'd never met a mean one, not like in the story. The mice she had seen had been nice, or as nice as mice could be when they were running away.

"I never thought of it that way, that they were just doing what they were told." Aurelie hummed a little, thinking about that, too. They had asked for his writ, and she supposed—well, that probably was their job, wasn't it? The soldier didn't have any papers, but he didn't explain either. Maybe they didn't get many boats.

"I hope they didn't get in trouble then, after." She began to feel a little sorry for the rats, then, who were only doing what they had to—what they were supposed to, to keep everyone safe. To follow the rules. Maybe they would have helped, if they had known.

Desiderio looked over at her just a little. She felt shy again, suddenly, and looked down. "Well, uhm! First, his boat sinks. And... And he might have sank, too, because of how he's made of tin. But a fish swallowed him up!" Why the fish wanted to eat a tin soldier, Aurelie didn't know. Fish weren't very smart, she supposed, even if they were awfully pretty sometimes. The ones in the pond couldn't have eaten a soldier, anyway. They weren't big enough.

"B-but! Uhm, the fish gets caught! And someone was going to eat the fish, too. The soldier was still all right, even though he was eaten by a fish. Because he's made of tin," she added, although she wasn't quite sure that was true. "A-and wouldn't you know! It's the house he came from! S-so the cook finds him and washes him and puts him back in the nursery."

"All of the other toys are very happy to see him, of course. Except the jack-in-the-box, who pushed him out of the window. Especially the dancer." She liked this part the best, when after all of that they're together again. It had all been very scary and lonely, but he got back home! It would have been quite a good story if it ended there, to her.

But it didn't, of course. "A-and then, uhm, just when everything is nice..." Aurelie trailed off, not sure if she should keep going. It was, she realized only now, sort of a sad story. Even if it was terribly romantic—she didn't know if he wanted to hear the end. Maybe boys didn't like romantic endings.

[Desiderio Morandi]

briarwood hall, vienda

afternoon on the 22nd of roalis, 2706

He felt very, very silly – very embarrassed – very all of those things that he always felt around girls, and really anyone his age. It was much easier to keep his eyes fixed on the page and his shoulders hunched; it was always easier, that way. At least, until she spoke again: Maybe, in her small, soft voice. His flush deepened. Then, Yes, I think so.

Another little smile tickled at his lips, one he could not seem to help.

He flushed even more deeply when she spoke again; he had hardly meant – but she seemed to be thinking about it, actually thinking about it, and he supposed…

Well, he had meant it. And she didn’t seem to think that this, either, was a stupid thing for him to have said. In fact, she seemed to be considering it; she seemed rather to be thinking about it as if it meant a great deal. He looked back at his half-drawn rat’s head – at the bottom edge of the jaw, at the rough-sketched beginnings of a few fearsome fangs – and smiled a little more to himself.

“I hope not, either,” he said, very seriously. “Perhaps their masters were understanding?”

They were rats, of course. They couldn’t get in trouble. And perhaps they deserved to get in trouble, anyway – the Caramiada were very frightening for a reason. They weren’t supposed simply to let people go whenever they pleased; they had a reputation to uphold.

But it did not seem very nice, to think of the rats being punished for something so wholly out of their control. And it was very kind of Aurelie to be concerned. It made him feel as if it were not, perhaps, so bad to be concerned about such things himself. As if it were not so silly, after all.

He supposed it was only natural, too, that she hadn’t seen any rats. That, he did not speak to. He had seen them in the chapel, and in the old cellar, but Mother didn’t know about that.

“A fish?” He finished the rat’s nose, smudging it a little to look like it gleamed; then, brow furrowing, he looked at Aurelie. Almost without thinking, he looked – the heat had gone from his cheeks, and there was only interest in his face. “The poor fish; I cannot imagine a tin soldier is pleasant to eat,” he murmured, brow furrowing even more deeply, then glanced back up at Aurelie’s small face. “But I am very glad he was saved.”

They were reunited, then, after all! He smiled to himself more, satisfied, and began putting finishing touches on the still life with the lamp. He had almost forgotten the heat; he thought perhaps he should remember – he was, after all, very ill, and had nearly been on the point of fainting – but perhaps remembering could wait a little longer. He did not want to disappoint Aurelie, after all, who was so excited to tell him her story and to watch him draw, and he thought it would surely dampen things if he were to be ill again.

He was still smiling, somehow, when he spoke again. “The cook should have been rewarded,” he pronounced. “If I were master of the house…”

Whose were these toys, in any case? He hadn’t thought about it, until she mentioned a nursery. He tried to imagine being the master of a house with a cook and all, and having children. Of course, he knew how children happened – or something like it; he certainly didn’t want to think about that now – and he didn’t want any, but it seemed to him as if they might simply appear someday, and a nursery and nurses with them. And toys, and cooks, and maids…

Baffled, he set it aside, thinking only now of the paper dancer and the soldier, and how nice it was that they had been reunited. He supposed a little girl's story ought to end that way, though he was not sure now that it did.

Aurelie had trailed off, hesitant. “And then?” he asked. If she thought he couldn’t handle another scary part, she was very mistaken. He had rather forgotten his earlier worries about his fragile constitution; he simply had to know how the story ended.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 22, 2706 - Afternoon
Briarwood Hall, Vienda

Desiderio had started to give the rat in his sketch really very scary teeth. She couldn't remember if the ones in the picture in her book had teeth like that. She would check, when she went back to the nursery. Of course, she couldn't check what a real one looked like—she certainly wasn't allowed to play anywhere that a rat even might be.

The governess had been very upset about the mice, when Aurelie told her about them. Even though they were outside in the garden, which she thought was a fine place for mice to be. The governess had called them "vermin", and told her it meant they were mean and carried diseases and Aurelie should stay far away from them. Then she had said some very mean things about Nurse that had made Aurelie shout at her, and she'd gone to bed without supper.

Aurelie did not, as a rule, like this governess.

"No," Aurelie said with surprise, "I don't think fish are s-supposed to... to eat tin soldiers." The fish was eaten itself soon enough after; she had never really thought about it. She hadn't thought about the rats just doing their jobs before, either. Desiderio thought about lots of things she hadn't; it was fun. Then she got to think about them, too, and she wouldn't have otherwise.

Things like rewarding the cook, too, for getting the soldier back. It hadn't been on purpose, so Aurelie wasn't sure about the reward. But it was very lucky, and it was nice to be nice to people when they'd done something good—even if it wasn't on purpose. Rewards and so on were the sorts of things you had to think about, when you had a house.

Of course, Mother always said that you shouldn't be too nice to staff. Aurelie wasn't quite sure why; it seemed to her that being nice to people was just, well, nice. But Mother would know better than her. Not just because she was Mother, and Mothers did tend to know better, but because she had to know these sorts of things to run this house.

One day, she'd know them too. Or she ought to. Aurelie didn't really understand, but Mother and Father said that one day she would be Mistress of Briarwood Hall, just like mother, because Ana would never have any heirs. Why that would be true, she wasn't sure either. But Mother and Father had said so, and so it was.

That was the future, after her and Desiderio were married. She hoped—Aurelie thought about it sometimes, and she hoped that she would do a good job, like Mother. She wasn't sure. It was an awfully big house. At least she might have help, since Desiderio would be there and they were friends now.

Friends didn't leave stories unfinished. Aurelie wasn't really sure that was true, but she would have hated it if someone didn't finish a story for her because they thought she wouldn't like the way it ended. She wasn't a baby, after all! And that was how the story went, so of course she wanted to know. Desiderio was older than her, so it ought to be fine, even if he didn't like it.

"A-and then..." He did look like he wanted to hear it, too, not like he was just letting her tell the story because she wanted to, like all the grown-ups did. Even Ana now that she was mostly a grown-up herself. "They're together again, and, uhm, the soldier is really happy. So is the dancer, and they were going to get married and everything. But then, one of the children picks him up and throws him in the fire!"

Aurelie frowned; she never understood this part. Why would you throw your toys in the fire? When you broke your toys, you got in trouble. Nurse would have spanked her and sent her to bed without any dinner if she did that! Not to mention it just wasn't very nice to your toys to break them on purpose. "It was the Jack-in-the-Box's fault," she declared after a moment of grave consideration. Yes. That made the most sense.

"The poor soldier can still see the dancer, and he—he still doesn't cry or anything, even though... He is very sad, and it must be awful to..." Aurelie trailed off, picturing it. She shuddered before continuing on. "And then! The dancer is picked up by a little gust of air and flies into the fire, too! B-Because they'd only just finally gotten to be together, and... I suppose she didn't want to be alone, because they were in love."

"The next morning, uhm, the maid comes to clean out the ashes and finds the soldier. Only he's melted into the shape of a heart, and the dancer's spangle is there, too. So they were together in the end, at least, after all of that. Aurelie had been looking more at the drawing, which was looking more and more like the lamp and everything and really was very good, than she had been at Desiderio's face. Now she did look back to his face, which wasn't so red anymore, to see what he thought.

"U-uhm. The end."

[Desiderio Morandi]

briarwood hall, vienda

afternoon on the 22nd of roalis, 2706

And then? And then, he wanted to demand, strangely invested. It was only a stupid children’s story; he could not fathom why.

“No,” he murmured. “Oh.” His mouth was still a small ‘o’; he shut it, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. His brow furrowed, he glanced back at Aurelie.

Desiderio could not see how or why it could be the jack in the box’s fault. Really, he did not see how the jack in the box had done much of anything. Miss Bianchi had told him once that it was all right to have mean, nasty feelings, so long as you did not act on them; Miss Bianchi had told him goodness was not measured by how one felt, but by what one did, which is why he was better than all the other boys at school – he hated them, but he never hit them back.

He especially did not see why, because it made perfect sense to him that one of the children had done it all. He was about to open up his mouth and say so, but the story must not have ended there.

Aurelie went on, and he wondered if the soldier would be rescued, as he had been rescued from everything else. But it only got worse! Desiderio shivered, trying to imagine what it was like to melt alive. It made this room seem suddenly a great deal cooler and more pleasant. All the same, the thought of it sickened him; he could feel his stomach churning. But he wanted very badly to hear the end, so he wasn’t that ill, he thought.

He had turned halfway in his seat, his sketchbook open but nearly forgotten on his lap. The lamp was nearly done anyway, and the rat too. “Oh,” he repeated, setting the charcoal down and looking askance. “It is a very good story,” he added to her expectant look, insistent and firm, though he still could not know what to make of it.

He thought of what Mother had said sometimes, a very long time ago, when she had had to go away for a little while after Father had died. About wanting to be with him. He had been very little then; he had not understood what he understood now.

He thought perhaps that he would have wanted to go into the fire, too, like the confisalto dancer. After all, he supposed that if you felt something that special, and it was taken away from you – what would be the point of anything, without it? (Uncle Vicente had said almost the same thing about wine when Mother had told him to drink less of it, but Desiderio thought that was a different sort of special feeling.)

“Being in love sounds very scary,” he mused, frowning a little more deeply. “All stories about love are scary, even when they do have happy endings. I like them, but they are all very scary.” He thought about the prince and the white cat, which was much more confusing even than this. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and looked up at her. “Do you think it would be scary? To be in love.”

All that was not the same, he hoped, as being married and running a household. He was not sure why he had even asked. He only knew that there was a fear that had crept up on him, like a lump that had sat in his stomach ever since he had come to Briarwood Hall for the summer, and it was about all sorts of things he didn’t know and didn’t want to know, and it involved Aurelie Steerpike. And if they were friends, maybe – maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she wasn’t like the boys and girls at Brunnhold; maybe she wouldn’t be.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Roalis 22, 2706 - Afternoon
Briarwood Hall, Vienda

Desiderio liking the story didn't really matter, she supposed. They could still be friends—at least she thought they could—if he didn't like it. All the same, Aurelie was relieved. It was a good story, with all the scary parts and everything. She smiled a little smile, a flutter of happiness in her heart. Even though Desiderio wasn't smiling at all, but—he said it was good. Aurelie didn't think he was a liar. She couldn't imagine why he would lie to her, anyway.

She was about to tell him about the book, where the story had come from. All the pictures in it, and the special leather cover. He could see it, if he wanted! He might like the pictures. Aurelie did. And there were other stories, too! A lot of sad ones, but some that weren't. The sad ones were the best ones, though. She didn't know why that was, that she remembered all the sad or scary ones the best.

Desiderio frowned a little more, and she listened as he went on. Now she was frowning, too. Thinking about it. Were they all scary? They had scary parts in them, surely, but that was what made the stories good. Wasn't it? Or maybe that wasn't what he meant, and she just didn't understand.

She wanted to understand. Especially because he looked right at her and asked her what she thought about it. Aurelie thought even more, chewing her lip, red brows drawn together. Thought and thought and thought. She'd never been in love, of course. That was for grown-ups. And she wasn't sure she would be.

Being in love and being married were different, after all. Aurelie thought so, anyway. Mother and Father weren't in love, after all. She'd heard them talking about it, Ana and Mother, last summer. When Ana's mean friend had come to visit, and Mother hadn't like her either. They didn't know Aurelie was standing outside, because they hadn't looked over. Aurelie knew it wasn't nice to listen to conversations when nobody knew you could hear them, but she didn't know how to do anything else.

"I don't know," she said at last, slowly. She would have to think about it some more. Ana teased her sometimes, about how much she thought about things. Aurelie just liked to be sure, that was all. "I-it does seem that way..."

It did seem to hurt at least. Or you had to be hurt, first. Like the soldier, or the mermaid princess, or... Maybe Desiderio was right, and they were all scary.

"It must be all right though, even if it is." Aurelie twisted a strand of her hair around her finger. "'Cause there's all those stories about it. And they're nice in the end. Don't you think?"