Page 2 of Saved By the Headless Horseman
There had only been one time when her mask had slipped.The night she found me in the bath, surrounded by crimson water, a jagged piece of glass clutched tightly in my hand.For a moment, she had been a concerned mother, but that worry had faded faster than the scars on my wrists.
After that night, my parents started being more careful.This was not some heartache I would recover from.I longed for a more permanent solution and therefore needed to be overseen.
This marriage had already cost them enough.If I did not make it down the aisle, it would all be for not.
My mother lifts the stack of papers.The weeping one rests at the top.She lifts it towards the fading light from the window as her lips twist—a sound of disapproval seeps from her open mouth.Thumbing through the others quickly, I stare blankly ahead.I must look like all the other ghosts that haunt this manor home.
If my soul is damned to fester behind these walls, I can only pray that he will join me here.I will not hold my breath; it seems none of my prayers are to be answered.
“Almost perfect,” my mother sighs.
I say nothing, merely watch thick raindrops race along the window pane.From the corner of my eye, I watch my mother’s lips flatten—her whole body jerks with the force of her sigh.
“Nothing can be done now.Accept it.”
That breaks me from my despair momentarily.My eyes lift and meet her matching blue gaze.Whatever she beholds in my eyes causes fear to overtake her countenance.It is not enough to bring a smile to my lips, but satisfaction does slither along my spine.
Countess Christian doesn’t recognize the creature she helped create.That is why she doesn’t care what becomes of Scarlett, the perfect daughter she once had.The one she doted on as a child, the one she helped rear into the perfect lady—her only child.That girl is already dead.She died in theWhispering Woodsalongside him.
The earl’s dagger had ended two lives that night.
“Come.”
Mother’s words are as sharp as a whip as she looks away.I make no move to get up.I don’t have to.The cold hands of my mother’s ladies-in-waiting snatch me from the high-backed wooden chair.The legs scrape harshly along the stone floor.
I don’t fight them anymore; it would do me little good.I let them drag me from the study.My slipper-clad feet slide along the floors.The bodice of my dress hangs limply from my shoulders.All my clothes are too big for my new body.
Portraits of the Crest family decorate the stone walls.They are the only witnesses to my harsh handling.I wonder what they think of us—of what has become of their noble bloodline.My father is from a long line of earls who have lorded over Broken Cliff.Our family had been some of the first settlers to make landfall here after navigating the rough shores.
There are hundreds of years of our history stored away in this manor.Tales of adventurous men and judicious rulers that made Broken Cliff prosper.Now there was only my father, and all of this would end with him—the last in a long line of men who had been able to father dozens of sons.My grandfather had only managed two, and one died in infancy.
My father had not even been lucky enough for any of my would-be brothers to take their first breath.Perhaps a curse was laid on our family years ago.Our fates had already been chosen, and we would find our end at the hands of greed.All of my father’s ambitions have led to our end.How much blood needed to be spilled to save this crumbling manor home, only to have no one to inherit it upon his death?
Perhaps my father believes I will bear Earl Bram's sons and one of them will become his heir.I will have no children, least of all the earl’s, not after what he has done.It would be justified to wrap my arms around him and leap from the cliff, dragging him down with me onto the rocky shore.
It would be fair for him to know only pain in his final moments.
The doors to my bedroom are pulled open.A great groan echoes down the hall as I’m quickly hauled inside.The room is empty save for a small mattress on the floor and a sheet barely large enough to cover me at night.They don’t trust me with much else.The bars on my windows are a testament to that.
In the center of the room is an older woman, her red hair graying at the temples.Pins pierce through her apron, and a soft measuring tape hangs around her neck.The town seamstress says nothing, blanketing her expression with only the slightest widening of her eyes, the only hint that my form is a distressing sight.A white gang hangs from her arms, and my stomach rolls.
The doors to the room slam shut.Metallic clanking from the other side echoes as the guards take their place outside the door.
My mother snaps her fingers, and without preamble, her servants undress me.It takes barely a tug for the loose dress to flutter to the ground.My corset and shift follow until I am bare before all those gathered.There would’ve been a time when I would’ve covered myself in the name of modesty.I feel nothing as they look at me.
The gaunt state of my body is a physical reminder of all they have taken from me.Part of me aches at the notion that the body he once loved so fiercely is no more.All that remains is dry skin and protruding bones.My body is a coffin, housing the heart that died loving him.
“Dress her,” my mother commands.
Her words wake the seamstress from her shock-induced stupor.Quickly, she gets to work sliding the white monstrosity over my slight frame.White gauze caresses my skin, making my stomach roll.Nausea creeps up my throat, coating my tongue in bile.The lacing at the back is done up, but the gown still gapes at my hips and chest.
This dress will become my death shroud.It hangs limply from my shoulders.The seamstress steps back, looking nervous—my mother’s stony face twists with displeasure.
“We’ll need to take it in again.She’s thinner than before.”
The seamstress’s voice is barely above a whisper.My mother gives a sharp nod.
“Whatever is needed to make it fit.Double corset her if need be.The Duke cannot know the state we are delivering her in.”
