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Curtis came to call several times, but I never allowed him in. Comfort would come back to my room, say that Curtis was here to see me, and ask if I wanted to see him. Every time, she would hand me the flowers, or notes, or whatever he had brought to try and make me feel better.

But I preferred to stay alone, in my darkened room, avoiding all contact with the outside world. I never read Curtis’ letters, just let them pile up on the bedside table where Comfort dropped them.

I know Mother would have tried to cheer me up if she could, but she stayed in bed for days at a time, crying uncontrollably, grieving over the loss of Father. She barely ate, rarely slept, and looked like she had aged a decade in just a few weeks. Shadows were constantly under her eyes, and her eyes looked deadened. She grew pale and bony. She had always been thin, but now became skeletal, her face sunken and hollow.

Comfort was the only functioning member of our family now. As Mother and I withdrew from the world, Comfort was the one bringing us meals, reading us fantasy novels aloud to try and take our minds off our suffering. She was the one taking on the whole burden of nursing a damaged sister and grief-stricken mother back to health. The task seemed to harden her. I never saw Comfort cry. She seemed determined to be strong enough for all of us. Day in and day out, she would chatter away about the weather outside (I always kept the shades tightly drawn), or what the cook had said about his granddaughter, or about how the rumor was that Hubert had given a speech so lengthy and dull that the king himself fell asleep.

It seemed impossible to me that life was still moving on for people outside of our chambers. That there were still people who woke up and went about their day, not knowing or caring that Father was gone. For Mother and myself, nothing mattered anymore.

CHAPTER 17

Two months after Father’s funeral, Comfort called a family meeting. Mother and I both refused initially, but this new, hardened, determined Comfort wouldn’t take no for an answer, and we dragged ourselves to sit on the dusty furniture in the living area.

“We are leaving,” Comfort announced. Mother and I stared blankly.

“We are leaving,” Comfort repeated firmly. “Tomorrow. We will be moving to the manor you grew up in, Mother, and we are going to start a new life there. I already made the arrangements.”

Mother and I continued to stare, lost for words.

“We can’t live like this anymore,” Comfort continued, unaware it seemed, that she was proposing leaving behind everything I ever knew. “Yes, Father died, and yes, Truly, you were burned. But you both need purpose and to snap out of this depression. Father wouldn’t want this for either of you.”

Did she think it was that easy? That we could just decide to stop the all-encompassing dark thoughts that forced themselves into our minds? I looked at Mother, who sat, numb to the world. Did she even hear what Comfort was suggesting? I felt a lump rising in my throat and a burning heat building behind my eyes. I simultaneously wanted to weep and felt too exhausted. I felt…defeated. Life had defeated me. Sucked away who I was as a person and left me residing in an empty shell instead.

“So pack up what you want, or I will have someone else do it tomorrow and send it along after us.” Comfort said in a business-like way before she stalked back to her room.

Mother and I remained in our seats. We didn’t even exchange glances. After a long time, I rose and silently left the room, still not having said a word to Mother.

It felt surreal, sitting in the carriage as we headed further and further away from the castle. It just felt like another trip to Avivia, except that I was sitting with Comfort and Mother, instead of Father and Curtis.

Curtis.

I didn’t say goodbye to him, even though Comfort said he tried to call on me multiple times. It was better this way. I didn’t want his last memory of me to be my hideous face. Let him remember me as pretty. He could go on and find someone new. Someone whole, undamaged. He deserved someone like that. He deserved someone who could love him back. I couldn’t even love myself.

I vowed to forget my life before my injury. Forget my success as a linguist. Forget Curtis and our time together. Forget everything. Each memory brought me fresh pain. I could never go back to the way things were.

The stately manor that was to be our new home crept into view. Our family used to vacation here in the summer months of happier years past. It was almost as though I could see a younger version of myself, running across the fields dotted with wildflowers, weaving crowns of grasses and flower blooms with Comfort.

During those summers, Mother had showed us all the different plants and animals, and Father would take the family on walks through the forested glades. We would explore the woods, swim in the pond, and spend hours just watching the clouds drift by. It was a peaceful place. Comfort had chosen well for a home where we could recover from the trauma of the last few months.

Upon arrival, Comfort took charge, directing servants to carry our belongings into the house, rearrange furniture, and wipe away the layer of dust that had settled since our last visit. Mother’s parents had long since passed away, and she had a sister as well, but they rarely saw each other. My Aunt Jaelyn was married and lived on the other side of Islandria with her family. I wondered if she even knew of Father’s death. I hadn’t seen Mother so much as pick up a quill since Father’s death, but then again, I rarely left my room, so I probably didn’t know anything of what she did.

Mother surprised me by exiting the carriage after Comfort. I had become so accustomed to her sitting and pining for Father that I expected her to stay put until Comfort gave her exact instructions.

I stayed away from the carriage window, twirling a curl on the left side of my wig. Since my face on the left side was now scarred, I had taken to the habit of finding any excuse to hold my hand over my face, twirling hair, pretending to massage my forehead as if I had a headache. The wig was a necessity since almost all my own hair had been burned away. The wig selected was close enough to my normal hair tone, but set in elaborate curls that were very different from my own original straight hair.

Comfort had tried multiple times to convince me to shave off the small remainder of my own locks on the right side, to even it out, but I always refused. It seemed like a betrayal to cut off what little of myself I had left, so I would wind up the small portion of my hair and tuck it neatly under my wig. My real hair was slowly growing back, but it still looked like baby fuzz, not even two inches long.

But even with the wig and holding my hand in front of my face, I still felt the need for more protection. I had several hats, again thanks to Comfort, with thin veils trailing from the middle of the hat that would drape gracefully over my left shoulder, covering the vast majority of my scarring. It was difficult to see much of my face at all, but I liked it better that way.

I still couldn’t bear to apply cosmetics because doing so would necessitate looking into a mirror, and that was a trial I still wasn’t ready for.

I leaned back in my seat, tilting my head so I would be able to peek out of the heavily curtained windows, but still remain unseen. I saw Comfort, conducting two men inside with a heavy bureau. Mother was a little distance beyond them, seeming to breathe in the fresh air and look around. If nothing else, she looked more relaxed now than I had seen her since Father’s death.

It was hours before the servants had finished unloading and left. It was only then that I left the stifling heat of the carriage to hurry up the manor steps and closet myself into the bedroom that held my four-poster bed and bureau, sure to not be seen by anyone. There I breathed a sigh of relief, alone. I saw that Comfort had placed Curtis’ letters, all still unopened, into one of my side table’s deep drawers. I would read them later. When I was ready. But for now, all I sought was solitude. To be alone. To forget.

CHAPTER 18

The next few months were a blur. To my disbelief, the physician was correct—my scars were actually fading. They slowly changed from glaringly red to a more neutral color, but I still felt hideous. I stayed in my room and rarely came out. Before, when we still lived at the castle, Comfort had coddled me, bringing me meals into my room, and never asked me to do anything. She had just allowed me to sit and mope. I had been glad of that. Back then, getting out of bed required more effort than I usually had.