Bewitched

by Kaila Patterson

  ‘What is the fascination with roses?’.

  There was a wooden wardrobe holding Lucie’s gowns, and a barred window above the bed.

  The room was simple, but undoubtedly Lucie’s.

  The night before, she had stumbled into the room and almost collapsed onto the bed. She pulled on one of Lucie’s old nightgowns and fell asleep in seconds.

  “Time to get out of bed, or else you never will again.” Eliza pep-talked herself, pushing sore muscles into doing some good. Once again, she stood to her wobbling feet.

  Her limbs struck pain with each move, as she marched toward the wardrobe.

  ‘The Queen’s out on business.’ She thought, remembering the night before. A message had been sent that The Queen was dealing with urgent matters abroad that day and would not need their assistance.

  Eliza knew exactly how she would spend the free time; with the one person she needed to see, even if it were for the last time.

  “Lucie, your pristine taste is not helping me right now.” Eliza moaned, swinging the wardrobe open. All the gowns were in shades of rosemary, lilac, honey, or turquoise.

  At random, she pulled out one dress. It was an elegant blue, patterned in pink. The sleeves were puffed, and the waist fitted.

  Eliza rubbed the silk texture between her fingers, holding it against herself. It made her look like a top-class town woman.

  ‘Perfect.’ Eliza thought.

  Lifting Lucie’s comb, she brushed and clipped her hair into place. The wig sat across from her. Tugging it onto her head, it refused to comply.

  “I hate everything.” Eliza groaned, stretching out the wig with a loud snip. A crack echoed throughout the room, and the wig sat firmly on her head.

  Then, she dabbed the red tint onto her lips, and rubbed the powder onto her face. The metal lids had been flung across the room, as she winced applying the sticky contents.

  Looking back, it was concerning how long she and Lucie had spent nose-to-nose, analysing each other’s features.

  Eliza pushed out her lips and sucked in her cheeks, imitating Lucie with a slight laugh. She pulled the nightgown over her head and stepped into the gown. Raising it up, the front of the dress got stuck at her thighs.

  “Give me strength.” Eliza grunted, sighing to the air.

  The gown made a crack, as she forced it upwards. In a quick tug, it found her waist.

  The dress’ tightness was suffocating. Gritting her teeth, she pinched the satin ribbon, gently pulling the fabric into a tie.

  Eliza grabbed the locket from the table and clicked it around her neck, hiding it inside the dress.

  She slipped on the same pair of heels from before and swung the door open wide. The firelit corridor was ahead of her, empty in the early hours.

  She tip-toed outside, cautious for danger. The brick walls surrounded her, like they watched her every move.

  Moving quietly, she made her way up the stairs to her right. Dust blew into her face, and distant voices spoke overhead.

  The top of the staircase gave her two options, on her far left and right. One led up to the central castle, and the other led out to the village. She decided in a heartbeat.

  No voices surfaced from the town, for the first time in forever. Eliza skipped up a stone staircase, leading to town.

  There were no sounds of children playing games, or adults fussing over food. No people debating over the usual royal dramas; there was nothing but silence. All except for some.

  Two giddy voices came from behind her, as a hearty laugh echoed from a hidden man’s throat.

  “Stop there, darling!” A voice called. Eliza froze, half-turning to see two strange-looking men stumbling towards her. One tall, with a face speckled in pimples and hair drenched in grease. The other small, with a crumb-filled red beard.

  “What’s a lady like yourself doing ‘round here?”.

  The red-haired man’s breath stank strongly of alcohol and bad taste, brewing a sick feeling in her stomach.

  Eliza remained silent, turning, and walking away. Her quick breath blew out vividly with the wind, likened to the winter air. A grimy hand gripped her wrist, and she froze a second time.

  The taller man gave her a grin, lined with rotting teeth. His fellow man laughed along. They nodded to one another, before the dark-haired man tightened his grip on her hand.

  “The lady’s lost her way, huh?” He laughed, leaning toward her. Eliza realised, it was not pimples on his face, but gory scars. “Dear, oh dear.”.

  Eliza shook her head. Fools in their town never once targeted her growing up, they only targeted well-off maidens. Unfortunately, they chose the wrong day, and the wrong lady.

  “Take your hand off me”.

  “Or what?”.

  Eliza stared the man in the eyes, unmoving and direct. He scoffed to the red-haired man, laughing mockingly.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” The man smirked, snaking his hand out toward her.

  “No.”.

  “It wasn’t a request.”.

  Eliza focused her eyes on the man’s own. She pretended not to see his arm, slithering toward her like a snake with its prey.

  She bided her time, waiting on him to make the worst mistake of his life, as she knew he would.

  His hand slithered around her waist, and landed on her mid-back, as he pressed his fingers against her.

  “Do you know that the name, Lucie, means light?” Eliza asked, perfecting the sweetest tone she could master. The grease-haired man stared in confusion.

  “And?”.

  Eliza gave him one, final look in his eyes.

  “If you don’t take your hand off me,” She leant in, taking full advantage. “I can guarantee you’ll be seeing it.”.

  His eyes went wide, as he shifted away. His friend tugged on his free arm, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

  “Trying to scare me, are you?” The man warned, pinching her skin with his hand, still on her back.

  “I’m not trying to scare you,” Eliza murmured, gazing down at his stomach. “But this will.”.

  In a swift kick, Eliza swung her leg into the man’s ribs. Pressing the sharpest part of her knee into his lungs.

  The man’s entire frame rocketed forwards, and his hand left her waist faster than light itself.

  He choked on air and spluttered widely, clutching his ribs. The other man grabbed onto him for support, ducking away from Eliza in horror.

  “Oh, I’m sorry!” Eliza fake-gasped, covering her obvious laugh. “How foolish of me.”.

  The man’s bloodshot eyes stared up at her, and his lip trembled on the edge of tears.

  She reached out a soft hand to him, and he grasped it. To her surprise, that same smirk settled on his face.

  “You’ve got a strong kick, for a lady,” He drawled out. “Did no one ever tell you not to start trouble?”.

  Eliza pretended to giggle. She was most surprised at how his idiocy still trusted her, how he still attempted to test her.

  “Yes, they did.” Eliza paused, “They never said not to punch it.”.

  Eliza swung her fist out, aiming for the man’s nose. A sensation of pain ran through her knuckles, as they collided with his face.

  A small crack echoed, followed by the man’s scream of agony. He grasped his grimy fingernails up to his face, as a fountain of blood ran from his nose.

  “You—” The man cried out, shoving his greased finger toward her. “You witch!”.

  Eliza, by now, was unfazed by this insult and would have remarked on it, but she knew she had to remain incognito, for Lucie.

  ‘You’ve made an excellent job of staying out of trouble.’ Eliza laughed to herself.

  The man lugged out breaths, scampering around like a horse on wheels. His red-haired friend had thrown his arm around the man’s shoulder, carrying him away.

  “Move, Joe!” The man whispered, into the injured man’s ear. Broke-nosed Joe shook his head, trying to stand up, only to fall again.

 
“I’ll get’cha for ‘es, ya’ dimwit!” Broke-nosed Joe slurred out, his speech drawled and mumbled.

  “I am sure you will.” Eliza smirked, leaning down to greet Joe’s face.

  Broke-nosed Joe’s mouth crawled into a dirty snarl, and she heard him whisper about, ‘beating her’, and ‘getting revenge’.

  “Joe, she’ll kill you!” The red-haired man whispered, “The lady’s insane!”.

  ‘He’s right,’ Eliza giggled to herself, ‘Unless Joe wants a broken foot to match.’.

  Broke-nosed Joe had a firm clench on his nose, blood running down past his sleeve and dripping onto the ground. Cursing insults and whining, they both started to hop away.

  The two men scrambled to their feet, with Joe pressing his hand to his bloody nose. In an instant, they had disappeared around a brick wall.

  Eliza laughed in the distance, the sound of her laughter no longer Lucie’s, but instead her own deep tone.

  Shrugging, Eliza walked along. She peered down to see that Lucie’s dress now had a small tear from her kicking so far out.

  The skirt had a nasty rip, revealing a white layer from underneath.

  She knelt, folding the torn silk together. If anyone looked, they would know something was not right. If she had truly been Lucie, she would have had a tantrum over it.

  Her eyes glazed the abandoned town. The Spinner cottage sat behind a wall, dusty and old. There was no sign of any residents, and the windows were all bolted shuts.

  It was never particularly clean, but they tried. Now, it was ransacked.

  Eliza had a sickly feeling, walking closer towards what was once her home. The empty village, her deserted home and the unnerving silence all sparked red flags.

  Her shoes crunched against the winter leaves that lay flattened on the cobbled streets, and the wind blew the blonde wig clean out of her face.

  ‘Back. Go Back.’ Her mind warned her, ‘It’s not right here.’.

  Eliza got such chills, her fingers rushed to brace her forearm.

  ‘It’s not long after dawn, everyone could be avoiding the iced weather.’.

  Eliza passed each house on her way, all of them had wooden barriers guarding their front doors. The sky was dark and cloudless, and the woods in the distance emphasised it, mystic and shadowed over.

  Finally, she met the wall blocking her home. There were symbols, phrases and runes scribbled onto it, all in the messiest and unreadable handwriting, but a few words stood out.

  ‘WITCHES’.

  ‘HEARTLESS’.

  ‘MONSTERS’.

  Eliza’s heart dropped inside her chest. That last word struck an impact within her, until she read the next piece of sprawled writing.

  ‘LONG LIVE OUR KING.’

  That sentence alone was enough to get her blood boiling. She felt a sensation spark within her chest, this time not of hurt, but of rage. Her face flushed crimson, as she spun and marched away.

  The people despised her, yet they worshipped him. The brick wall felt sharp against her arm, as she passed with a fiery expression.

  ‘Enough, Elizabeth,’ She scolded herself, ‘Bite your tongue.’.

  Dusting down her dress and straightening herself out, Eliza turned down the corner and journeyed on.

  Her feet moved quick, that way she had to focus on walking, to make sure she did not walk into anything. That was one way to distract her mind.

  Eliza stood in front of her cottage, scanning the pitiful scene. A window had shattered, by force.

  Glass pieces scattered across the stone, falling onto the wooden frame of the house. She took a breath, walking up to the door.

  Her hand hesitated before knocking. She wondered if she should be knocking at her own home.

  Still, her hand froze in mid-air, with a bitter flood of nostalgia.

  The door in front of her was the same one she saw every day for the past sixteen years of her life; why couldn’t she knock on it?

  Shaking herself straight, she gently pushed the door open. The door croaked and swung wide.

  Her home’s inside was like an endless void, dark and gloomy. The first smell that breached her nose was smoke; fire-induced smoke.

  The house was empty from what she could see, like no one had lived there for a lifetime.

  Smoke loomed the air, as she clutched her hand over her mouth. Once her vision cleared, she got a proper look inside her home.

  There had been pieces of parchment, journals, clothing, and belongings discarded on the floor. Empty wood drawers had been yanked out of place, and the chairs were overturned.

  Her eyes turned to the floor, noticing the mucky footprints and spill-stains from days-old soup.

  ‘If father is living here,’ Eliza thought, ‘It must be unbearable for him.’.

  The door blew shut behind her, and darkness overshadowed her slowly like a bad dream.

  Eliza felt it should be her first action to lift it up, to make things a bit tidier. Her knees cracked as she knelt, reaching out and grabbing hold. Satisfied, she was half-stood, when she froze.

  Creak. The floor made a sound, and she knew before it happened.

  Eliza turned around, her heart thundering like sonorous metal. A shadow of a person stood behind her, in that cold, desperate darkness.

  A sword sliced through the air. Eliza screamed, stumbling backwards. Her heel stuck in a crack in the wood, and she tumbled backwards with a thud. With a bang, Eliza slammed against the floor, landing on her backside.

  “Wait!” Eliza screamed, curling up into a ball. She froze on the frozen floor, preparing for the sword to strike, for the striking pain.

  Nothing.

  She trembled on the spot, and Eliza could feel the heat of her forearm against her face. Another moment passed; nothing had happened.

  No intense pain, no tragic death; nothing.

  Her hands shaking, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, shakily gazing upwards. The attacker was a blur, but their presence was strong.

  To her shock, the blade was inches from her face. They held it in mid-air, frozen at the final moment. One wrong move, and that was it.

  “Lucie Benson? No…” The voice croaked out, dry and pained. It was a voice she recognised, but not one she expected.

  The shadowed attacker swung their sword away, and it made a metallic clunk as it hit the floor.

  Eliza’s breath cut short as she felt a warm, large hand connect with the side of her face.

  The hand lifted her head up, and her dizzy eyes now met those of the stranger, who might not have been one at all.

  “F-Father?” Eliza whispered, her voice breaking. Her throat burned, but to say that name again; she would have suffered the pain a hundred times over.

  Father and daughter were seconds away from one another, seconds away from him making the worst mistake he ever could.

  He stood, stepping over her and reaching towards the table. She saw him scratch two pieces of shining metal together, his hands fumbling in the air.

  A flame sparked, and he raised it to the fireplace. It blazed and lit up, creating a new light in the room.

  George Spinner trembled above her, but he did not look the same.

  He bent over her, offering out his hand. Hesitantly, she grabbed it. Father and daughter’s hands conjoined, hers light and soft, his rough and scarred.

  Either way, both reunited, after thinking they had saw the last of one another.

  He pulled her up from her knees to her feet, and she gripped his shoulder for support.

  There was a strong pain in her ankle after twisting it from falling, but none of it mattered anymore, no pain in the world could have.

  “Lucie, I-I’m sorry,” George Spinner stammered, grasping her hand.

  His hair had dark streaks of grey, and his face lined with dead scars. He bore puffed eyes and a drained pale face.

  Even his nose was covered in dirt and soot. It made her think of a part of her life she wished she could forget.

  Not saving her mot
her had been his biggest regret, and annually on her death date, he fell into a pit of suffering.

  He denied food, took long walks in the graveyard, and slept no longer than an hour each night.

  Yet, even while the man’s heart was breaking, his smile did not once.

  “Father, it’s me.” Eliza whispered. She clutched his hand tighter, firmer. His jaw fell, and all the lines on his face straightened.

  “Elizabeth.” George murmured. He shook his head, like what he saw was not real at all. “H-How? I—”.

  He paused, wasting no time to throw his arms around her. Eliza held tightly onto him, and the two shared an embrace neither wanted to let go of.

  He squished her inside his arms. Eliza’s heart sent a bittersweet feeling through her, a mixed of sadness and joy, hope and regret.

  Eliza pulled her arms away, smiling uncontrollably. Her father hesitantly let go of her, instead holding her hands in his.

  “Lucie and I swapped places, she’s in the tower and I’m acting as a maiden. I came here the moment I could.” She stumbled over words, trying to create a quick summary.

  George Spinner seemed at a loss for words, shaking his head with a smile. He opened his mouth once or twice to speak, but no words had come out.