Her feet travelled speedily up the staircase and she slowly, silently unscrewed the lock at the door.
It made a cracking sound, making her freeze and seize up. She could hear no one, and no one should have heard.
Once again, Eliza crawled through the door, her stomach pressing up against the wood.
The chances she was taking were riskier than anything she had ever done before, except the plan.
Her feet treaded against the hard floor, striking the freezing of a muscle and pain in her foot.
Eliza had learned to ignore pain a long time ago, but that was raw and aching, making her yelp out in agony.
‘You best hope no one here sleepwalks.’, Her mind said.
Taking a breath, she skipped up the steps leading to the outdoor village. The first thing that struck her was the icy-cold air, breezing against her face.
‘Better than the calls of a dirty, stumbling man.’.
The village was coarse, empty. The moonlight highlighted the squat little homes, and stars pepped the sky once more.
Eliza stared up in awe, captured by the sight.
Her eyes wandered to the creaking gate to her left, shadowed by vine. The gate sat behind layers of brick houses and cobbled streets.
Taking a sharp breath, Eliza stuck out her foot and began to tread quietly across the abandoned town.
She pulled on the strings of her hood, clutching it over her face.
A chill went down her spine, and she felt strangely paranoid of her surroundings. The sky was pitch black, and she could only see the outline of where she headed.
‘Quiet, quiet, quiet,’ Her mind repeated, ‘Silent, silent, silent.’.
Eliza brushed past each home, walking direct towards the graveyard. The castle was on one side of her, the village on the other. Her body seized up, as Eliza peered upwards to see if there were knights on standby.
‘If they look once, you’re dead,’ Her mind said, ‘Dead-er’.
Immediately, she quickened her pace, shuffling past each home. The cape of her hood waved behind her, rising in the frigid air.
She felt a freezing sensation in her nose, like it had turned into an icicle with the weather.
Her eyes rested on the rusted gate in front of her, and she breezed past the barrels and boxes at the edge of the town.
Hesitantly, she rested her hand on the metal. Eliza shrieked as the faulty gate swung her forward with a creak.
She turned her head to the side, squinting her eyes in the dark. Not a person was in sight.
Shivering, she took a step into the graveyard grass. It crunched beneath her, and she closed the creaking gate behind her.
Stone graves could be seen in front, stretching across for miles, but straight north there was a large grass hill.
The muck in the grass stuck groggily to her shoe, making Eliza’s scowl more vivid. Wiping it on the grass, she continued through the muck, walking to the right.
She knew where her mother’s grave was situated, after visiting hundreds of times before. Towards the back, on the nearest right.
She strolled across, reading some names on each of the graves. She recognised a few recent ones, recalling certain deaths from within the village.
Eliza stopped as one name caught her eye. It was a neat grave, and a few sinking lilies sat on it. The surname was familiar, and she bent to read.
‘HERE LIES HENRY MCGLYNN.
BELOVED FATHER OF THOMAS AND CLARA MCGLYNN.
HUSBAND OF MARGARET MCGLYNN.’.
Thomas McGlynn. His father’s grave. From what Eliza knew, his father had died out in the war.
She recalled how, when they were young, Thomas would forever claim that he would be as brave and glorified as his father one day. He said that they would regret picking on him.
Ten-year-old Eliza laughed aloud, taunting that he was afraid of his own shadow. That remark got her a deserved whack in the face.
Shaking the memories away, Eliza carried on with her journey. There were other recognisable names, one of which was that of an old man that owned the library.
Eliza smiled, seeing her mother’s grave in the distance. She walked over with her eyes on the satchel, unbuckling it and pulling out the journal inside.
If any time were best to read a chapter, this was it.
Eliza loomed over the grave, shining in the tree-divided moonlight. The words carved onto the grave were like that of the other deceased.
‘HERE LIES, ANNE SPINNER.
BELOVED MOTHER OF ELIZABETH SPINNER.
WIFE OF GEORGE SPINNER.’.
Kneeling, she clasped her hands together, closing her eyes. When she did that, she could swear it was her mother’s face she saw, in the void dark of her closed eyes.
The nurturing face, blazing blue eyes. It could have been imagination, but still comforting, real or not.
“Mother, I wish you could hear me.” Eliza whispered. A gust of wind blew across her face, like a hand clutching her cheek. “Perhaps you can.”.
She opened her eyes, looking down at the grass beneath her. Her father told her years ago, her mother had not lay buried inside that grave, it was instead a sign of remembrance and respect.
That was another source of evidence to Eliza’s young self that her mother faced execution.
It felt strange to speak to the dead, and she had forever been sceptical of it, but the comfort that they could be listening was enough.
Eliza stared around her, in the pitch-black dark. From what she could see, all the other graves had been abandoned for weeks, years even.
No one seemed to care for their lost loved ones, until their own time came.
She stared at the journal in her lap, flickering through the pages. To her surprise, there were few accounts in the entire book. It ended a quarter of the way through the pages.
Eliza found herself on the second diary entry, and running her finger over the letters, began to read.
Dear Elizabeth,
Congratulations! You have made it to the second page. Yes, the duties of motherhood have kept me on my toes for a while, but now I am back updating you, and yes, you are most welcome.
As an infant, you seem too sweet, too cute, but I see your father’s mischievous glint in your eyes, and I will be the damsel chasing after you both!
I do hope you get his intellectual mind, and not my clumsiness instead. For now, you are utterly your father’s daughter.
I fear I shall become forgotten, for you have no interest in me! Alas, I love you dearly, despite the fact your father is much preferred.
Your second-favourite parent,
A.S
The journal’s paper pages blew in the wind, and she closed it tightly shut to preserve it. With a gentle hand, Eliza sat the diary back into the satchel on her hip.
“For what it is worth, I love you, mother.” Eliza mumbled.
Eliza smiled to herself, tracing over the words, ‘love you dearly,’. From her mother’s account, it shows that she had always adored her father.
Still, she was sure that she would have loved her mother as much, had things been different.
The wind blew over her once more, her hood sitting firmly on her head.
She shut her eyes closed, clutching her hands together and bowing her head in the frozen darkness.
“Mother, please keep father safe, guide him,” Eliza whispered, nodding to the grave. “While and when I cannot.”.
Eliza paused, she knew there was more to say, but no ways to summarise it. She sighed.
“Please, guide me too. I know I cannot change the inevitable but help me to embrace it.” Eliza mumbled, “And, when I reach what the other side holds, I suppose we will finally meet.”.
She pressed her hand onto her knee, standing up. It was peaceful, standing there. She felt comforted, and even surrounded by darkness and death, she felt at home.
Her eye caught an empty spot of grass beside her mother’s grave.
‘That’s where my headstone should be, next
to my mother,’ She thought, ‘I’d like that.’.
It was strange for her to think, a seventeen-year-old planning her death. Still, she knew well that she had no choice, no changing the inevitable.
A whimpering noise echoed throughout the graveyard. Eliza stopped dead, spinning around to her left.
It came from behind the hill, the sound of movement.
‘The gate was open,’ Her mind said, ‘I should have known, someone was here before me.’.
The noise lowered, giving her time to breathe. The crunching sound was still there, but no noise.
Then, the inaudible voice raised a second time. It was a human voice. The person was mumbling to themselves, speaking aloud.
Eliza sucked in a breath, her feet dragging her towards the sound. She knew if caught, it was over for her.
Yet, curiosity pulled her closer. The grass scrunched beneath her feet, and she left her mother’s grave.
‘Who would be in a graveyard this time of night?’ Eliza thought.
She wandered in the cemetery, like what your worst nightmares would envision of a witch. The hood loomed over her eyes, her face drained and grey, bone-like fingers, sharp fingernails. A scary sight.
She reached a tree, and pressed her palms against the bark wood, edging her head closer. A man was knelt at a grave, murmuring under his breath.
His palms clutched together, while he spoke to the grave. She could make out his figure, but not his face.
He wore a black cape, and she poked her nose in to read the grave’s headstone.
‘HERE LIES, HIS AND HER ROYAL MAJESTY, KING RUPERT AND QUEEN KATHERYN OF ENGLAND.’
‘The last King and Queen of England.’, Eliza thought.
Carved underneath their names were paragraphs about their reign and successes, far more important to royals than acknowledgement of their family.
Careful to not tip herself, Eliza curved around the tree slightly, to see the face of who was speaking to the former King and Queen.
Then, she clasped her hand over her mouth faster than she could think.
King Richard knelt at the grave, murmuring to himself and speaking to his parents. There was a glimmer in his eye, but he was not crying.
He seemed more depressed, grasping his hands, bowing his head into the ground. He could not see her, and he was foolishly unguarded; alone and vulnerable.
Eliza, for a split-second, felt the slightest sympathy for the man. He had lost not one, but both his parents in a shipwreck years before, when he was around her own age.
She shook her thoughts away, watching for a final moment. He was deep within thought and prayer, on that freezing winter night. His buried face was stern; unreadable.
‘Speaking to a lost parent,’ Eliza thought, ‘Two of them.’.
She knew in that moment; she had her chance.
A chance to kill The King.
To make it all right.
To save her own life.
Yet, as Eliza stared after the man, on his knees, talking to a lost loved one as she had done; she decided to do nothing.
She knew she would regret ever sympathising him, ever offering her pity or letting him live.
However, a stronger piece of mind stopped her. Whatever it was, something stopped her that night. She had an opportunity that she should have taken, but a greater force intervened.
Eliza left the graveyard without killing him, or laughing at him, or even saying a word. She left in silence, and it was a silent night.
10
The Maiden-Witch and The Witch-Maiden
Eliza laughed harder than she had in a while, wiping at her eyes. The tray on her knee wobbled, almost toppling to the floor.
“Dawn attacked you?” She laughed.
Lucie sucked on her bottom lip. She sat sulking like a five-year-old child, even if she were eighteen.
“Yes, it flew at me and toppled me over!” Lucie whined, her cheeks flushing a bright red. “Laugh all you wish, but it was not that funny.”.
“It truly was.”
“It was not! That bird’s a curse!”.
Lucie’s whining protests only encouraged her laughter, as the image of Dawn flying face-first into Lucie’s face was stuck in Eliza’s mind.
Eliza had volunteered to deliver the food to the ‘witch’ that morning, giving her time to visit Lucie. She wore the same maiden dress and blonde wig as before, while Lucie wore the brown wig and Eliza’s clothes.
From the night before, she was exhausted, and bags ran under her eyes, patted over by powder.
Lucie looked worse; a shallow face, her rosy cheeks gone white, and eyes drained from all light and joy. It made a pit of guilt form in Eliza’s stomach, knowing that her friend was starving in her place.
Lucie knew the grandeur of palace life with filling meals, glamorous gowns, and light. Laying in this stinking, empty, and dark room was damaging her inside and out.
The two sat in tense silence for a moment. Lucie’s shoulders were low, as she stared to the floor.
“You know we could return to how we were?” Eliza smiled. She never wanted to go back to the tower life, and it took a chunk of strength to offer it. “Would you want that?”.
Lucie’s head perked up, her eyes shining for the first time. She looked like she was about to say yes, that she would not think twice about it; but she did.
Eliza wished in that moment she could hear the conflict inside her friend’s head, but Lucie’s face said it all. Eliza knew that she wanted to say yes, but that was not what came out.
“No.” Lucie whispered. She clenched her eyes shut, rubbing her face in her hands.
Eliza waited on a follow-up, a continuation, even another word. Lucie said no more, staring into space with her eyes to the floor. There was no sound in the room other than the clashing rain beating from the windows.
The tower room was dark, and shadows lined the walls. The two sat stiff, side-by-side on the crooked bed.
“You don’t look good,” Eliza mumbled. Lucie did not move. “Speak to me, please.”.
Lucie flinched, and that pile of guilt felt like it would come flooding out Eliza’s mouth. She did not want to get irritated, but it was hard to be gentle when you were getting no response at all.
The maiden opened her mouth to speak, before ignoring the question.
“How have you been feeling?” Lucie whispered, delivering a half-smile.
‘There are two answers to this.’ Eliza thought. She could say, ‘fine’, and return to the awkward tension, but that was untrue.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” She replied. “It’s bittersweet; I got to see my father again, but it’s like each day is closer to the end.”.
“Yes,” Lucie mumbled, clutching Eliza’s hand, “I’m sorry, if there’s anything I can do—".
“You have done more than enough, trust me.”.
Lucie looked uncertain, gently rubbing her fingers across Eliza’s own. A strange feeling hit her, as words piled in her throat. She was unsure, about being open with how she felt.
“It feels like I have never understood who I was meant to be,” Eliza whispered. “For a lifetime, I wanted to find my part in this world, yet I am playing yours.”.
Lucie hummed in response. Eliza felt a flush in her cheeks, wondering if her friend had even listened.
“Does that make sense?”.
“Perfect sense,” Lucie answered, “You want to know what your own purpose is, but you cannot fulfil that whilst fulfilling another’s.”.
“Yes,” Eliza nodded, hesitant. “That’s why I went—".
Silence roamed within the room, and neither said a word. Eliza paused, shaking the thought away.
“Went where?”.
Eliza froze, turning away. Lucie gripped hold of her arm. The two paused for a moment, Eliza half-stood and Lucie on the bed.
“Nowhere, it’s not—” She paused. Lucie’s glare stared sharply into her soul, and she knew there was no convincing her. “I went to the g
raveyard, as myself.”.
Lucie’s mouth fell, and she stood to her feet. Slowly, she marched towards Eliza with a glint in her eye.
“As yourself?” Lucie said, “You didn’t wear the disguise?”.
“No, but listen,” Eliza took a breath, “I saw The King there.".
“You what?” Lucie gasped, “I told you not to go near him, you could have died! You could have been caught!”.
“I didn’t know he was there!” Eliza cried, “I was visiting my mother’s grave, and I wasn’t caught!”.
“Fortunate that you weren’t!” Lucie shouted back, frantically waving her arms. “Oh, Elizabeth! Can you not abide by rules for once?”.
Dawn flew over and rested on her shoulder, protectively hiding her from the maiden. Eliza’s cheeks flushed a steaming red, as she shot her head away.
She saw The Queen’s chamber window at the high tower but could see nothing inside past the dark shadows.
“It felt right on my last birthday.”.
“What?”.
Eliza’s head turned back. Lucie stood feet away, scanning her like a misfitting puzzle.
“Last birthday?”.
She paused, shifting her eyes to the floor.
“I turned seventeen at midnight.”.
Lucie said nothing, staring on in surprise. Her face showed no emotion, no thoughts.
It was a blank stare Eliza had never seen.
“How can you be brave, during all this?”.
With that, Eliza’s eyes widened. She thought, repeating the words in her head. She could not find an answer.
“How do you mean?”.
“You act brave, but do you not feel it frighten you, what will happen?”.
She had an answer for that, one she had never thought of before.
“It does.” Eliza paused, “What does how I act have to do with how I feel? A solider could march a battlefield; but does that mean they do not fear what it holds?”.
Bewitched Page 11