by Amy Cross
The last time I saw Gwendoline, she was just a child. Now, she's a young lady and something has changed. There's a devious quality to her eyes. She's planning something, and I'm sure it's related to Abigail. After all, Abigail is everything that Gwendoline is not: Abigail is strong and intelligent and capable of standing on her own two feet; Gwendoline, meanwhile, is weak and foolish, and prone to flights of fancy. The idea that Gwendoline could ever take my place is laughable, yet I worry that Gwendoline herself still harbors certain ambitions. She has been left here with Diana for a long time, and although she has not grown stronger, she has perhaps grown more intelligent. Whereas I had previously written Gwendoline off entirely, now I see that I must keep an eye on her. She could yet spring a surprise.
Ultimately, though, I have absolute faith in Abigail. I know that she will see through all of Gwendoline's tricks. Abigail might look like Sophie, but her soul is like mine. She would never allow herself to be fooled. Then again, am I deceiving myself? Am I fooling myself into believing that Abigail is like me? Perhaps she retains certain qualities that she inherited from Sophie, certain qualities that might yet prove to be a weakness? If that's the case, I must keep an eye on her and ensure that she isn't alone for too long with Gwendoline. Looking down at Gwendoline now, I see that she's as pathetic and frail as before. If I had the strength, I would reach out and snap her neck...
Gwendoline
"You were gone for so long," I say, sitting on the floor with my back to the bed. I can hear Patrick's slow, heavy breathing behind me; he's weak, but I know he's listening to me. "Sometimes I thought perhaps you wouldn't be coming back at all," I continue. "I thought you'd found what you were looking for out there in the rest of the world, and you didn't need me. After all, I was never what you wanted, was I?" I sniff back some more tears. "You'll think I'm foolish, it's just... I thought you were ashamed of me, Daddy, but... but that's not true, is it? You came back to me." I turn and look into his eyes. "You came back, which means you must still love me. Tell me you love me. Just tell me once, it's all I want!"
He stares at me but, as usual, he doesn't speak. It's been so long since I heard his voice, I've almost forgotten how it sounds. I don't blame him for staying quiet, though. In fact, I even tried to copy him when I was younger. For two straight years, I too refused to speak, determined to follow in my father's footsteps. I wanted to be like him, and to show him that I could copy him in every possible way. Ultimately, I couldn't keep it up, and ever since then I've been speaking faster and louder than everyone around me. I guess I can never be truly like my father, no matter how hard I try. I take after my mother, just as Abigail takes after her mother; neither of us really take after our shared father at all, yet he seems to love Abigail whereas he views me with nothing but contempt. Why is that?
"I met Abigail today," I say. "She seems..." I pause, trying to find the right word. "Well, she seems nice," I say eventually. "She seems friendly and rather jolly. I found the most beautiful dress for her. She didn't want to wear it at first, but I persuaded her. It's..." I wait for a moment, unsure whether I should tell him what I've done, or let him see it for himself later. "I gave her Sophie's dress," I say eventually. "You remember, the dress she wore when she came to Gothos that time. Darling little Abigail looks just like her mother, it's almost spooky. I hope you don't mind, but I thought it would be nice for her to have something so beautiful and old."
For a moment, I see a flicker of anger in Patrick's eyes. Good; that's the reaction I was hoping for. I need to make sure he realizes that Abigail is too weak to become his chosen successor. Her human side is too strong, and she'll never be able to fully embrace the qualities he requires. I was like her once, but I've changed. Patrick rejected me, but I'm ready for him to give me another chance. I just have to make him see that Abigail is unsuitable, and the best way to do that is to make him see that she's basically a copy of her mother. It pains me to upset Patrick like this, but it's for his own good.
"The truth is, I'm a little shy around dear Abigail," I continue. "I know that's foolish. After all, she's my half-sister, but still I feel as if I hardly know her. Which is true, I suppose. Perhaps -" Suddenly I stop speaking. Once again, I've allowed myself to ramble on and on. Poor dear Daddy must be so sick of my voice by now. "I feel we're very different, she and I. There's a human quality to her that I find rather difficult to deal with. It makes my skin crawl. It's my fault, of course. I should be more understanding. Don't you feel the same way sometimes, Daddy?" I pause, staring at Patrick's tired face. "Don't you?" I continue. "Daddy? Don't you feel the same way about her?"
I wait for some sign of recognition, but he just stares at me. If only I knew what he was thinking, it'd be so much easier to get him to do what I want. "It's dinner time any minute," I say. "Shall I help you downstairs?"
Without warning, Patrick slowly gets off the bed and stands, brushing away my attempt to support him. He walks toward the door, clearly struggling with the effort, but he barely even acknowledges my presence as I try to offer him my help. I keep pace with him, watching out for any sign that he might be about to fall; sure enough, just as we get out into the corridor, he stumbles and I have to catch him. Helping him to straighten up, I force him to put his arm around my shoulder and we walk slowly toward the stairs. It pains me so much to see him in such a terrible condition, and I know he hates to show any sign of weakness. Hopefully he feels, as I do, that this is a moment of intimacy between us; a moment in which a daughter is helping her father. Surely he'll love me now that I'm showing such compassion?
"Are you sure you want to come down?" I ask him as we reach the top of the stairs. "I can have some dinner brought to your room, if you prefer. Perhaps it would be too stressful for you to see Abigail at the moment. After all, she's so human, it can be rather hard to talk to her." I pause. "Am I fussing too much, Daddy? Just tell me if -"
He pushes my arm away and starts walking down the stairs by himself. I stand and watch, seeing how slowly and painfully he makes his way. I've only ever seen him looking strong and powerful before, so it's an absolute shock to see him in such a decrepit state. Why he chose to die, I'll never understand; he obviously trusted in Abigail, which means he'll be all the more disappointed when she's gone. With his physiology, he could have gone on living for an eternity, yet he has decided that it's time for him to pass on to the other side. This proud, ancient man is set for death, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. My father, always such an important figure in my life, will soon be gone. The thought is sobering.
"Daddy, wait!" I call out, hurrying down the stairs. I catch up to him quickly, but he pushes me away when I try to help. "Daddy, please!" I say, frustrated by his refusal to accept my assistance. After a moment, he stands up straight and it's as if he's recovered some of his old strength. I suppose he doesn't want anyone else to see him looking ill, so he's summoned every last ounce of health in order to make it through dinner. He pauses for a moment, and then he walks forward. I go to follow, but suddenly I feel someone touch my elbow, and I turn to find Diana standing behind me.
"Leave him," she says, watching him with a sad look in her eyes. "He won't thank you for making him seem weak in front of the others. This is his way of doing things."
"But -"
"Leave him!" she says firmly. "If you keep fussing, he'll only lash out at you."
"But he's in such pain," I reply, once again close to tears.
"This was his choice," she says. "He knew it would be like this."
"But he trusted in Abigail," I tell her. "He thought she could take his place, and now he realizes that she's weak and unsuitable."
"Does he?" Diana asks.
"Of course he does!" I say, annoyed by her refusal to see the truth. "He must! Abigail is far too human. She's like her mother."
"She might look like Sophie," Diana replies, "but I see a lot of Patrick in her eyes."
"Balderdash!" I spit back at her. "She's nothing. She's a waste of blood and bones a
nd skin. He'll see that. He has to!"
"Don't torture yourself," Diana says.
"I'm not," I reply, angered by the way she's talking down to me. She's always under-estimated me, but soon she'll learn how wrong she's been. They all will. "I'm older than Abigail," I continue. "I should be the one to whom his plans are entrusted. He should take me with him, and leave her here or just kill her like a common beast. After all, if she can't meet his expectations, there's little point in letting her stay alive. He mustn't make the mistake of showing her any pity."
"It might not be that simple," Diana replies. "Wait and see. One thing I've learned about Patrick is that he possesses an infinite capacity to surprise. It's never a good idea to try second-guessing him, and it's certainly not appropriate to force the issue. I don't want to see you luring the poor girl into the garden again. Do you really think Patrick will forgive you if you kill her? Do you even think you can kill her? She's growing stronger every day."
"He must choose me," I say, watching as Patrick disappears into the next room. "I've done everything I could possibly do. It's not my fault I was born so weak, but I've struggled and grown and -"
"Quiet!" Diana whispers. "She's coming."
"I need your help!" I reply quietly.
"I won't betray Patrick," she says. "You know that."
"I wish you'd tell me what he did to earn your undying loyalty," I say. "I hardly think he's deserving of -"
"Attend to our guest!" she hisses with urgency in her voice.
Turning, I see Abigail coming down the stairs, wearing the dress I gave her. She looks beautiful but, more than that, she looks so much like Sophie, it's uncanny. The only real difference is that Abigail has a slightly different look in her eyes; perhaps Diana is right when she says that she has the same expression as Patrick, but that doesn't mean much. It's hard to believe that beneath such a bland exterior, Abigail has inherited much of my father's passion and strength. In some ways, I can see why he might prefer her to me, but ultimately I'm quite certain that I'm the one he'll have to favor. I've worked so hard to improve myself since his last visit. I just need to get Abigail out of the way.
"You look beautiful," I say, grinning as I go to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. I'm rather good at deceiving people.
"Thanks," she says, reaching behind for a moment. "It's kind of riding up a bit."
"I can't believe how well this dress fits you," I say, standing back to get a better view. "Diana, don't you think this dress suits Abigail absolutely down to the ground?"
"It's a beautiful dress," Diana says coldly, "and Abigail is a beautiful girl. You both are. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and attend to the table." She turns and heads through to the dining room.
"I meant what I said," I tell Abigail. "You look just like your mother. The resemblance is uncanny. I suppose that's why the dress fits, really. You're so alike in every possible way."
She smiles awkwardly.
"What's wrong?" I ask. "Don't you like me saying that?"
"It's fine," she says, but I can see from her expression that she's not being honest. "It's just... When you tell me that I look like her, or that I act like her, I don't know what you mean, because I never met her. It's like she's this constant ghost at my side, and everyone can see her except me. It'd be easier if I'd at least seen a photo of her, but it's almost as if she never really existed."
"Well, that might be how you feel for now," I say, "but who knows, perhaps soon you'll get to meet her?"
"She's dead, "Abigail replies.
"I know," I tell her, forcing myself to say no more. After all, it's only a few more hours before Abigail will get to experience the true secrets of Gothos. "Now come on," I say finally, "we're already running late for dinner."
"I need to find Patrick," she says.
"He's in the dining room," I say, grabbing her arm and leading her across to the west wing of the house, where a large table has been set for our meal. I'm certain that Abigail has never seen anything so wonderful and grand, and she must be quite overwhelmed. Even in its current state, Gothos remains one of the most marvelous structures in the world, although I must admit that I've never left its grounds. One day soon, when Patrick has abandoned Abigail and embraced me, I will leave and travel the world. For now, though, I must be patient. "Isn't this the most glorious place?" I ask, turning to face her. "Can't you feel the wonderful history of Gothos? The great men who have already been in these rooms... They never truly leave, you know. Sometimes I feel as if Gothos is haunted by the ghosts of a thousand centuries."
"It's pretty amazing," she says unenthusiastically, as she spots Patrick seated at the far end. "I need to go and talk to him," she says.
"Wait," I reply, holding her arm firmly. "There'll be plenty of time for conversation over dinner. As you can see, there aren't so very many of us here tonight." It's so sad to see the place looking so barren; I remember the days when the great hall of Gothos was full of people, all laughing and discussing the matters of the day. It was a wonderful time to be here; now, the place is a shell of its former glory. As I lead Abigail to the table, I glance over at the seat where Astley used to sit. Poor Astley; I miss him so much, even if Gothos is a great deal calmer without him.
"You'll sit here," I say to Abigail, pulling out a chair for her. "It's going to be very cosy tonight. Just a small family dinner."
"Do you have a large family?" she asks.
"Not really," I say, resisting the urge to laugh. The poor thing has no idea that she's my sister. I can't imagine how she'd react if she knew that we're related by blood, but I've been warned by Diana that I mustn't tell her the truth. I suppose it's all part of Patrick's plan to wipe me from the family history books; a plan that can only work while Abigail is alive. "Do you like chicken?" I ask, trying to change the subject as I move around to take my seat opposite her.
"Sure," she replies.
"That's a shame," I say. "We have none." I let out a brief laugh, before pulling myself back together. "But I'm sure you'll enjoy our offerings anyway. I believe the maids killed a pig this afternoon. They've been very busy getting it ready for the table." Sitting next to Patrick, I force myself to keep smiling. After all, one simply doesn't cause a fuss at the dinner table, even if one feels thoroughly rejected and humiliated by one's own father. I must be patient. Soon I'll have Abigail where I want her, and then Patrick will have no option but to take me with him. After all, he needs a daughter, and if the first choice is indisposed, he'll just have to turn to me. I'm stronger than Abigail; he has to see that eventually. Abigail is fairly pretty, but I'm the beautiful one.
Looking along the table, I notice that the insufferable Mr. Wormwood is joining us for dinner. I don't know why Diana continues to invite him to join us; the man makes my skin crawl, and he always seems so amused by the events around him. He's usually a harbinger of bad things, though he never actually does much of his own accord. In many ways, he's like a refined, brandy-drinking vulture who likes to watch the suffering of others. If I could kill him, I would; unfortunately, he's damn-near un-killable, as many have learned to their cost over the years.
As the maids bring dinner to the table, I sit quietly. Although I'm usually full of energy, and desperate to talk, I'm sometimes overcome by a stranger feeling of calm. I watch Abigail as she smiles politely at the maid who sets her plate on the table; poor Abigail is so dumb and unrefined, she even seeks to ingratiate herself with the staff. She clearly doesn't realize that by being friendly with the maids, she merely makes herself seem rough and stupid. Sometimes I wish I had my father's strength, so that I could perhaps rip my dear sister apart. Unfortunately, I'm far too weak to do such a thing; instead, I must use my wits, and that's why I'm going to get what I truly want. By the end of the night, Abigail will be lost forever and Patrick will have no choice but to do what he should have done long ago: he'll accept me as his true successor.
Patrick
Gothos is full of ghosts. Thousands and thousands of th
em, wandering aimlessly through the corridors. They seek salvation, but they'll never get what they want. They had their time once before, and now they're lost to the winds of time. As soon as they accept their fate, they'll disappear in the blink of an eye. This is true of all things: destiny must be embraced, not fought against. That's something I learned the hard way.
Most of the people at Gothos don't acknowledge the ghosts, of course. They prefer to block them out, to pretend they can't see them. If Diana or Gwendoline saw the ghosts on a daily basis, they'd be driven mad. I understand the problem: if I lived at Gothos, I too would choose not to see these faint, blurry images of the dead. But they're all around, and occasionally my eyes are drawn to them. I know what they want.
Abigail seems not to have seen the ghosts; or, if she has seen them, she has kept her reactions in check. I still don't fully understand how Abigail's mind works, and whether she sees the world in the same way that I see it. She seems oblivious to some of the stranger things that are happening around her. Still, she can't be entirely unaware of the ghosts; perhaps she sees them out of the corner of her eye, but doubts her own perceptions. She'll learn; these are the things that she'll discover as she spends more time at Gothos. Her body is changing and healing, and her mind is developing. She is becoming more and more like me.
I worry about Gwendoline, though. The way she looks at Abigail is so dark, as if she harbors an ambition to somehow derail Abigail's ascension. I'm realizing with every passing moment that I should have killed Gwendoline as soon as I was sure I wouldn't need her. If I had my usual strength, I would kill the little runt immediately; as it is, I must simply watch and hope that Abigail will be able to defend herself against anything that Gwendoline tries. Perhaps this is a good test for Abigail, though; it will show that she is stronger than her weak sister.