Chapter Text
The pendulum of the antique wood-paneled Burgundy clock swung back and forth. A soft ticking filled the room. And yet it seemed to her as if time stood still. Clotted blood, like cold sweat, adorned the pale, lifeless body at her feet. Empty, impassive eyes, extinguished was the fire that once burned so warmly in them.
An uneasy feeling arose inside her, climbed the path from her abdomen over her lungs, took her breath away, and lay on her chest like an oppressive shadow. She heard her pulse start racing, her heart beating incessantly, each anxious beat chasing the next. Her hands began to tremble, and she surrendered to the weakness that forced her to her knees. Tears clouded her vision and gradually fell from the tip of her eyelashes to the floor until her face felt hot and wet.
A pitiful cry escaped her mouth, but it only fell on deaf, dead ears. No one would rush to her aid since the disaster had already been done. No magic in the world could ever bring back the dead, she knew that. Realization loomed like a dark cloud over her existence. A darkness that she would never be able to leave behind from that moment on.
"Miss Darque. Miss Darque... please." A nervous, quickening voice penetrated her consciousness. "Please, wake up..."
Bony fingers closed around her forearm and Cassandra startled out of the obscurity. She supported herself with both hands on the soft surface of her mattress. She gasped; it seemed so real to her. But it always felt so real. She regularly struggled with nightmares and this night had been no exception.
"Miss Darque?" It squeaked again to her left, this time with caution in its speech.
Cassandra ran her palms through her sweat-soaked hair before turning to the familiar voice. Two pointed ears, large eyes, and the worried face of Alfie the house elf peeked over the edge of her bed.
"Everything is fine, Alfie," she answered shortly and tried to calm her pulse with regular breaths. "Nightmare," she admitted curtly and pulled the silk duvet over her lap. She must have been tossing and screaming in her dream, otherwise the house-elf would not have appeared uninvited in her bedroom.
"Miss, shall we wake up your grandmother?" the elf asked worried and his blue googly eyes looked at her attentively.
"That won't be necessary, Alfie." She answered him promptly and waved him away.
Her grandmother must not think that her granddaughter is afraid of the shadows in her dreams. She was quite embarrassed that she was still dreaming of that night that had happened so many years ago. The events that happened in the past had already occurred and were irreversible. There was no point in indulging in these memories, neither the good nor the bad ones. It enraged her that her subconscious probably perceived it differently, that she could not forget the horrendous images.
But this was her personal struggle. The constant quarrel between her common sense and her nonsensical subconscious.
No reason to bother her grandmother. At least no more than that she was already informed anyway. The walls of the estate were thin, and the staff tended to gossip. She rolled her eyes in disgust and let out a contemptuous sigh. It didn't help, she wouldn't find any rest, let alone sleep, that night.
Lost in thought, her delicate fingers glided over the smooth material of her blanket. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Alfie, devoted as ever, was still standing quietly beside her bed. She sighed again.
"Alfie, I'm fine. I request you to return to your quarters." she turned her upper body and looked at the little elf with a serious expression before continuing, "And please, keep it to yourself. We don't want my grandmother to have to worry about me. No more than she already does."
Grandmother had enough on her plate, and Cassandra was aware of that. And admittedly, it was to a large extent her fault. That nightmarish evening so many moons ago had changed everything. For her, for her grandmother, for her entire family. In summary, for those who were still left to her.
With his skinny fingers, Alfie nervously fiddled with the purple varnish that was wrapped around his body like a toga. He was visibly concerned. However, it was not up to him to resist an order, or, as in this case, a direct demand from a family member of his esteemed mistress. He swallowed and finally nodded to her.
"As you wish, Miss." After a short bow, he turned around, strolled to the exit, and left the room to look for his own sleeping quarters.
A soft click could be heard as the door was gently pulled into its trap. Cassandra was alone again. She took a deep breath, but the uncomfortable, constricting feeling in her chest threatened to plague her again. So, she threw the supple bedding aside, let her feet slide to the floor, and got up.
Her gaze wandered through the moonlit room. Larch wood paneling, antique pieces of furniture draped with fine crocheted knitted doilies, and a collection of old photographs. As is well known, taste was debatable, she thought to herself as she walked towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the room. Of course, she was grateful that her grandmother had taken her in after the loss of her parents, no question. However, she never felt completely at home.
An estate so spacious, with countless rooms and endless corridors, curious servants, and overzealous house elves. It didn't correspond to the homely little house in secluded family realms, surrounded by breathtaking peaks and dense coniferous forest, where she had spent her early childhood.
Her hand clasped the cold brass of the window handle and with a tug, she twisted the bolt out of its holder and opened the window wide. The cool night air blew towards her. The first frost, which announced the impending autumn, had already settled over the fields of the valley and made them shimmer under the clear sky of the dawning day.
She took a deep breath and let her thoughts wander freely like an eagle over the high mountain range of the Val d'Aosta. Free from the shackles of her fears, and her worries. Free from the bars of her mental cage, in which she found herself locked in time and time again.
What would she give for just one night to cut all the earthly ties and move like a ghost over the hills, the peaks, and clouds of this world. Free, truly free.
Her gaze drifted over the hills and plains of the valley and lingered for a moment on the ruins of the Castello di Cly. A medieval castle that had once stretched its battlements skywards so gloriously had now deteriorated into a crumbling pile of stones due to the ravages of time. Time was invincible. Fate was inevitable.
Absent-mindedly, she ran the fingertips of her right hand over the inside of her left wrist. She gently traced the lines of healed flesh. Scars, she thought, were like ruins, memories of past toils. Of past versions of herself. She sighed softly and clasped her hands in her lap.
The dawning day would bring changes again. In a few hours, one of her grandmother's lackeys would pick her up from her current home and she would have to be hustled into a carriage to start her journey up North. All her arguments failed to change her grandmother's mind, the risk of uninvited visitors on her behalf was too eminent. It was her sole fault. If she hadn't let herself be seduced by the drunken promise of sweet revenge, she wouldn't have gotten into these precarious circumstances that forced her grandmother to send her away.
Until Cassandra was assured the situation was calmly resolved, her only alternative was to leave the country to escape the authorities. She sighed, grateful for her grandmother’s quick thinking and cunning allowing her to escape the noose even if she had to make some questionable diplomatic deals.
A cold shiver ran down her spine and made her shudder. She turned away from the open window and walked towards the large double-winged wardrobe. Despite her imminent departure, she had not yet been able to bring herself to pack her few belongings and clothes. So, she opened the spacious cupboard, examining the many fabrics neatly hung in their place. Her hand passed over the fine fabric of her numerous lace-embellished dresses. She strongly doubted that this fine yarn matched the usual dress code at her destination but nevertheless, she wanted to take a special piece with her.
She grabbed the hanger, lifted it from the rack, and held a black dress made of heavy velvet fabric with sleeves adorned with fine lace fabric in front of her. It was a dress that her mother used to wear when she still lived in these chambers and walked carelessly through the gardens of the estate. A relic from past cheerful days. She folded it carefully and placed it on her bedstead. More clothes followed and soon the contents of the closet were almost emptied, the mountain of textile on her mattress had grown considerably and a suitcase had been dug out of the depths of the wardrobe.
A gentle breeze carried the first rays of sunshine of the day through the open window and there was a hint of departure in the air. Rummaging through her cupboard had made her forget the time and only a short knock tore her out of her efficiency.
She looked over her shoulder, "Come in."
The door was pushed open a little and a pair of pointed ears appeared as Alfie peeked through the gap. "Miss Darque, are you up yet?" the house-elf asked politely as he entered the room. His googly eyes caught the work piled up on her mattress and widened. "But... Miss Darque, what are you doing?" he asked in surprise.
"Well, guess what, I'm packing," she replied.
"Alfie would have done that for you, Miss. Mrs. Montague just tasked him to do it..."
"Oh, hogwash. I can do that myself," Cassandra responded and began to pack the accumulation of clothes into her suitcase.
The house-elf stepped further into the room and approached the suitcase to take it. But Cassandra grabbed the handle, pulled the suitcase to herself, and remained kneeling on the floor in front of her piece of luggage.
"Alfie," she reprimanded the elf, "at least let me do something."
"Excuse me, Miss, but Alfie has clear instructions from your grandmother," he answered in an apologetic voice before he closed the lid of the suitcase.
Cassandra let out a loud frustrated snort. "All right," she rolled her eyes, "but just let me add something...".
She stood up and targeted the chest of drawers draped with white crochet doilies. She single-mindedly grabbed the gold-framed photograph of a young woman, who greeted her with a warm mien and a gentle smile. The black velvet dress flattered her elegant silhouette immensely. Cassandra smiled sadly at her mother's image before she plucked up the courage to return to her luggage with the photo in her hands and placed it on top of the pile of clothes in the suitcase.
"Voilà," she said, "that's all."
The only thing she wanted to keep with her at this abode was in the leather piece of luggage that the eager elf now held in his hands. She was willing to leave everything else behind, not just because she had to, but because she wanted to. A last glance over the silken blankets of her bed, over to the open window, over the high peaks of the valley. Into the vastness of the sky, which was washed into dawn by the rising sun, for one day she hoped to view it all again as a free witch.