The roaring sound of Eclair’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her chest felt icy and tight, but she couldn’t stop running, not yet. Trees and plants blurred into a mesh of greens and browns. Only when her heart was mere seconds from bursting did she stop and wretch into the bushes. The loud thumping of hoofbeats had faded into the distance, long behind her, but her pursuers had horses and she did not. Within minutes they could be on her tail and take her back home to be wed to a stranger. She couldn’t--wouldn’t-- succumb to such a fate, but where could she go?

Something glimmered in the corner of her vision. She turned to see a small blue translucent fox a few yards ahead of her. A forest spirit. It sat there, merely staring at her, and her at it. A soft whinny from a horse echoed off in the distance. They were getting closer. 

Could she ask the fox for help? Would it even understand her? It was a long-shot idea, but she had to try. “Can you help me, little spirit?” She asked it. In response, the fox stood and turned around. Eclair thought it was merely walking away, but when it looked back at her, she understood.

Picking up her skirts, Eclair began running once more. The fox led her deeper into the forest. Exposed roots tripped her on every other step. Every time she fell, the small blue fox would wait for her to compose herself before leading her once more. Eclair looked behind her only for a moment, but when she turned her attention back to the fox, she found a wall of thick fog blocking her view. 

It was odd, for she’d thought that she’d remember a very distinguishable wall of cloud right ahead of her, yet she was certain it was not there before.

She wondered whether the fox had deceived her and led her to a dead end. The hoofbeats were getting louder. They were close enough now that she could hear the barks of the hunting dogs. As she was about to turn back, the fox peeked its head out of the fog with a small yip, beckoning her to follow.

Understanding, she stepped into the thick haze. The moment Eclair stepped through, she lost the fox and panic seized her. She tried to turn back, to exit back into the forest, but it was as if she had been ensnared in the fog’s trap. The forest should have been just behind her, but no matter how far she ran, there was only white. However, the thumping of hoofbeats had gone silent. They should’ve been closer by now, and yet the only sound she heard was the rustling of something moving within bushes she could not yet see. 

Eclair picked up the nearest stick on the ground and held it out in front of her defensively. A strange blue glow eased toward her ever so slowly. Once it came close enough for her to see what it was, she lowered the branch, slightly embarrassed. The blue fox stood before her once more, light illuminating from its translucent fur. Eclair felt a hint of relief wash over her; her heartbeat slowed and her shoulders relaxed. 

The fox came back for her, but for what reason? Would its time not have been more efficiently spent finding its own way out rather than helping her? If it was angry with her for getting lost and making it backtrack, it did not show it. Instead, the fox merely continued on, looking back every few moments to make sure she was still there. 

Eclair thought it odd, however, how the fox strode with utter confidence through the fog. It was as if it’d walked this path many times before, or maybe to it there was no fog at all.

Just as quickly as the fog had encased her within its cloudy grasp, it parted. It dropped them near the forest’s edge. She could see now that they were walking on a narrow dirt path, seemingly untouched by the hands of men. There were no wagon tracks and it was rough as if not worn down and flattened by years of townsfolk treading on it, but why make a path if not to walk on it? She could understand if it was created to lead travelers through the fog, but it appeared as if she were the first to ever step foot on it.

Eclair saw it then, the sign. It sat in the mud, vines and thorns eating away at its wooden foundation. Garden Grove, it read. 

Eclair had heard the stories of Garden Grove when she was a child. How there was once a beautiful maiden to be wed to the man whom she loved, but to be with him she had to push her family away, for they did not approve of her betrothed. Thus, the day of her wedding, before her fiance arrived, an ancient witch, hired by her mother, placed a spell on the manor. The house rose up beyond the clouds, into the heavens. 

But the witch did not stop there. She cursed the maiden’s eyes so that if one were to look into them, one would be transformed into a painting. Everyone who attended the wedding, including the townsfolk, were submitted to this fate. How to turn them back, the maiden knew naught. Since then, she has lived in the manor in solitude, ageless for centuries, with no more than a mirror and an occasional forest spirit to keep her company, while the village below faded into distant memory. 

It is said that if one were to travel to Garden Grove, one would hear the faint cries of the lonely, brokenhearted maiden. Such cries would put one in a trance, luring them up into the manor, where the maiden would imprison them until their death, so that she may not be so lonely for a short period of time. Thus earning her the title, ‘The Lonely Maiden’, not to be confused with the Beloved Maiden, who is the goddess of magic, love, and beauty.

But that was just an old myth told by older children to younger ones to scare them into doing what they wanted.

“If you don’t do my chores for a week, the Lonely Maiden will getcha!” They’d say.

“You’ll be stolen in the night by the Lonely Maiden if you don’t give me the rest of your plate!”

Even as a child, Eclair thought the story quite ridiculous. Why paintings? Did they come with a frame? Weren’t the witch’s actions a bit overdramatic? Didn’t the witch know that cursing the maiden would ruin the town? What became of the maiden’s mother? But Garden Grove wasn’t real, she had realized, as everyone eventually did. And yet, here it was before her. 

It must’ve been some kind of trick. An illusion, perhaps. However, as she kept to the trail, she eventually reached the ruins of a small town. 

Some buildings laid crumbled on the ground, furniture piled, half-buried beneath the mud. The ones that were still standing had grass and weeds growing through the windows and up the walls. Window shutters were dangling from their hinges. The fox ventured forward into the heart of the town, but Eclair, ever curious, ventured inside one of the homes with no roofs. 

It was as if the house itself was frozen in time, while the world around it moved on. Chairs, tables, vases, and the like sat untouched in the small room. Dishes, spices, bread, and grain still laid in the cabinets, despite being molded over. The stairs to the house were on the verge of collapse, the wet steps caving towards the ground, but from the foot of them, Eclair could see the end of a bed with damp, discolored blankets lying on the top of it. Out the back, clotheslines were tipped into the grass, a few pieces of clothing scattered throughout the yard. The rest, Eclair had suspected, had probably flown off with the wind. 

Something crunched under her foot. Looking down, she saw the bones of a creature, a leather collar still wrapped around its trachea. A dog, most likely. Left behind and forgotten by its owner. Or maybe it wasn’t left behind at all. By the look of the house, the person who lived here had no intention of leaving.

The entire town, if not in shambles, mimicked the look of the first house. Near the edge, however, laid a large gaping hole in the ground, big enough for even the Grand King’s palace to sit in.

A small yip cried out from what might’ve once been the town square. The fox stared at Eclair expectantly, pointing its snout toward something on the ground. As she moved forward, she saw what it was pointing to. Kneeling down, she brushed off a small stone tablet. 

“By the grace of the Goddess Myra and by the will of the winds of Strana Vetra, take thee where the Beloved Maiden so desires,” She read. Eclair looked to the fox. “The hell does that mean-” Cutting her off, the fox jumped into her arms as the world around her began to distort. A throbbing, indescribable pain shot through her head; her stomach felt as if it were being squeezed to the point of rupture. Static clogged her vision as she was transported from the old, deserted town to a large, elegant manor. 

Once Eclair’s vision cleared, she felt bile rise up from her stomach and promptly vomited off the edge of the island and into the clouds below. Wiping her mouth, she realized.

Beloved Maiden’s mercy, she was on a floating island. The floating island. She clutched the brooch on her chest. 

“Yes, indeed you are,” A soft, wispy voice echoed from behind her. She whirled around to see the once translucent fox, now full and opaque, its orange and white fur flowing with the wind. For a moment, Eclair just stared at it in curious bewilderment. 

“You can…talk?” she asked at last, her voice quivering, her mouth still dry from vomiting. The fox gave a small nod in response. “And you can…understand me?” Another nod. “How is this…I mean I knew of some magic, but…how is this possible?”

The fox gave no response. Instead, it beckoned her up the courtyard to the large wooden doors that marked the entrance to the manor. The fox scratched the door and then looked up at Eclair expectantly. She reached out to knock, but before her knuckle could even tap the wood, the doors swung open. 

A chill swept through her as she stepped in. The warm summer air was replaced by a cold, icy breeze. “Hello?” She called. No reply. The inside was almost completely dark, with only the dim light of the grand chandelier to illuminate the room. Through the dark, however, Eclair could see the red carpet at her feet lead to a grand staircase with carefully carved wooden railings that seemed to flow like vines up to the second floor. The banisters were crowned with what looked to be carven hyacinth flowers.

The walls were a dark, dull violet and when she squinted, she could see the silhouette of small flowers that looked as if they were gently falling to the floor like leaves in the summer breeze. What caught her attention the most, however, was the hundreds of realistic portraits that hung on the wall just above the grand staircase. 

They were all alike, yet completely different. Some people had long, oval-like heads while others had heads like that of a square. There were men, women, and children of all colors and ages, yet each and every one of them had one thing in common: none of them looked as if they wanted to be there. Some looked confused, others absolutely terrified. 

“Like them?” A voice whispered in her ear. Eclair pivoted to see a slim young woman in a long, flowy white dress that was wrapped in a fabric with a pattern that reminded Eclair of butterfly wings. The woman’s hair was a bright lilac, half of her face hidden behind a fox mask. The scent of freshly bloomed flowers seemed to hang in the air around her. She smiled at Eclair. “I painted them all myself. It’s one of the few joys I find in life.” She gave a slight chuckle as if she could tell Eclair knew the truth. 

“Who-”

Her smile dropped. “I know very well that you are not about to ask who I am.” Eclair snapped her mouth shut. “Isn’t it obvious? Have you not heard the stories nor the cautionary tales about the maiden imprisoned in the manor floating in the sky? ”

It was as if the knowledge of the ability to speak had been wiped from Eclair’s mind. Unable to form words, she merely nodded.

“Yes? Yes what? Yes you’ve heard the stories or yes you haven’t? Use your words for Myra’s sake!”

“I- yes, I’ve heard the stories, but-”

“See? Was that so hard? My, what do they teach children these days? Certainly not manners.”

“Beloved Maiden’s Mercy,” Eclair cursed under her breath.

The woman scoffed. “While I am a maiden, I highly doubt I’m very beloved. My name, girl, is Lady Hyacinth.”

Eclair couldn’t help but snicker. “Your name is Lady?”

The maiden gave her a scornful look. “Yes and what of it?”

“So your title was Lady Lady? Or what? Just your regular name? That is a bit humorous, is it not? What’s next? Did you name the fox, Fox?”

“No…” She averted her gaze and shooed the fox at her feet away. Eclair couldn’t tell if she was imagining things, but the fox seemed to be laughing a little too. The maiden looked back at Eclair with a huff. “Anyway, you can just call me L-” She saw the smile that tugged at the corners of Eclair’s lips. “Miss, call me Miss.” 

“I’m not going to do that.” They stared at each other in awkward silence. Hyacinth cleared her throat. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

Eclair crossed her arms. “Well, it's not ‘Girl’, that’s for sure.”

“So what is it?” she asked impatiently. 

“Eclair.”

Now Hyacinth snorted out a laugh. “Like the pastry?”

“...Yes.”

She clutched her stomach and doubled over with laughter. “And you made fun of my name! Did they name you after what they had eaten for lunch?” 

“Now who’s the one without manners?” Eclair scowled. She noticed the lighting in the house brightening a tiny bit with every fit of laughter Hyacinth had. 

The maiden eventually calmed down, picked herself up from the floor, and composed herself. 

“Are you finished?” Eclair asked, crossing her arms. 

“For now. It’s nice to meet you.” She gave a cheeky smile. “Girl.”

Eclair sighed in defeat. 

“Well then, are you going to tell me how and why you’ve come here?”

“What do you mean?”

“No one just happens upon this manor. For one thing, it’s hidden by a wall of fog, one any average traveler wouldn’t be able to see. Also, it’s, well, in the sky. Unless you’re hiding wings under that tight, and quite frankly revolting, dress. It clashes terribly with your auburn hair She said matter-of-factly. The room brightened a little more at the mention of wings.

Hyacinth must have noticed Eclair’s puzzled expression because she then said, “Apologies. This might come as a surprise, but I’m afraid due to the fact that we’re on a floating island, the electricity isn’t very strong here.”

Eclair’s confusion only grew. “Is that some kind of weird magic way of saying the breeze is blowing out the candles?”

The woman spat out a laugh. “Of course not! Electricity is much more efficient. I happened to have a thunder orb in my possession and made it into a generator. The energy from the orb travels through wires scattered within the walls and powers the house. No fire required!”

“But if the power source is within the house, why would the manor being in the sky matter?”

Hyacinth’s expression straightened, her amused mood now mild annoyance. “We’re getting off subject. Why and how are you here?” 

Eclair realized Hyacinth most likely wouldn’t answer any questions, so she sat on the first step of the staircase, and against her better judgment, told her everything. How her mother had died a few months back and her father decided to marry her off to some stuck-up noble for money. How she hadn’t expected them to hunt her down through the forest while she ran away as ferociously as they had. How the small fox had led her through the fog and to the stone tablet, which brought her up here. 

Hyacinth’s expression was blank. “I see…,” was all she said. Although Eclair could not see her eyes, she could feel Hyacinth’s intense gaze studying every last detail of her. 

“Is something wrong?” 

“No, I merely have an inquiry.” She kneeled down to Eclair’s level. “Do you have any idea as to why they wanted you so desperately?” 

She shook her head. “Not a clue. My family isn’t exactly wealthy.”

Eclair expected Hyacinth to drop the subject and move on, but she surprisingly kept going. “What was your mother like?”

“She was kind and beautiful. I’m told I’m somewhat of a mirror image of her.”

“No, no. Not the gushy stuff. I mean what was she like? What did she do?”

“Well, I suppose to many she was…odd.”

Hyacinth tilted her head. “Odd?”

“Yes, often did she wander off into the forest for the majority of the day. When she’d return, she’d be holding many animal carcasses. Smaller rodents, mostly. Sometimes we’d skin them and make clothing out of the fur and use the meat as a food source.”

“Did she bring back any foxes?”

“No, never. She told me foxes were deceitful creatures, and that she couldn’t catch one even if she wanted to, which she didn’t.”

“Foxes may be deceitful, but that does not make them un-outwittable,” she said with a grimace.

“It wasn’t just that, though. I believe she thought the foxes to be sacred. Once, when she took me with her into the woods, we came across a fox. I was about to shoot it with a bow and arrow, but my mother grabbed my wrist. It was the perfect moment to shoot the blasted thing and yet, my mother merely put her finger to her lips and told me to watch. At one point it looked at me.”

“And?”

“And I felt…at ease. It seemed as if all the noise of the woods blurred and meshed together until it faded away completely, and there was just me and the fox. I could’ve sworn it had spoken to me. It said….” Beware of the Grove of Butterflies. She looked up at Hyacinth, who was nodding her on encouragingly, and then down to the butterfly wing patterned cloth that wrapped around her waist. Behind her, the lights flickered brighter and brighter, as if it too wished to hear what she would say next. Eclair could now clearly see the floral wallpaper, which she thought was a dull violet, but was actually a bright pinkish-orange. No, she’d be able to differentiate purple from orange. The air was a bit warmer, too. Her gaze shifted back to Hyacinth, her eyes landing on the black, emotionless void of the fox mask. Eclair snapped back into her senses. “Nothing, I’m sure I imagined it.” The maiden’s shoulders slackened, a frown forming on her face. Eclair continued on. “In any case, to answer your question, no, killing foxes was an idea that absolutely repulsed her.”

Hyacinth stood up with a disappointed sigh. After a moment of silence, she spoke. Her voice was a low whisper. “You think me a liar, don’t you? About the ‘electricity’?”

Eclair gave her a skeptical look and shook her head. “It’s not as if you put a lot of effort into selling it. Your explanation was rather terrible.”

“You’d be correct. This manor does not run on a thunder orb, but rather…the power of friendship.”

“Hyacinth!”

“All right! Fine! And call me Miss!”

“I’m still not doing that.”

Hyacinth ignored her comment. “This manor is, in a way, an extension of myself. The overall look and feel of the atmosphere reflects on my own state of being. If I’m happy, the manor will be bright and colorful. If I am sad or bored, it will be dull, and so on.”

“Why couldn’t you just say that from the start?”

“I didn’t want you to think me an abomination.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, we’re on a floating manor and I followed a see-through fox to get here. This was the least surprising answer I could’ve gotten. Next time, just tell me when something magical is happening.”

“Next time? You mean you plan on staying?”

“For now. I do plan on leaving eventually, but I’ve had a rather long day and quite frankly, I don’t know how to get back down.”

“And when you leave…would you ever think to come back?”

“Do you wish me to?”

“I merely wish to hear of the outside world.”

“Then how about this: I go off and explore the world and after a few months, I shall come back and tell you all that I’ve seen and done.”

“That would be wonderful, if not for the fact that once you leave here, you cannot return.”

“So why even ask me to come back?”

“I asked if you would ever think to come back, not if you would. However, if you truly do ever wish to return, there is a way.”

“How so?”

“You’d merely have to create a bond with the manor. Once you’ve done that, with a bit of practice, you can teleport back here.”

“It’s not going to be like the trip up here, right?

“Unfortunately, that’s just the cost of teleportation. I’ll make sure to leave a pail bucket at the door.”

“So how do I create this ‘bond’?”

“That, girl, is a question I’ll answer after you get some rest.”

Hyacinth led Eclair to an empty, yet dust-free room. The room looked as if it was part of a completely different building. Rather than bright, patterned wallpaper, the walls were a dark oak wood with tapestries of beautiful landscapes hanging from the crevice where the wall and ceiling met. Dark, empty, elegant bookshelves lined the wall adjacent to the bed covered in fur blankets. Eclair hopped onto the bed, tangled herself in the blankets, and began to drift off to sleep. The curtains swung closed, but when Eclair looked up, no one was there. She never heard Hyacinth close the door, but she didn’t care. Sleep was pulling her eyes shut, and she no longer wished to fight it. 

Eclair woke up with drool streaming down her face. Groggily, she sat up and looked around the room. Most of the blankets and pillows that were once on the bed were now scattered messily on the floor. The bookshelf, which was empty when she went to sleep, now had a single book on its shelf. 

She picked up the book and read the cover. “The Fox and the Butterfly,” she read. She opened the book and was hit with the strong smell of aged pages. Pursuing through the smell, she began to read.

Once upon a time, there was a fox. The fox was no ordinary fox. No, for this fox was kind and honest, unlike its family who took joy in deceit. However, this fox was also trusting, believing itself unable to be made a fool by the kind critters of the glade. 

One day, while wandering the grassy fields, the fox came across a beautiful butterfly, lying peacefully on a lilac flower. 

“Hello, little butterfly,” said the fox. 

“Hello,” replied the butterfly. 

“Is something the matter?” asked the fox.

“My wings are broken and therefore I am unable to fly.”

“Would you like a ride?” 

“Very much so, yes”

And so the butterfly hopped onto the fox’s head and directed the fox as to where to go. 

“Over that hill! Down the rocky slope! Across the river!” 

By the end of the day, the fox was too tired to move. It hadn’t had a single bite to eat the whole day, nor a drop to drink. Shaking with exhaustion, the fox collapsed onto a bed of lilac flowers, the butterfly still sitting upon its nose. It smiled a twisted smile at the fox.

The fox only frowned. “I must apologize, for I was unable to get you to your final destination.”

“That is all right,” the butterfly said, its smile widening. “For I had no need of one in the first place.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

The butterfly unfolded its wings and gracefully began to hover above the fox’s snout. Dozens of other butterflies sprouted from the tall grass and surrounded the first. They all began to laugh and snicker at the fox, and soon started their venture elsewhere. 

As the fox’s vision blurred and heart slowed, it watched as the kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered off into the distance. It thought back to the moment it had first met the butterfly, how though it had claimed to have a broken wing, the fox never saw a tear nor scratch. As the fox took its final breath, however, it knew it had no regrets.

Eclair closed the book abruptly. “What an odd story,” she turned her head to Fox, who had just walked through the door. “Did you give me this?” The fox shook its head. Standing up, she couldn’t shake the feeling of her every move being watched. 

She turned her head to a mirror elegantly framed in gold. Her auburn hair, which had been neatly braided back into a bun, was now disheveled in one loose braid. Her vibrant green eyes were dulled by the bags that had formed beneath them. She was in desperate need of a bath. The fox sat beside her feet, yet it had no reflection. A drowsy frown tugging at the sides of her mouth twisted into a smile. Eclair was not smiling. The reflection in the mirror took a step toward her. It placed its hands against the glass. It was so much like her, and yet not.

“Who are you?” She asked the Not-her.

“I am you.”

“No, I’m me.”

“That cannot be, for you are I.”

“I- what?”

The reflection huffed out a small laugh. “I am merely giving you a hard time, dear. You did not ask the right question. It is not a matter of who I am, but rather-”

“What you are,” Eclair finished.

The Not-her gave a satisfied smile. “Precisely.” The reflection began to distort. The area behind the Not-her changed from a replica of the bedroom to a blank space with only a single red velvet fainting couch. It plopped itself on the couch with a thud. “I, my dear, am the manifestation of the manor itself. Although I may look like you, I merely take the form of whomever is looking into the mirror.” It looked at the book which was still in Eclair’s hands. 

“I see you found my book, though it wasn’t exactly hard to find.”

“If you’re in the mirror, then how did you-”

“Put the book there? Short answer is, I did and I did not. Long answer: If I will it to be, it shall be. I control everything in this house, the food, the furniture, the doors, everything but the lights, walls, and overall atmosphere. Close your eyes and think of a dish you’d like to eat. It’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen before you can even think to open your eyes.

She thought of her mother’s signature soup that she’d make after her hunts in the woods. It was never very good, but it always tasted like home. Her stomach growled. “Done.” the Not-her said with a snap of fingers.

She made her way down to the main foyer, where the fox then led her to the kitchen. Sitting on the counter was a steaming bowl of soup and warm bread. The soup, just as the Not-her had said. She took a piece of the bread, dipped it into the soup, and took a bite. It was as if her mother herself had cooked it. Homesickness struck her with a pang to her heart. She longed to go back to Strana Vetra, but she knew she couldn’t. That place was no longer her home, her father had made sure of that. Before she knew it, she had eaten the whole serving. 

“Is it to your liking?” A familiar voice whispered in her ear. Eclair jumped and whipped around to find Hyacinth once again standing right behind her. 

“You’ve got to stop doing that!”

The maiden seemed to ignore her. 

“Are you well-rested?” 

“I mean sure-”

“Good, let’s go.” She grabbed Eclair’s hand and yanked her across the hall to a wooden door. She ripped the door open and continued on, only stopping when she reached a dark cavern-like room. A small orb about the size of Eclair’s head hovered about halfway between the floor and the ceiling, a purple light emanating it, illuminating the walls.

Hyacinth took out a dagger hidden within the wrap around her waist and slashed Eclair's hand. 

Eclair yanked her hand back, trying to stop the blood pouring from her palm. “Mi- Hyacinth! Slow down!”

Hyacinth, who was mere seconds away from dropping the blood dripping from the dagger into the orb, stopped abruptly and turned around. “Apologies, I suppose I’m a bit too excited.”

“At least give a warning before you slash someone's hand! What in Myra’s name was that!”

“In order to create the bond, you need to place a drop of your blood into the heart of the house.”

“If that’s the heart of the manor, why not just destroy it and free yourself?”

“Don’t you think I would have done that by now if it were possible? This thing’s practically indestructible.”

“‘Practically’ implies that it is merely almost indestructible.”

“A god created the spell, only a god can break it.”

“A god? I thought it was a witch.”

“Your kind do have a tendency to change up stories for the sake of entertainment. Although, I can’t say I quite disagree with that one.”

“And you promise that doing,” she motioned her arms toward the heart. “This, will only create a bond between me and the house? Nothing else will happen to me?”

“On my life and through the grave beyond.”

“All right, then let’s continue.”

Hyacinth once again raised the knife to the orb, letting droplets of blood trickle into it. The orb seemed to explode in a blinding light. When Eclair’s vision cleared, she could see the once deep violet orb had turned a brilliant orange.

“Brilliant,” Hyacinth whispered under her breath. “We must test this out! Come!” She bolted up the stairs, Eclair mere steps behind her. Eclair had never truly done magic before, her heart was racing with anticipation. She stopped when they reached the top of the stairs. 

“How am I supposed to get down from here?” She asked Hyacinth.

The maiden merely smiled. “You need not worry, girl. You won’t have to.” But before Eclair could ask what she meant, Hyacinth rushed to the large, heavy wooden doors at the entrance of the manor. The doors opened for her just as they had for Eclair when she first arrived. She turned around to look at Eclair and ever so slowly, removed the fox mask from her face and stepped backwards through the door. 

“How did you- but I thought that you couldn’t-” Eclair stepped forward to join Hyacinth, but an invisible barrier stopped her dead in her tracks. “What? But-” Realization hit her like a slap to the face. She didn’t just create a bond with the manor, she bound herself to it. She took Hyacinth’s place.

Hyacinth gave her a smug look, but never met Eclair’s eyes. She threw the mask in her hand to Eclair’s feet. “I think you’ll be needing this.”

Words failed Eclair. She could feel the manor shift around her. The lights dimmed, and the walls dulled. How could she be so stupid? She thought she had been so careful. Had she not asked clarifying questions? Eclair supposed she never took the fact that Hyacinth could lie into consideration. But she hadn’t lied, had she? Eclair had asked if only the bond would be created, and that's all that would happen to her. The bond had been created, she just couldn’t see the ‘bond’ was just another way to say ‘bind’. “Why?” She eventually squeaked out.

“I have to say, I do feel a bit bad for deceiving you. The manor did try to warn you with that little book stunt. Yes, I found it in your room right after you had gotten up.”

“But why?”

“The legend of the Lonely Maiden said that for my freedom, an act of true love had to be done, but in reality, all it really took was for someone to be willing enough to place their blood into the orb. That whole ‘true love’ thing was merely to draw people in. In truth, I haven’t a clue if the act of true love would actually work. I was close to finding out at one point, but my mother put a stop to it. She sent the manor flying and sent his head to my door in a crate.

“Anyway, because my mother hated playing fair, she changed the rules to her own game. An act of true love could still release me, but now the only people able to enter Garden Grove were those descended from the fox goddess, Anya. Of course, she knew I wouldn’t be too open to the idea of love, so another option arose. If I could get a descendent to willingly bind themself to the manor, my curse would be transferred to them and I’d be free. She thought such a task impossible for the likes of me. After all, how could one out scheme the schemers? I had lost all hope, that is, until you came along.”

“I think I’d know if  I were a descendant of a goddess.”

“And yet here you are. Did you truly not think it odd that your mother never brought back foxes, which would’ve been much more valuable than small rodents? That you could see the fox in its spiritual form? Hear its words? Hell, that your old fiance sent such a strong force to get you back? No ordinary village girl can do that.” 

“Ok, sure, but then why would the fox spirit purposely lead me here?”

Hyacinth let out a laugh. “You might have the blood of the fox goddess, but you sure as hell didn’t inherit her mindset. Isn’t it obvious? Because it likes a little chaos.”

“What, so you’re just going to leave me here?”

“If it’s any consolation, the fog around the village was a personal curse, so now anyone can come in again.” The butterfly-like patterned wrap around her waist began to unfold into huge wings. “I wish you the best of luck,” She smiled. “Eclair.” A gust of wind burst from where Hyacinth was standing and Eclair had to look away. When she looked back, Hyacinth was gone, leaving only a cloud of dust in her wake. 

She felt the Fox rub its head against her leg. Looking down, she saw it had a regretful expression on its face. Another trick. “Get out,” she murmured.

It spoke in its calm, wispy voice. “I’m sorry, I truly only brought you here to keep her company, I never thought she would-”

“I SAID GET OUT!” She boomed. The fox flinched, but said no more. It merely bent its ears back and began to walk past her, its tail sagging behind. Eclair didn’t so much as look at it while it passed. Her expression was dreary and cold. The fox looked back, and before she could change her mind, she slammed the doors shut. 

It was ironic, wasn’t it? She was so afraid of being imprisoned in a marriage, she couldn’t see the cage that was building itself around her piece by piece. Fearful of being isolated and alone, she ended up isolating herself all on her own. 

Turning around, she took a good look at the paintings that covered the wall. Although none of the expressions had changed, she felt as if they were all looking at her disappointedly. The weight of their unwavering gaze made her legs give in, and she crumpled to the ground. As she sat there, she could’ve sworn she heard a familiar laugh. A laugh just like hers. A laugh from someone who is her, and yet is not.