Belladonna

IT’D BEEN YEARS SINCE SIGNA HAD A REASON TO CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS.

The last time she’d celebrated was when her grandmother had been alive; they’d eaten mince pies and pudding every night of December and had decorated a tree with candles, fruits, and ribbons. The memories had faded some, but she remembered powdery snow outside the window and a fire burning in the hearth. She remembered the smell of pastries and gingerbread and oranges, and she recalled her grandmother reading her stories.

She held on to those memories when her grandmother had passed, nostalgic for the company and the warmth of stories and sweets. Her uncle had decorated their home, but Signa hadn’t been allowed near the tree for fear she might somehow ruin it, and he’d spent his December nights with brandy and a lover, leaving Signa alone in her bedroom. None of her other guardians had done much to celebrate Christmas, perhaps cooking a turkey or setting up a tree, but there was never any warmth to it like there’d been with her grandmother.

After several years, Signa had stopped yearning for the past. But once December rolled around at Thorn Grove, that nostalgia emerged with a vengeance. She sat at the top of the stairs, watching as the maids hung wreaths and garlands, decorating the manor for a ball that would not be held for another few weeks.

She lingered by the kitchen, where Percy worked off his boredom by raiding the pantries and pestering the cooks for sweets he shared with her and Blythe, insisting they’d put meat on his sister’s bones. And then she’d watch, through frosted windows, for the first snowfall. When it came, she went directly to Blythe’s room, helped bundle her up, and then led her and Percy downstairs for hot chocolate before they journeyed outside.

“I don’t see why you’re so excited,” Percy said to Signa. He tried not to let his teeth chatter in the cold. He was becoming too used to the heat of the kitchen, and he was so fair skinned and prone to flushing that the tip of his nose and ears had turned red within minutes of being outside. “Why could we not drink this by a fire?”

Nestled in a wool gown and thick cape, its green velvet hood pulled up around her head, Blythe laughed. The sound reminded Signa of the toll of church bells: warm and safe and beautiful. Even Percy quieted upon hearing it, for her laughter was so rare these days. He watched with a hard expression as Blythe sipped from her hot chocolate, as though he worried she might disappear at any moment.

“A bit cold, Percy?” Signa teased, laughing, too, as he tucked his gloved hands under his arms to conserve warmth.

“We shan’t count on him for making snowmen or snow angels,” Blythe mused, leaning back on her hands to watch the snow falling upon the lawn before them. “My brother’s never been fond of the snow.”

“It’s beastly weather, and wool itches like mad,” he grumbled. “I’d much prefer to be seaside during the summer.”

Perhaps it was because of her taste toward the cold, but Signa couldn’t wait for snow to cover the fields and for the temperature to plummet. Autumn and winter had always been her favorite seasons. They felt quiet, like the earth was at rest, preparing itself for the warmer months ahead. She supposed she should start learning to enjoy the spring as well, now that she was nearing her debut—but there was something beautiful about the stillness of this time of year. Something wonderful and fragile.

Staring out at the moors, daydreaming of how lovely they’d look veiled in white, Signa caught a glimpse of Sylas in the distance. He was escorting a bay mare into the stables, and as though he felt her eyes upon him, he turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. He gave the tiniest wave when he caught her staring, and Signa turned away at once, skin burning hot from her mortification.

What was with her thoughts, betraying her by bouncing from him to Death? She and Sylas were friends and nothing more. Besides, it wasn’t as though Death was a second choice by any means; she thought of him even more than she did Sylas. Though she wasn’t quite sure yet what that said about her.

“I’m going inside where there is coffee and books and a hearth,” Percy announced, glancing toward his sister. “Don’t stay out much longer. The cold isn’t good for your health.”

Blythe nodded vaguely and waved him away, tipping her head back to gaze at the sky. Signa mimicked her, lying beside Blythe on the flat ground.

It truly was the perfect day for the first snow of the season. Gray, cloudy skies and the final tendrils of autumn retreating. Soon the trees would be bare and the entire ground would be covered in white.

“I wasn’t sure that I’d see another Christmas.” Blythe’s voice was soft as snowfall, yet it struck deeply, like someone had twisted a knife deep within her stomach. Signa rolled to her side to look at her cousin, who looked back at her with the smallest smile upon her lips. “I must thank you, cousin. Not only for your help but because I feel that you are the only one who did not give up on me.”

Tears prickled in Signa’s eyes, though she refused to let them fall as she reached to take Blythe’s hand. “I’ve never known a family. I will not presume to know what it feels like to have a sibling, though I do imagine it. And I imagine that if I had one, I would feel for them as I feel for you.”

Blythe smiled again, the barest hint of emotion upon her face before she sat up and straightened herself, seemingly having no desire to revel in such feelings. “Come,” she said, standing. “Percy’s right that we should keep warm. Besides, there’s something I’d like to show you.”

Signa followed her inside and up the stairs. It was clear that being out this past hour had exhausted her. She clutched the banister as she walked, steadfast in her determination not to let her exhaustion show. Signa wished she would show it more, but Blythe was the most stubborn girl she’d ever met. So stubborn that she’d nearly cheated Death as many times as Signa.

When they reached her room, Blythe threw off her cape and took a seat upon the settee, skin flushed and clammy. “Do pull the bell for me, would you?” she asked, motioning toward the pulley that alerted the servants. “I’ll need Elaine to help me get out of this gown. I’d forgotten how heavy wool is.”

Signa did as she was asked, then noticed a thin white box adorned with a gold ribbon on the vanity. “Bring that here,” Blythe said, exhaustion weighing down the excitement in her voice.

Signa took the box and joined her cousin on the settee, holding the box on her lap. It was remarkably light but too large to be any sort of jewelry or mittens—and far too small to be a gown. She started to give it a tiny shake when Blythe grabbed her hand.

“Careful, it’s fragile!” she growled. “As much as I’d like to be there for the masquerade ball, I’m afraid that’s beyond my limits. Next year, I assure you, my crinoline will be the largest by far, and my gown the boldest. But for now, this is the only way I can send a little piece of myself with you.” She motioned to the box, her smile growing. “Open it.”

Unable to recall the last time she had received a gift, Signa peeled the ribbon off with care, as if fraying it would somehow destroy the gift within. Inside the box was a mask that Signa gingerly lifted from a cocoon of tissue paper.

“Go ahead,” Blythe urged. “Try it on.”

She did. Gilded branches curved like vines around the right side of Signa’s face and her honey-colored eye. Delicate, sculpted petals of lilac and deep green ivy wove around those branches, spilling over her head and past her blue eye. It was a gorgeous, mythical thing that Signa set back down at once, afraid she’d break it.

“It’s for the masquerade.” Blythe’s words were a little too quick, and she kept searching Signa’s face for a reaction. “I had it designed for you, as a Christmas gift. Do you like it?”

Signa held it upon her lap, staring down at one of the most beautiful pieces of art she’d ever seen. Somehow, it was hers. Someone had thought of her as they had this made, and that was by far the kindest compliment she’d ever received.

“I adore it,” she whispered, returning the mask to the box with gentle hands. “Though I’m not sure how to wear such a thing. It deserves to be framed.”

“Nonsense.” Blythe tsked. “If you think it a work of art, then wear it and become the art yourself. I know how much you’re looking forward to the ball, and if I cannot be there to steal all the attention, you must do so for me.”

Signa laughed. “I suppose I’ve no other choice.” There was a warmth in her heart that she’d not felt in some time. “This is the most extraordinary thing anyone has ever given to me. Thank you.”

Blythe waved her hand in gentle dismissal, her nose scrunching up a little. “It’s you who deserves all the thanks, for Thorn Grove has been altered since your arrival. I’m out of my bed. Father is smiling once more. It’s not perfect, but it’s more progress than I ever thought we’d see, and it’s you we have to thank. You are valued, Signa. I want you to hear that from me before some vulture of a man starts filling your head with sweet words. I care for you not because you’re polite or skilled at social graces, but for all the oddities that make you who you are. And someone else will, too, I assure you.” She took the mask and held it to Signa’s face, looking it over with a smile before she set it back into the box. “I know how society teaches us to be soft and dull and compliant, but you will not be any of those things, do you understand? Do not change the parts of yourself that you like to make others comfortable. Do not try to mold yourself to fit the standards someone else has set for us. Those are the rules for wearing this mask.”

Signa clutched the box tighter, trying to commit the words to memory, for they were everything she was feeling. Everything she was fearing. “It’s exhausting,” Signa said as she looked down to her lap, “to pretend you are something—someone—you’re not.”

Blythe took her by the hand. “Then do not spend your life exhausted.”

Signa felt as though she were standing on a precipice, teetering with one foot in a world she felt called to but was afraid to know, and the other in a world that she’d spent her life wanting, only to discover that perhaps it was not meant for her. She didn’t have the answers—didn’t know what she wanted. But she hoped to figure it out soon, and so she nodded, even though she wasn’t certain that she meant it.

Blythe’s eyes narrowed, but before she could ensure Signa’s nod meant that promise, there was a knock on the door.

“Miss Hawthorne?” It was Elaine, carrying a tray. Signa met her at the threshold to Blythe’s suite and without asking permission, lifted the porcelain teacup to her lips. She drew a sip, ignoring Elaine’s surprised protest.

“Miss Farrow—”

Signa didn’t wait to hear the rest of that sentence. She set the decidedly poison-free cup down on the tray and said to Blythe, “Enjoy your tea.”

“Remember what I said, cousin!” Blythe’s voice was a faint trill as Signa headed out the door and down the hall, slipping the mask from the box to stare at it as she went.

Soon. She would figure out what she wanted soon. But first, there was a ball to prepare for.