the child by the door

The Signor called for Sal’s maid and the maid in turn, called for Sal to follow her. The maid’s responses seemed rush and monosyllabic, different from what she displays in front of her. As Sal followed the Signor and the maid, she glanced behind. Ren mouthed something to her, but she was too far to see it clearly.

She almost forgot how scary these kinds of days were. The Signor towered over the maid and Sal in stature and aura. To be honest, Sal kept her eyes fixed on the cane for it was as if any moment it will make contact with her.

“I expected more from you.” The Signor said. Sal angled her head so she could see through the slit space behind her veil to make sure who he was talking to. For now, he addressed the maid. Waiting like this on what he will say is torture.

“I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”

“A tiny crack is enough to destroy the whole tower. Don’t you forget that.”

Sal waited on what he will say to her next but there was only a long, fat silence. The air only punctuated by Sal’s nervous twiddling and the sound of cicadas in the air. Sal dared not to look at the Signor for a reaction.

“Keep the chamber pot in her room, and enough water for a week.” It looks like it will be another complete week of isolation. It was nothing new, but Sal held her breath. She cannot rest easy. Who knows what misfortune follows such a light punishment.

“I’m s-sorry. It was shameful. I got carried away because I haven’t seen Oleon. I got too excited and-”

“An explanation and an apology does not matter, action does.” The Signor replied.

The Signor turned to leave and Sal cannot be any more relieved. But the man did not leave as she expected and instead went by her bookshelf to inspect the unruly books and the books stacked over the neat pile on the shelf.

“I had to take extra precautions to protect you but I trust the Castiglione’s sire knows how to keep his mouth shut. And on that accord.” The man turned, drawing a line of dust in the bookshelf and looking at the dirt. “I cannot have allowed the exchange of letters between you and Napoleon.”

Sal stared blankly on the floor. The realization came on a slowly. She glanced at the maid, who from her limited vision, she can make out to have not moved from her position. The maid was quiet, too. Sal stuttered a response. Then, where are the letters she sent? Thrown away? Burned? Then, could Oleon’s letters, where were they?

“The letters?”

The man only thumped his cane and breathed in a sigh. “Disposed.” He turned to her.

Sal backed upon the corner, instinctively protecting her shelf.

” You think you could afford to reveal your existence to the world?”

“People should not see me, I’m sorry.” Sal could only see the floor yet, at the edge of her sight, she could see the cane under the long line of lace in her veil. Sal held tight to the shelf where she kept her sketches and letters.

“Remember that. Always.”