The Burning of the Palace at Versailles (or, Butterfly) [REWRITING]

Chapter 7- Late Winter

Melody ran over what she could remember from her one semester of Spanish class before she attempted and failed to learn Japanese. "Not really. Only a few words. Sorry." She paused. "Lo siento."

Puzzle laughed then, a bright hearty laugh that was as visible as it was vocal. Her whole face seemed to light up and her eyes closed as she laughed breathily. "Good enough," she said. "Eso es lo suficientemente bueno."

"Yeah, no, I didn't get that," Melody said. "Something about being sufficiently good." The basket she was balancing on her hip was starting to ache, but it had felt nice to make Puzzle laugh.

Puzzle led them through one set of gates and into a small room with a washer and dryer. As Melody worked, she noticed Puzzle wasn't leaving. She started the machine— an old, archaic thing that needed washing powder instead of detergent and rattled the entire room and stood up.

"Why does Jordan get different clothes than the rest of us?" she asked. Jordan's clothes had been multicolored fleeces and polyester pink tanktops, with only a few of the regular grey, cotton pieces she had collected from the rest of them.

Puzzle shrugged. "It's what she chooses to spend her 'good behavior' points on. Like Diana gets makeup, Cy gets books, Key gets a share of the money we make to save up for culinary school. Jordan likes clothes."

"What do you spend yours on?"

Puzzle shrugged a little. "Ballet shoes. And crosswords. What are you going to spend yours on?"

Melody noticed the way Puzzle stood on the balls of her feet and the natural agility she seemed to move with. "You're a dancer?" Melody asked.

The other girl gave a slight, curt nod. "I was, once."

"Why did you stop?"

Puzzle shook her head. "You ask too many questions." She turned away from the small laundry room, and Melody followed. "We have to go out to the garden now. Jim likes us planting the winter crops as soon as possible."

Melody paused. She hated when people didn't answer her questions. "What's your name?"

Puzzle stopped mid-step and gave her a long sidelong glance. "Everyone calls me Puzzle."

"I know. I'm just—" Melody tried to come up with something smart to say. "I'm writing this all down in a notebook. I want to write it all down. It's good reporting. To have full names." She cursed herself for her lack of eloquence.

"What's wrong with my nickname?" Puzzle asked.

Melody shook her head. "Nothing. I like your nickname. It's just not very scholastic."

Puzzle closed her eyes and laughed. "Very well. My name is Lourdes. You can write that down, but don't call me that, for fuck's sake."

Lourdes. Melody rolled the thought around in her mind. Lord-ess. It sounded different and exotic. It sounded important. Melody tried to remember if she had ever met someone named Lourdes before. Nobody came to mind. Melody looked closely at the sad, skinny girl who was waiting for her to follow and imagined her as a Lourdes, not a Puzzle. Suddenly, the girl who said she was once a dancer seemed more majestic, grander.

"What are you looking at?" Puzzle asked. Melody flinched. But the question hadn't been said angrily, she sounded curious, as if she really was wondering what Melody was searching for.

"I'm just wondering how I'm going to describe you in my book," Melody said.

"Did I give you permission for you to put me in your book?"