Sorrel and Myriana

Chapter 4: To Hide Truth

3 March 1933

The day of the reception is upon us. From midday to dusk, the maids work arduously to make me look presentable. Once the moon has graced the sky with its presence, my transformation is complete. I take weary steps down the stairs towards the front gates. They have been opened widely, revealing the night's cool breeze and darkened nature. Sorrel stands by the door, embellished in a black tuxedo, a black tie, and gleaming black leather shoes. His dark hair is pushed back away from his face and fastened by wax. He wears a white shirt under his suit and white gloves. His gloved hands make dead sound as he claps at my arrival. I am wearing a glittering black dress, suffocated with lace and ribbons. The top is tight to my body with no straps to support it up. The dress opens into a wide circle around my heels. Metallic black pins decorated with flowers are pinned into a globe positioned tightly on the back of my head. The cosmetic is done natural except for the bright red of the lipstick.

"I'm impressed," he says with a grin, "you and I are both ready for one hell of a funeral." The words hang heavily in the air. They are not joking nor sarcastic words. There is truth coherently intertwined within that sentence. However, all I can do is smile awkwardly and pray for the night's evaporation. I take my shawl and proceed to the coach. The coach is filled with red velvet seats and windows that peer into the darkness. Still, I stare blindly at them. The streetlights flash on and off as the cars speed by, mocking our stale speed. Though I have dwelled in this city for more than half a year, the streets are still unfamiliar to me.

"What street is this?" I wonder out loud.

"Wentletrap," Sorrel answers. I turn to look at him. He is expressionless. His dark-blue eyes hang heavy on mine.

"Is that the street we live on?" I press further.

"That's right."

"Why is it called 'Wentletrap'?" I keep formulating questions. Though he is not my first choice for answers, I am curious about this unknown world in which I live in. He cocks his head slightly to one side and smiles softly at me.

"You are quite chatty today," he says. I shy away slightly at the comment. "Well..." he begins. "At the end of this street is a beach where you can find lots of sea shells, but this beach happens to be particularly famous for its abundance of wentletrap shells."

"Wentletrap," I repeat to myself, archiving the word in my mind.

"Have you ever seen a wentletrap?" he asks.

"Only in pictures. I've never seen a real one before." My comment fades into a whisper. He sighs as if disappointed by my ignorance. It is not a matter that I can help. I was raised on an island far from here in a remote area away from any large civil regions such as Dalltop City. My fear of society, of war, of the world, left me ignorant of common things. I isolated myself away from the masses in a coward's attempt at painless survival. Yet, here I am in the most hostile of lives. In many ways, I regret leaving the comfort of ignorance. Though, it was I who always hoped for more.

"You know," he says, "I can take you to see one if you want." I knit my brows in confusion as I stare blankly at him. "In fact," he elaborates as he reads my miscomprehension, "I can take you to see whatever your heart desires." I maintain my confused demeanor. He strikes an appetizing grin. "Myriana, all you have to do is ask." I had heard these tempting words once before. Yes, I remember them. They were the reason why I took the hand of the devil and stepped out of my comfort zone. I always believed them to be empty words but today, he sounds sincere. Perhaps, the mundane conversation has created a sane illusion of him.

"Whatever my heart desires..." I repeat to myself in a faint whisper as I turn away again to look at the city lights. Such lies. I hang to his words with sixty pounds of salt. Freedom. That is what my heart desires, yet I know that he cannot offer me such a luxury. He speaks of monetary trinkets, useless and dead to me. A foolish man always speaks foul lies without even knowing.