Excitement moved her forward.
Where is the Collector now? Is he still under the effects of my smile?
She giggled to herself.
What would happen if I called his name? He may even be watching me this very second.
Hours ago that thought would have disgusted her, but now it gave her a touch of satisfaction and courage. She thought of returning to the charred door to use her energy for another attempt to break inside, but found herself devoid of any frantic need to find the Queen. It had been replaced with something that pressed her to keep moving, a desire to simply go, even if she had no direction.
Her steps turned into a light skipping.
Ma's book might be able to occupy her mind, but the notion of sitting still not only felt unwanted, but impossible given her mood.
She passed through the towns. She passed the hut of Hansel and Gretel and the ivy-covered home of Jill.
She giggled as she went, though she had no cause to.
When she passed her childhood home, a shiver touched her courage. Even now, with this brave energy, she didn't dare step back inside.
Childhood.
That word felt thick in her mouth.
The Collector said she wasn't a child.
She was inclined to believe him.
Credence didn't feel grown-up, but something nagged her, a whisper deep within that told her she knew she was past the cusp of womanhood.
Even Ma had sensed it. How long ago was that?
There were no more invisible enemies that threatened Credence into hiding. No night dark enough to send her cowering by a fire. Even the Collector, the last fear she held onto, proved that once the shadows were chased away, all that was left of the nightmare that plagued her was nothing but a man.
If that understanding was not the very proof that she was beyond childhood, Credence wasn't sure what would be.
She was deep in the woods when she stumbled upon a place she hadn't seen before.
A cluster of trees with rope ladders winding up their trunks, leading to several quaint homes. Credence ventured into the one she thought looked the most lovely, and it was in this charming dwelling that she found a mirror.
It was the first one she'd seen since her time with Lilith, and when she saw her reflection, Credence stilled.
She thought she was much changed in Lilith's home, but she remembered seeing a bit of the child in herself. Now, Credence could not find a hint of that familiar face, or even the body she knew to be her own.
Under the blouse she could see the small hills of a bosom. She hadn't noticed when she bathed, but she had never imagined possessing such anatomy before, and certainly never thought to look. Her shoulders were broader and her arms were defined by a whisper of muscle. When she pulled her clothing tight around her body she could see the outline of hips, and a curve in her waist that replaced the straight, bony physique of adolescence. She rolled up her pants and revealed slender legs with an unmistakable femininity in their shape.
But it was her face that startled Credence the most. Its roundness had slimmed into a defined jawline. Her nose had lost its innocent, button-like form, and her lips had stretched and plumped into an inviting pout. What once had the padding of baby fat was now contoured into the angles of an adult.
She was a young woman.
In a single look, her childhood was gone.
How could I not know my own body?
Credence smiled at herself and found her face quite becoming.
Before she understood what she was doing, she began to bat her eyelashes and purse her lips, in a manner similar to the ladies of the towns who stood on the balconies to coo at people on the street.
In a move that would have embarrassed her before, she winked at the mirror.
Entranced by herself, she wanted to know what she looked like from every angle, and she turned and craned her neck to see herself from the side and back.
She fussed with her hair, pulling it up to show a delicate neck, then smoothed it over her shoulders and twisted waves into it.
She imagined that she was a noble lady welcoming guests into her home. Then she was talking to the young man she had seen bathing in the towns, the one Rose had pointed out.
That is worth a look, she remembered Rose saying.
Credence blushed and thought the expression made her face quite pretty.
She imagined—hoped—the young man would think so, too.
She curtsied and giggled, noting the more attractive angles of her face. She found that if she turned her head slightly to the left and closed her eyes halfway, she looked rather beguiling, and when she smiled at this angle her cheekbones were more pronounced.
And if she laughed as she said 'hello', it gave her voice a pleasing, melodious quality.
Then came the thought that almost ruined the moment.
What would he think to see me like this?
Her joy faded, for she knew that the 'he' in this instance was the Collector, ever idling at the back of her thoughts.
She frowned at the mirror.
He might be the only one who will ever see me like this. In this world, it's all for him.
She answered her thoughts out loud, "It's not for him."
You're preening for that beast.
"I'm not preening. It's only a play-show."
It dawned on her. She wasn't just admiring herself, she was polishing a weapon. Every practiced pose, every pout of her lips or tousle of hair could be used to gain advantage.
Credence pulled away from the mirror. She thought herself pretty, but while she was in the Collector's world that beauty was nothing but a tool.
But only for now.
She climbed down from the house in the tree and moved on, wrestling with thoughts of charm and power, until she came upon a clearing with a great fire, surrounded by several painted wagons.
Marmy Jo's camp, complete with an empty stage.
The memory of it held delight and pain in equal measure.
It was here that she and Josiah had been saved from certain death, and had their spirits lifted by actors and jesters at a time when they undoubtedly needed it most.
But she remembered Marmy Jo's iron poker pressing into her skin, and the ominous words the old spirit shared when she read her hand.
"There's a lot more coming for you than you realize...Whether you use your power for good or wicked is still blank..."
Without question, the first part of that prediction had proved true. The rest of it, however, was still waiting to be discovered. Had Marmy Jo seen Credence dining with the Collector?
Hope rose in her heart, that the ghost may have found a way to slip into the purple world.
"Are you here, Marmy Jo?" Credence asked the camp.
No answer came.
She entered one of the wagons, having been wildly interested in seeing the inside since she laid eyes on the real thing, and found them stocked with trunks full of the whimsical accoutrement of an entertainer. Her thoughts turned to the jester, Ken, who had enthralled her with his singing. She found a stringed instrument similar to the one he played—or was it the same one?
She sat with it and experimentally plucked at the strings, delighting in the lovely notes produced with every twang of her fingers. She closed her eyes and imagined Ken playing just for her. His voice was a distant memory, but his face stood clear in her hazy recollection, and his smile was nothing short of striking.
Her mind drifted, and now it was the bathing youth that was singing to her, wearing a jester's doublet and using Ken's voice.
She let the fantasy continue freely, not directing it this way or that.
The young man offered his hand in an invitation to dance. She happily accepted it and the two spun about as faint music underscored their steps.
Without warning, the young man bent down and touched his lips to hers.
She should have been shocked by his boldness, but instead she leaned into his arms, welcoming her first kiss with unrestrained joy. A dull tingle rose inside of her. With her eyes still closed, she laid a hand on her stomach and held onto the image of the kiss.
But this sensation wasn't in her stomach. It was lower, somewhere deep inside where she couldn't reach.
Credence's mind grasped to name the sensation—
She had felt something like it before.
In the woods, the real woods, when the Collector leaned in to touch his lips to hers. At the time, Credence had been convinced it was magic, that the Collector had bewitched her.
The young man pulled away, and his face twisted into the visage of the Collector.
Only half of her was devastated.
The other half stared in wonder.
His dark eyes, his lips, the hair falling around his face. He was smiling, and kindness changed his features, transforming him from sinister to handsome.
Outside of her imagination, Credence's hand moved beyond her stomach. Her fingers touched the rope at her waist. Her heart was a drumbeat crashing against her chest, and she released a heavy sigh.
The Collector leaned down to her ear, and she barely heard his voice when he whispered, "You're not a child."
Sweat broke on her brow, and she fought to change the image in her mind, but it remained fixed on him.
"What am I then?" she asked.
The Collector pulled back and looked at her, tracing her cheek with his finger.
"You're mine."
Her eyes opened.
The thrill inside died, leaving her empty and ashamed.
For a long while Credence remained still, listening as her breath righted itself. She felt exhausted in mind and body and spirit. The implication of what her mind allowed, what she had chased after in that half-dream, settled into horrified guilt.
She didn't know which was worse, the image in her head or the way her body responded to it.
She began to cry, distraught and confused and feeling betrayed.
The frantic energy she'd left dinner with began to rise again, but now it was a decidedly unwelcome companion. She jumped to her feet, desperate to leave the wagon, but when she opened the door to escape she was stopped by the scene outside.
Dozens of lilies had sprouted from the ground, their petals a dark shade of purple, the faces of their blooms all turned towards her.
She ran from them with tears rolling down her cheeks.
I will not think of him like that, she repeated to herself.
Never...again.
"I am a child," she chanted as she ran. "I am a child, I am a child..."
And a liar, if she thought she could convince herself of that. She had been too prideful, too curious, and what she found within seized her heart with panic.
She ran until she collapsed on the ground, and the trees that towered over her looked condemning.
She vowed to never again seek Ma's advice on enemies, for it had only brought her here.
She thought herself so powerful.
She thought herself in control.
But her mind turned against her, not fighting her enemy, but desiring him closer.
No charms or enchantments. No potion or spells. No outside influence.
It had all come from her.
There was still a reason to fear the Collector after all.