Iris~~
I step back up. There's no one around that I can see. Unless the whole Society is wondering about me, then not many people should know my name. It must have been in my head. That's all. Being here is getting to me.
Gripping the fabric of my dress, as this one that Jonas's has given me is floor length, I step down again.
"Iris."
I freeze, one shoe on the stone, one on the marble. That was a woman's voice.
I'm being ridiculous. I step fully onto the step.
"Iris," the voice—voices?— drag out my name.
Okay, I need to go to bed. I should turn around and find Erik now. But I wasn't trained to run when faced with the unknown. Revolutions don't start because someone turned back. Wars aren't won when all the soldiers flee. I owe it to myself to go a little farther and contemplate the idea that I may be losing my mind.
After a few more steps, a railing begins as the staircase widens. I grip the iron railing, confronted by the sheer size of what lurks beneath the Society's Estate. The staircase spirals downward, the steps wide and short, candles illuminating the path. I can make out the bottom but barely. It's haunting, but beautiful, and I head for the first landing.
"Iris."
My mind seems to lurch toward the voice. The sharp jolt makes me grab for the railing as I take the last step.
A wide hallway, as elegant as those up above but made of solid stone, stretches out to my right. Chandeliers and candles light up the space. Silver paint, that vines over the walls, seems to shimmer from the lights.
The skin around my Expiration Date tingles. I scratch at it through the sleeve of the dress. I don't know how much involvement Jonas had in me ending up with this particular dress, but he has my gratitude for remembering sleeves.
"Can I help you?" A woman walks up the stairs at the end of the landing. I drop my gaze. I saw enough of her face to know she can't be much older than me. Her white dress flows around her. The dress leaves her shoulders bare, v'ing off from the neck to wrap around the middle of her arms. A silver belt with tassels hangs around her waist. Her tight-textured curls flow freely around her neck and shoulders, her skin a tawny brown. She's gorgeous to the point I remember the makeup I accidently rubbed off earlier.
"I heard someone calling me," I say.
"You're Erik's guest, correct?" She folds her hands in front of her, bits of the numbers of her Mark visible.
"Yes." I don't recall seeing her before.
"You shouldn't be down here," she says.
Footsteps tap against the steps behind me followed by a "There you are" in a calm voice that manages to send chills down my spine.
The woman drops into a curtsy. "Colton."
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. His steps are probably impeccably graceful and light, but they sound like a drum to me. I should turn, acknowledge him, but the memory of him grabbing my chin is still too fresh in my mind, and I find that I'm scared to look at him.
"Arrietty," he says.
She rises from her curtsy as Colton Blackwood's fingers wrap around my shoulder.