The eyes are the windows
to the soul.
~Leonardo da Vinci
***
"Ianthe? Ravenna? Come, I want you both to meet someone,"
A young lady said, her rich brown hair clamped into a neat ponytail held in place by beautiful ivory pins that complemented her milky skin and a dark green dress, as she urged two little girls forward amid the assemblage of guests in the Great Hall.
It was filled with powerful people decked in their finest glory. One would notice the people present weren't just ordinary. They were people of a higher class known as the highborns.
The chandelier sparkled lustrously with glares heavy with crystal prisms, scattering flecks of light that danced across gilded cornices and frescoed plaster. The curtains, a rich crossbreed of velvet drapes merged with the red carpet drawn from the entrance to the end of the hall.
Servants glided smoothly across all sides, offering drinks and dessert amongst the guests as the orchestra's music seeped into the depths of the room, and at every corner. The faint rustle of silk skirts and the soft echo of distant footsteps on the marble.
The lady watched the girls approaching with skilled practice, and she smiled, urging them forward.
"Lord Hectorherm, Lady Isabelle, I introduce you to my lovely daughters. Ianthe Vale," she conveyed a sign to the side of the girl dressed in a black sleeveless gown, adorned with the finest embroidery, in correspondence to her short ink black hair.
When the little girl was introduced by her mother, she curtseyed, offering the most practiced smile. However, her eyes were blindfolded with eye patches, making it impossible for the audience to get a glimpse of her eyes, merely the lower part of her face.
Just like her mother, she maintained the analogous features, but somehow the opposite of good-looking.
They only offered a slight smile to the blind girl who straightened her spine after dropping her skirt to the floor, before staring brightly at the other girl beside her.
It seemed like the girl detected the shift of emotions when their eyes met her figure for less than five seconds, then towards her sister, and her face fell pithily before returning to that smile.
"And Ravenna Vale," the lady continued, gesturing towards the girl beside Ianthe. A look at both of them, one could tell they were identical.
The girl was dressed in an elbow-length sleeve of a sky-blue gown, glistening with pearls which resembled the spark in her ocean-blue eyes. The embroidery was well defined and beautiful, complementing the silvery glow of her long hair.
She courtised, following the gesture of her sister before straightening her spine. Unlike Ianthe whose face was bright at the event, Ravenna's was forced, like this was the last place she wanted to be.
"Such lovely daughters indeed," Lord Hectorherm spoke, casting a look at Ravenna. "I'm afraid your husband lost the fight on his genes. They look just exactly as you are,"
She chuckled softly. "I suppose,"
"Dagbert, why don't you take one of the Vales and show her around?" Lady Isabelle gestured toward a boy around the same age as the girls, but a bit older.
He was tall and handsome, dressed in a tailored velvet doublet of deep navy, trimmed with silver piping, fastened with pearl buttons that gleamed softly in the light.
White lace spilled from his cuffs and collar, starched just enough to keep its elegant flare. His breeches, pressed and perfect, met polished leather boots that clicked softly against the stone as he walked.
Similar to his mother, he had refined cheekbones, flawless skin, and a perfect face structure. His hair was the color of sun-warmed chestnuts, combed into tidy waves that framed a thoughtful face. And to his father's trait, the height and steel-nature summed his looks.
He bared open his right arm for the girl with silver hair and she peeked up, casting a tiny look at him before her mother, who returned with an approving nod.
And for a moment, she looked at her sister, noticing the sadness behind the eye patch.
"I-I don't want to go with you," Her tiny voice was hoarse and detached as she clutched a fistful of her skirt.
The expression on the boy's face sullened, perhaps at her audacity to keep him in that position or the renunciation, as he passed a look at the people behind whose expressions were of no good either.
"Ravenna," The threat behind that sweet call sent shivers down the little girl's spine and she gulped, hooking her arm with his.
He led her across the dance floor, leaving the spectators watching their movement with a satisfied smile.
"Little ones," she said. "Ravenna is such a shy girl, and most especially to someone she adores. Like her father and me. She'll come around,"
"I see," Lady Isabelle said with a thoughtful look.
"Look at them. Don't they just make a lovely couple," and they chuckled, staring at the two figures in their own world, now lost in the crowd of guests.
"Cheers," She raised her glass to a toast. "To a few more years,"
"To a few more years," They echoed the sentiment, clinking their drinks in the air before chuckling.
"The Vales and Davenports will be family very soon. The future is right before us, something we must protect for the better, Lady Isolde said," Lord Hectorherm smiled and the lady returned it.
It seemed like they all seemed to ignore the last girl standing still in position, fiddling with a fistful of her skirt. Her eyes were lowered to the floor.
Lady Isolde turned. "Ianthe, why don't you go join the other girls. The party has just begun. Go, have fun,"
The little girl nodded, then curtseyed before leaving, holding her skirt to avoid tripping.
Although blindfolded, she maneuvered her way swiftly, blending herself in the midst of the crowd.
The harmony of the music wound deep in the room with the faint rustle of her skirts, and the echo of the distant voices and footsteps behind her.
It was easier to merge her tiny figure past the mass until she stopped at a group of girls of her age, as they laughed and chatted brightly.
"Can I join you?"
The circle of girls fell quiet. A few turned slowly to look at her, their giggles fading into awkward silence.
One very uncomfortable almost slipping the smile off her face. She detected the change in the atmosphere, and the disgust much palpable.
One girl, tall and blonde, narrowed her eyes. "Why would you?"
Ianthe hesitated. "I… just thought…"
"Thought we'd want to be seen with you?" another girl cut in, snorting.
A redhead whispered something to the girl beside her, who covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"You don't even have eyes," the blonde girl said, staring at the blindfold. "Are you just pretending to be blind for attention or something?"
"I'm not—"
"Seriously, it's creepy. You're always staring at nothing."
"Like a ghost," someone muttered.
"Or a monster," another added.
The laughter started again, low and sharp. Ianthe could feel it pushing into her skin like pins.
"No one wants to dance with a girl who can't even see her own reflection," the redhead added with a smile too sweet to be kind.
Ianthe turned away, holding her breath as the sound of their laughter followed her like a shadow.
Five years passed in the blink of an eye, as Ianthe approached another circle of girls of her own age.
Now grown into a young teenager, she walked graciously past the guests at an occasional event. Another ball where her sister had just left with a partner, leaving her alone.
"Can I join you?" She asked as always, like it was going to make a difference over the last years of rejection.
"Is she seriously asking us that?" She heard someone else say and followed the direction of the voice.
Ianthe's face fell. And in curiosity, "Why not?"
A tall girl snorted, narrowing her eyes. "You don't look like one of us. And we can't be seen with someone like you,"
"Is it because I'm blind?" Ianthe forced the barricade of words as a question.
The familiar red-haired, now grown into a fine lady, glared at her. "Stay away from us. Seriously, you're ruining my day. Look at yourself in the mirror and stare at your reflection. Of course, that's if you can see,"
There was an eruption of stifled laughter soaring high in the air, causing Ianthe's expression to sour.
She gulped the lump down her throat, as hot tears burned her eyes. However, she fought hard not to let a single tear escape.
"You want the truth?" Ianthe followed the direction of the voice. "You look like a monster. And monsters are ugly,"
Her heart clenched at the laughter of their mockery. She remained silent, internally brewing with hurt and anger.
"If I were her mother, I would be ashamed. Has anyone danced with you yet?"
There was a burst of mockery eliciting laughter and Ianthe turned, walking away.
The morning sunlight bathed the town of Ashleigh and onto a mansion, the next day, casting its glorious glow on its magnificent surface.
Servants operated their duties carefully as on any usual day. The sun, this time, appeared hotter than usual.
Locked in an underground cellar, its luster hardly seeped past the windows of the mansion, and at the girl outfitted in a silk dress, she approached the oval-shaped mirror staring right at her front.
What stared back was the reflection of a semi-matured lady with a blindfold and a rough face. With a mole under her jaw and another at the right side of her upper lip, it destroyed her facial appearance.
Her collarbone peeked out under the pale and milky skin color, defining her shoulder length and complementing her thin figure.
A few strands of her short ink-black hair covered most of her face and she tucked them away, revealing the reflection of a disability.
The mockery of the Vale's.
With a deep breath, she raised her hands above, her head, and touched the fold of the fabric, attempting to pull it off.
"Ianthe?"
At the mention of her name, she quickly dropped her arms and pivoted immediately, meeting the figure at the door.
"What are you doing?" The girl at the door marched into the room softly, her silver hair tied into a neat ponytail as she approached the stiff figure.
"What do you want?" Ianthe demanded, storming towards her bed.
The girl stared down at her, and her eyes softened. "I… I wanted to talk to you,"
"I don't want to talk,"
She approached her. The bed dipped at her weight when she sat beside the black-haired feigning ignorance. "Mother says you shouldn't pull that off,"
"So I wouldn't manipulate any of you," Her nonchalant response elicited a small gasp from the girl beside her.
"Don't say that. It's for your own safety, Ianthe,"
"And when will you see that all they ever do and make us believe is all a lie. Mother doesn't love us. Father doesn't. They love that little seed brewing inside of her womb,"
Her brows knitted at the information. "Mother is pregnant?"
"She is,"
"I-Isn't that… great?" She asked, her excitement somehow mixed with curiosity.
"No," Ianthe responded, her face as grave as a stone.
"Why? We're going to have a little brother or sister. It's going to be great,"
Ianthe merely forced a smile.
"What's wrong? Aren't you happy?"
"I heard you'll be going out with Lord Hectorherm's son later in the day. You should get ready," She quickly changed the subject, picking a needle and thread from a corner.
"Who told you?" she asked softly.
"I know," Ianthe replied.
The silver-haired opened her mouth to speak and then shut it. "I-I don't want to go,"
"You have to, or else, Mother will punish you again. The last scar hasn't faded yet, has it?"
The girl shook her head, drawing down her sleeve.
"He doesn't like you. If you both get married, he'll kill you," Ianthe said, leveling a foreign expression at the silver-haired girl who was lost in a daze.
"K-kill me?"
"Yes."
"How do you know? Did you… Did you look at my future again?"
"Yes."
"B-but you aren't meant to do that. Mother says is dangerous. And it can be… manipulative," She drew her sleeve down, glancing at her sister.
"What's important is that no one will hurt my sister. He'll be worse than mother,"
She looked at her. "Because you like him?"
"Because he is going to kill you. Mother and Father will kill us because we are dangerous. They are going to sell both of us to our deaths. And we have to stop them from doing so," Ianthe added, dropping the information like a threat laced in peril and upcoming danger.
"They would never do that," Her voice materialized as a whisper, shaken and confused.
"Can't they?"
The sound of galloping horses and carriage wheels replaced the silence after, as the silver-haired turned towards the window.
She rose from the bed, hurrying towards the window, carefully shifting the curtains to catch a glimpse of a few foreign faces covered in black hoods, stepping down from their horses, and another out of the carriage.
He looked different from the others— the master perhaps— with a feathered crown buried at the top of his head and his walking cane.
They were wrapped in all black, from head to toe, making it impossible for anyone to catch a glimpse of their faces.
Something about him, comprising of their presence screamed peril. The atmosphere was more than dangerous, another familiar feeling as Ravenna recognized them.
They were called The Prophecies.
Lady Isolde and Lord Edwald approached them, and they exchanged words. With their back facing her, she couldn't get the look on their faces but whatever they conversed about spoke no good.
Soft footstep approached her, steady and cautious as Ianthe stared down, following her line of sight.
"Can you hear them?" she asked, her eyes focused on the existences below.
"Yes,"
"W-what are they saying?" She whispered.
Ianthe looked at her. "You wouldn't believe me,"
Ravenna returned the gesture, staring at the blindfold. "You're my sister. I'll always believe you."
Ianthe took a while before responding, staring at the figures in the hood. "They are going to kill me,"
"W-what?!" Ravenna gasped, her breath catching at the pace of her heartbeat. "T-they can't… they can't do that,"
"I am the cursed one, Ravenna. The most dangerous. If they don't eliminate me, they will," She was talking about the Prophecies, increasing the pace of her heartbeat.
"No, you are not," She retorted, holding her hands. "And… and I believe you. You are my sister. You will never lie to me, right?"
Ianthe took exactly three seconds before replying. "I'd never,"
"And how… how do you intend to stop him? Stop them? They can't take you away,"
"There's only one way to stop them," Ianthe said, knocking down her question. However, with the way it was pronounced, it was like darkness plopped a deeper weight at the ominous suggestion.
The silver-haired stared at her. "How?" she whispered and Ianthe drew closer, raising her hand to brush her face.
It was slow and careful, like she was trying to memorize the beauty before her, the features far better than hers.
"Let me have your face,"
***