Outside, sunlight poured over the sprawling lawns beyond the east wing, spreading across them like melted gold. From Roxana's window seat, the grass looked endless, a green sea stitched with white and yellow wildflowers that bent lazily beneath the breeze.
Far beyond the estate walls, beyond clipped hedges and guarded pathways, children ran through open ground with careless laughter.
Their laughter drifted over in bright, skipping fragments.
A ball bounced high.
A boy tripped over a root, tumbled into the grass, and sprang back up to even louder giggles, as though it was no more than part of the game.
Roxana sat very still and watched.
The nursery behind her glowed with expensive emptiness. Shelves lined the walls in polished rows, burdened by toys, a pearl-inlaid rocking horse that gleamed beneath the chandelier's soft light but had never carried a laughing child, mechanical dolls with painted smiles and glassy eyes still in the package that has never been opened.
Her right eye, bright crimson-pink, shimmered quietly.
The rope-like growths that crawled from temple to cheek pulsed with her heartbeat, faint and ugly beneath the skin. As though something rotten had taken root there.
Her fingers rose and touched the cold glass.
The children outside blurred slightly beneath the fog of her breath.
'I want to go closer…'
The thought bloomed so softly she almost didn't notice it.
"No, what am I thinking!"
She shook her head at once, pale pink strands swaying around her cheeks.
She shouldn't.
She knew she shouldn't.
And yet the thought did not leave.
It pushed through her fear like a stubborn sprout.
Her eye sharpened.
After a long agonizing moment.
A tiny, quiet resolve formed inside her chest.
Roxana slid down from the window seat. Her bare feet touched the polished floor without a sound. She turned toward the door and stood there for a moment, breathing so lightly she could barely hear herself. Then she crossed the nursery on careful tiptoe, as though the room itself might try to stop her.
Her hand hovered over the access panel.
A breath.
Two.
Then she pressed it.
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
The hallway beyond was wide enough to swallow her whole.
Marble floors gleamed like frozen lakes. Crystal chandeliers spilled pale light over gold-trimmed moldings. Portraits of long-dead ancestors stared down with elegant severity, their painted eyes following every movement without mercy. Fresh flowers rested in tall vases along the corridor, perfuming the air with sweetness.
Roxana stepped into it all like a little ghost.
Her footsteps vanished into thick rugs. Her fingers brushed the wall once, then curled back into the hem of her dress, as she began to sneak around the pillars.
She passed an open doorway and froze.
Inside, two maids were folding linen. Their hands moved quickly and neatly until one of them looked up and saw her.
The woman recoiled, as if she had seen a ghost before snapping her gaze downward and bowed.
The sheet slipped from her hands and fluttered to the floor in a slow white collapse.
The other maid's eyes flicked toward Roxana's face for half a second as she took in the pulsing growths and the twisted flesh. Then she snapped her gaze downward violently.
Silence took the room by the throat.
Roxana stood there, expression blank, one hand tightening around her dress until the fabric wrinkled in her fist.
She had seen this before.
So many times.
And still, somehow...it still hurt.
"G-greetings, Miss…" one maid whispered.
Her voice trembled so badly the word nearly broke apart before reaching Roxana.
The other maid kept staring at the floor as though the marble might save her.
Roxana did not answer and walked past them quietly.
Behind her, she heard hurried breathing, then the nervous rustle of movement, and finally the soft, desperate click of a door being pulled shut.
Roxana turned into a narrower corridor, then another. Then a service hall half-hidden behind a decorative arch. She knew the estate better than anyone realized. Not because anyone had shown her, but because children with no one to talk to became very good at watching.
She knew which corridors servants preferred.
Which stairwells were quietest.
Which doors opened automatically and which required her to touch the access panel.
And at the far end of one hushed service passage stood the gate.
It was built into the marble so seamlessly it almost looked holy. Pale gold, polished smooth, narrow lines of blue light sleeping beneath its surface like veins beneath skin. It separated the main residential wing from the wider grounds beyond, from the less guarded parts of the estate, from everything the nursery window had only ever allowed her to see at a distance.
Roxana stopped before it.
Her hands tightened at her sides.
She shouldn't be doing this.
She knew she shouldn't.
But outside there were children her age.
Outside there was laughter.
Outside, perhaps, there was something like those storybooks.
She swallowed.
Then stepped forward.
She raised her small hand and pressed it against the panel beside the gate.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then pale blue light washed over her skin.
A thin beam traced her fingers, her palm, the narrow bones of her wrist. It climbed her arm and swept across her body with emotionless precision.
A soft chime rang.
Roxana jolted.
Then a voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once, flat and mechanical, as though the walls themselves had opened a mouth.
[Scanning…]
Roxana's eye widened.
Her head snapped left.
Then right.
There was no one.
[Authorized Access Confirmed.]
[Opening the gate.]
Her heart skipped.
"W-who…?"
The whisper slipped out before she could stop it.
She stared at the empty hall, half expecting a person to materialize from the light itself. But thankfully no one did.
The gate slid aside with a quiet hydraulic murmur.
Roxana stood there trembling.
Then she looked behind herself once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure.
The corridor remained empty.
So she gathered her courage and stepped through.
The gate closed behind her with a clean final click.
Outside air touched her face.
Roxana stopped breathing for a second.
It smelled different here.
Not like polished stone, filtered vents, waxed floors, and flowers arranged by servants in silver vases. This air was wetter. It carried earth and dew and fresh-cut stems and something distant and green…something alive.
Her heart leapt.
Then she ran towards the sounds of laughter.
At first across stone.
Then over narrower paths of packed dirt.
Then onto grass, cool and uneven beneath her feet. It brushed her ankles. Leaves kissed her skin. Morning dew clung to her hem.
Roxana ducked beneath a branch and felt cold droplets scatter across her cheek.
She kept going, following the sound.
And then she saw them.
A field.
Not the estate's polished lawn where every blade stood the same height as if measured by ruler and threat. A real field, lopsided and alive, patched with taller grass, scattered stones, crooked little hollows where rain must have gathered. Trees bordered one side of it, their leaves whispering overhead. Sunlight spilled through gaps in their branches and painted moving gold over the ground.
And in the middle of it all.
Children about her age, in simple clothes already stained with dirt and grass and the evidence of joy.
A ball bounced from foot to foot.
A girl with braided hair chased after it and laughed when she missed.
A boy fell on purpose this time, dramatic as a dying hero from a picture book, and the others laughed so hard one of them nearly sat down in the grass.
Roxana stopped, hiding behind a tree at the edge of the clearing.
Her right eye shone.
She watched the way starving people must watch banquets. Trying not to breathe too hard, in case they noticed her and fled.
Their voices rose and fell like birds.
They argued over rules.
They cheated.
They shouted that someone was cheating.
Then laughed again before the argument could become serious.
One child tugged another back to their feet. A girl stuck out her tongue. A boy kicked the ball too hard and groaned when it rolled into weeds. The others made fun of him with a mocking voice that somehow still felt warm.
Roxana pressed both hands to the tree bark.
Her heart fluttered as she watched.
Time slipped by.
The sun climbed higher. Voices grew raspier. Their game slowed.
Eventually the ball rolled to a stop for longer than before.
One child waved.
"Bye!"
"See you tomorrow!"
"Don't forget the ball!"
The little group broke apart piece by piece, each child heading down the narrow path beyond the field either in pairs or in smaller groups until their chatter thinned into distance and then into nothing.
Roxana remained behind the tree.
She stared at the empty grass where their laughter had been only moments ago.
Something in her chest dimmed.
Then, stubbornly, it lit again.
She could come back again couldn't she?
The thought warmed her like a candle cupped against the wind.
So she turned and ran back to the estate, retracing her path with lighter steps than before. Her dress caught on twigs once and she tugged it free. A leaf clung to her hair. She did not notice.
When she reached the gate, she pressed her hand to the panel with much less hesitation.
The blue light swept over her again.
[Scanning…]
[Authorized Access Confirmed.]
A pause.
[Intruder Mode: Disabled.]
Her head whipped around again, searching the empty walls for the invisible speaker.
Finding nothing she hurried back through the corridor, cheeks warm, heart still racing, and slipped into the nursery.
The door closed behind her with a soft hiss.
Only then did she lean against it and let out the breath she had been holding.
Then something fragrant caught her nose.
She blinked and looked toward the side table. A tray sat there beneath a silver dome, polished brightly enough to reflect the chandelier in warped miniature.
Roxana frowned in confusion.
She hadn't heard anyone come in.
For a moment she stared at it, puzzled.
Then the field returned to her mind.
The silver lid came off in a hurry.
Warm steam kissed her face.
And Roxana began to eat with a slight smile on her face.
…
What began as one day thing became two.
Then ten.
Then a secret small enough to fit inside her chest and bright enough to keep that chest from turning completely hollow.
Over the following year, Roxana slipped out whenever she could.
She learned the rhythm of the east wing. Which maids lingered. Which attendants gossiped too long. What hour the hall outside the office tended to be empty. When the delivery drones hummed through the kitchens.
She became good at moving unseen.
Quick from pillar to pillar.
From shadow to shadow.
Her hands brushed cool marble columns. Her body skimmed walls and doorframes. Her bare feet made no sound over the rugs.
One afternoon, as she turned a corner on the way out, she stopped.
A door nearby stood half-open.
Warm light spilled from within.
And from inside came a man's voice.
She knew that voice now.
The first time she had overheard servants whispering the truth, she had only stared in confusion. Apparently the man who sometimes barged into the nursery to yell at her and cry…was her father.
Father.
She thought the title did not fit him.
He's nothing like any father she had seen in books.
His voice reached her again beyond the door..
"Tell her," Gillian said, "that we have nothing to do with each other anymore."
Roxana slowed and leaned against the wall beside the doorway.
A second voice answered, tinny and distant.
"M-milord… she threatened to come there by force. She said your termination of her contract is not lawfully acceptable-"
Gillian laughed.
Roxana shivered, it was the first time she had heard him laugh.
But unlike the children's laughs on the field.
This one sounds very wrong to her.
"I already removed her access to the estate," he said, amusement dripping into something colder. "If she's not afraid of death, let her come."
A crisp click followed.
Silence.
Then his voice returned, lower now. As if muttering to himself.
"Did she think I didn't notice the way she looked at…that cursed thing?" he murmured. "Did she have a change of heart? Ahahaha…"
The laugh that followed dragged on strangely, a hollow and tired voice.
Then another call came in, snapping him out of it.
He answered at once, all mirth gone.
"How long until that thing is ready?"
Muffled words spilled from the other end.
"M-milord, forgive us, we still require more time to analy-"
BAAM.
The sound struck so hard Roxana nearly cried out.
She slammed both hands over her mouth, back pressed flat to the wall.
Inside the room something heavy had hit a desk. Gillian's next words came out like ice shards.
"Useless piece of trash!! Do you think you are irreplaceable? If I don't see a breakthrough next time… you know what will happen."
"Y-yes Milord we will not disappoint you" the voice answered, trembling with fear.
The call went on.
Words drifted toward her in fragments. Analysis. Progress. Deadlines. Disposal.
Adult words.
Roxana's interest thinned.
She glanced toward the corridor that led outside.
The field was waiting.
One minute here was one minute not there.
So she slipped away.
By the time she passed through the gate, the sunlight touched her face like a reward.
She ran toward the field with practiced certainty, following the route her body knew by heart. Tree roots. The dip in the path near the hedge. The low branch that always brushed her hair. The patch of weeds where little purple flowers grew.
The same tree welcomed her at the clearing's edge.
She pressed herself behind it and watched.
Today the children were louder than usual.
They argued over rules with solemn passion, then forgot the rules entirely. One shoved another. The other shoved back. A girl declared both of them idiots. The ball changed owners six times in a minute. Somebody shouted that the goal did not count. Somebody else shouted that it absolutely did.
Roxana hugged the tree trunk with both arms.
The bark scratched her skin.
But she did not mind.
Then it happened.
A kick went wide.
The ball spun over uneven grass, bounced once, twice, and rolled straight toward her.
It stopped against her foot.
Roxana froze.
The field went still in her ears, as if the world was paused.
One child still laughed at the bad kick. But for Roxana, the whole world narrowed to that ball and the possibility wrapped around it like sunlight.
A boy ran toward her, smiling, not yet seeing clearly.
Roxana bent slowly and picked the ball up.
It was warmer than she expected.
Scuffed.
Rough.
Her fingers tightened around it.
Hope rose so quickly inside her it almost hurt.
She bit her lip.
Her heart thumped against her chest as she made up her mind.
'If it's them then surely…'
With a hopeful heart she stepped out from behind the tree.
One step.
Then another.
The sunlight illuminated her as she stepped out of the shadow.
The boy slowed.
His smile slowly faded.
Roxana lifted the ball with both hands and held it out toward him with the sincerity of a child who had learned kindness from books instead of people.
"Y-your ball" She stammered as she offered it with a whisper.
For one heartbeat, no one moved.
Then the first scream tore through the field.
"Aaaah!"
A girl's voice rang out.
Terrified.
"M-monster!!"
The word struck her like an arrow.
Roxana's hands jerked.
Her fingers tightened around the ball so hard they ached.
More voices followed at once, collapsing into one another.
"M-mommy!"
"What is that?!"
"Don't let it come closer!"
Roxana looked from face to face, confusion flooding her right eye.
Their expressions had changed.
Seconds ago those same faces had been flushed with laughter.
Now their faces twisted into horror and disgust, tears and snot streaming from their faces.
The nearest boy stumbled backward and fell onto his hands. He scrambled away from her on the grass, white-faced and shaking. Another child began crying so hard their shoulders convulsed.
Roxana took one desperate little step forward, still holding out the ball.
As if returning it properly could fix this.
As if kindness, shown clearly enough, could save her.
The books would not lie.
"P-please don't be afraid, I-i just want to be friends-" before Roxana could finish.
The children screamed louder.
"Don't come near us!"
"Stay back!"
A stone flew.
Roxana barely saw it before impact.
It struck the swollen growth on her cheek with a wet, sickening thud.
Pain exploded.
Her gasp tore out of her before she could contain it.
The impact ruptured the pulsing mass.
Warm blood spilled down the left side of her face in thick, sticky streaks. Dark red ran over the growths, over her jaw, over her neck, onto the front of her dress and into the grass below.
For half a second, the children only stared.
Then the sight made them recoil harder.
A girl gagged and threw up on spots as tears continued to flow down on her face.
A boy began sobbing again.
"AAAAH!"
"Throw more! Throw more!"
"Chase it away!"
Rocks flew.
One clipped her arm.
Another struck the tree beside her with a hard crack.
One grazed her brow near her visible eye, sending a bright sting through her skull.
The ball slipped from her numb fingers and dropped into the grass.
Her body moved before her mind could.
She turned and ran.
Branches slapped her arms. Roots caught at her feet. Stones thudded into bark behind her. One skimmed past her shoulder. Another tore through leaves overhead.
The children's voices followed her.
Not laughter anymore.
The beautiful sound she had treasured had changed shape in her ears, curdled into fear and revulsion until even the memory of joy hurt.
Tears filled her right eye.
'Why…?'
She didn't understand.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
She ran until her chest burned.
The screams faded.
She ran until the field vanished behind trees and the estate became dot at a distant horizon.
At last the forest opened.
A clearing waited there, full of wildflowers of myriad colors that swayed beneath the afternoon light. A small stream crossed it, running softly by itself as it moved over stones polished smooth by time.
Roxana staggered toward the water as if possessed.
She dropped to her knees at the bank.
Mud soaked into the fabric beneath them.
Her face was a ruin of swollen flesh and pulsing, rope-like growths, purple-black beneath the skin. The left side looked split and wet now, blood leaking from the ruptured mass and threading down through the vines of flesh. That eye remained sealed shut beneath the bulging distortion. The skin there was raw and uneven, almost melted. Her right eye, red from crying, looked too vivid in a face the world could only name with ugly words.
Roxana stared.
She did not blink.
A drop of blood fell from the torn growth into the water.
Then a tear from her right eye joined it.
The ripples warped her face.
For the briefest second, in that trembling distortion, she almost looked like someone else.
Someone normal.
Then the water cleared.
And there she was again.
A monster.
Her lips parted.
A small sound came out, in a quiet sob.
"Why…?" she whispered. "Why am I different…?"
More tears and blood dripped down. The ripples broke her reflection and remade it and broke it again, but each time the truth returned.
Roxana's right eye slowly lost its shine.
That tiny stubborn light inside it, the one that had carried her through long afternoons at the nursery glass, through whispered fear, through flinching maids and praying gardeners and a father who could not bear to look at her properly, that light flickered.
Then flickered again.
Then finally and quietly as if it never existed in the first place, the lights went out.
The crying stopped abruptly.
As if a string had been cut somewhere deep inside her.
Roxana rose to her feet with mechanical quiet. Blood continued to crawl down the side of her face. Her dress clung wetly to her skin in places. Her breathing steadied.
Then she turned.
And walked back toward the estate on the horizon.
She took small footsteps through flowers that swayed around her.
By the time she found the familiar road, the blood on her skin had begun to dry in stiff, dark trails.
The gate greeted her with the same indifferent voice as always.
[Scanning…]
Her hand remained flat against the panel.
[Authorized Access Confirmed.]
[Intruder Mode: Disabled.]
Roxana did not react.
She walked through, not bothering to hide anymore.
The chill of the estate folded over her again like polished stone closing over a grave.
Servants saw her.
Some gasped before running away, shouting for a doctor.
Some lowered their eyes and trembled in fear.
Roxana kept walking down the corridor, ignoring all the commotion around her.
She entered her room and closed the door behind her.
...
That day, the children did not return to the field.
Nor did they return the next day.
And after that, the grass remained empty, as though her presence had stained the place more thoroughly than blood ever could.