a wreath of thorns adorn the door.

No matter the assurance of her parents, the coming of the full moon was always a time of great unease. Its silver light made her skin crawl beneath the touch of her own grasp - a sorry attempt at self soothing whims. She sits, as she does most evenings, by the window in the upper floor of the manor. Curious eyes lining the walkways and tracing the passing faces. Some of them have become all too familiar, almost intimate in the ways they come and go like a mockery of the sun dial's long shadow. She can tell the time of day by their presence and the direction in which they're going. A young mother usually struggles with two seemingly unruly boys early in the morning, tugging them along by their sleeves, or their napes if they've been particularly misbehaved. This signals that it's nearly eight. In the evening, she normally walks back to their home across the cobbled road with her arm tucked within the elbow of who must be her husband. Their children are very well behaved in his presence. This return comes in the early evening, normally no later than half past four, though she has seen them close to five should they be toting sweets or some other treat.

Today, there came a difference in the day to day routine. A carriage pulled up in front of the home, and she would raise slightly in her seat, all the while trying not to draw the ire of her current tutor. The woman was quite irritable after all, and had little patience for Arabella's regretfully limited attention span for fine artistry and its history. More time than not, her thin lips were pulled into an even thinner line that seemed affixed in a permanent downward slope. Her brows would raise slightly in somewhat of a pointless effort to see more over the window's ledge. However, all pretense of being sly deserted her as she caught a glimpse of the pale blonde hair that stepped from the wagon.

She had seen him in paintings that littered the home. Often times, she was in them as well, though she didn't recall them. she didn't recall him. Yet she knew him, and she had been anxiously waiting to meet him once more. It was in hopes that this morose feeling of knowing the unknown would dissipate. She yearned to remember, and he was the only one of their family that she had yet to see in person. "Miss Beleveron! Sit down this instant!" Came the furious hiss of the instructor, followed by the sharp tap of the pointing stick across the table in emphasis. "O-oh, but my brother's home!" She stammered slightly in the throes of her excitement, a habit she loathed, but was unable to surpass when afflicted by emotion. Before the woman could lock the doors on her (again), she bolted from the chamber, the lengthy, unpleasant dress tails lifted high within her hands as bare feet quickly traversed the cold marble of the floor with surprisingly quiet steps.

Out of breath, but beaming furiously, she would beat the butler to the door upon the first knock of the handle, throwing it wide open. Her infectious simper would only grow as she panted out, "H-hello! Welcome home!"

---

             
The king's vindictive decree had not spared even those of noble rearing for it was the eldest Beleveron son who followed his banner into the frays of war.  Albeit, against my will, mind you, but march I did for parents that had pushed a sword into my hand so that it may silence my rebellious tongue.  I had been green behind the ears when it came to the art of swordsmanship and the tactful skill of combat but I took to it surprisingly well and eerily fast.  Who knew that violence could be so... exhilarating when you were bottling a plethora of savage wishes with no benevolent genie to set them free? 

As the carriage bounced along the cobble path I pondered, chin in hand, exactly what I would wish for.  Of course, the first I'd use to free the real Arabella from the shackles of illness so that she may resume the mantle of her name.  Second, a swift punishment for those that sought to erase her for selfish gains.  The third...

Heterochromatic gaze shifted to the door when the carriage lulled into stillness and the horses soon replaced the sound of wood on stone.  The trip was much shorter than I remembered all those years ago when I'd first been enlisted into his majesty's regime.  A younger Aethelos might have trembled at the prospect of seeing his parents but I stood at the end of the drive, harrowing stare glowering with a violent cast of disdain.  If it wasn't for the real Arabella...

Maybe if she hears my voice through the walls...  I haven't forgotten you, sister.

First knock, then tw-

The broad oaken door swung wide open and the petite silhouette of a girl stood in its frame.  Blonde hair the same colour as mine slithering like golden serpents - blue eyes like the waves at sea.  For a moment I was taken aback, for a stark second believing that this girl was the real Arabella, a hopeful dismissal that was cast away by the dark storm of reality.  The resemblance was striking down to the draw of her voice.  Dark brows furrowed their response.  Welcome home indeed.

I said nothing as I sought to push past her and reach out my hat to the butler who would take it and begin its short journey to the rack.  A familiar voice shrieked for the young girl's attention from a corridor, a voice that fell quiet once its owners laid eyes upon me.  A face that I hadn't seen since I was a young boy and one that I reflected on with fondness.

"M'lord!  Oh, how you've grown into quite the striking young man - the image of your father.  I was just tutoring Miss Arabella before you arrived."  Despite the protesting screams howling in my head, the ones that wanted to tell them all that this was not Arabella, I would offer the woman a hollow smile. 

"Is that so?  Perhaps you can let her off this hook this once, miss Babington.  It's not every day that I get to come home."  Then my lips twisted into a cruel smile, one unlike the gentle facades painted throughout the estate.  "Or has she grown so simple in my absence that she absolutely must return to those studies?" 

The tutor grew flustered, stammering for a string of apologies before giving a bow and running back to gather her belongings for the day.  It was then that I'd address this girl, at last acknowledging her presence with a rough, curt question and peripheral glare cast over the curve of my shoulder.  "Where are mother and father?"

a wreath of thorns adorn the door.

His features drew, and for a moment, she thought they may turn into the likenesses upon the wall. Instead, they resumed their cold and distant apparition she had seen from the window above. He also didn't remind her of you. Whoever you are. Whoever it is that haunts her intermittent and scattered recollections. Golden dunes. The shadow to her light. Her mind fell flat, oblivious to the dismissive way he swept past her like the cold breeze that bit her cheek. Her grasp fell away from the bunched fabrics in her hands, allowing the skirt tails to sweep the floor once again. Of course he was hasty to be within the warm arms of the foyer after the cold breath of the winter's maw.

She held out her hands to take his hat, only to have the butler take it in her stead, however she was distracted as the woman called out once more. Her bristled quills only sheathing subtly as her eyes laced upon Aethelos. "M'lord!  Oh, how you've grown into quite the striking young man - the image of your father.  I was just tutoring Miss Arabella before you arrived." Oceanic gaze would dash betwixt the two of them before she would warm slightly at his cushioning words. "Is that so?  Perhaps you can let her off this hook this once, miss Babington.  It's not every day that I get to come home." Yes, yes! maybe that's what it was! Perhaps his presence did little to stir her memories now because of his absence for so long! How long had they told her he had been gone? "H-how long will you be home?" She inquired, her voice soft, easily missed should he not be heeding her. Her nails bit angrily at the over coat of her gown. She wondered if it would be brief? She assumed it would be as every household was required to send a patron of their home to fight under the king's banner.

She knew naught of the strife of this land, and while she was curious over it, none of her lessons covered such things. No, the only thing they furiously attempted to teach her was etiquette, etiquette, etiquette. How to be a lady. How to properly wield a fork and spoon and knife at the dinner table. How to properly sit, walk, and other dull things. Things she already knew how to do, albeit it was not good enough, apparently. After all, her table manners had been enough to make her mother weep upon her first meal back home. But why, oh why did it matter how she held a tea cup when she drank from it! Who cared?

"Or has she grown so simple in my absence that she absolutely must return to those studies?" She would sigh at his words, though the venom upon his tongue was lost to her oblivious mind. "I w-wish things were simpler..." She shook her head, a sigh leaving her lips before her slight lilting frown was replaced by the warmth of her smile once more. After all, she had little to bemoan in the grand scheme of things. What was a boring lesson plan in comparison to the rigid conformity of being a soldier?

It was this that he was met with as he finally turned to look at her alas. Her hands tucked behind her back as fingers interlocked. Her weight shifted on a playful rock onto her heels. "Where are mother and father?" She couldn't describe the feeling of relief that flooded her at Babington fled the premises, though she had to fight the flinch at the ravenous cold gust that threatened to eat her spine upon her departure. The couple from across the way had recently returned, which meant the evening meal would be soon. "I suppose they w-would be getting ready for s-supper."

---

           
Her voice was laced with soft demurity, an angel's innocence barely above the scampering pitter of a mouse's scurrying.  Was I not so honed upon her presence, discerning gaze glowering from the corner of my vision, perhaps it would have gone unnoticed.  To her it may as well have been - I wouldn't dignify her with a response, not even a nod of courteous recognition.  Not when she, too, fell in line with the golden demon of greed that seemed to permeate from this cursed abode.  The place reeked of wealth from the immaculate shine of the marble floor to the busts of ancestors lining the halls.

Paintings commissioned by artists of our time littered the gold leaf wallpaper hallway that branched into various wings and rooms of the grand Beleveron estate.  One of which a familiar melody permeated - a song humming from a piano that our father used when entertaining company.  A disgusting farce.  One that this girl had fallen in line with.

Lovingly yours,

In truth, I had been ecstatic until the revelation began to truly sink its fangs into my skin.  They didn't want to help Arabella - they just wanted their money.  Did they even truly care about us?  Earnestly give a damn about their children?  It had always been appearance this, business that.  Even growing up I knew more about my tutors than my own parents.  Half the time, I could scarcely remember their names.  If they could have gotten away with it, I'm sure they would have sold us for a hefty sum - perhaps this marriage deal was a way of doing just that.  How long, then, until I would be forced into a marriage that I could not avoid?  How much, exactly, was I worth to the lord and lady Beleveron?

"I suppose they w-would be getting ready for s-supper."  My glare narrowed on her as I approached to stand fully before her shorter stature, my studious stare observing every minute detail.

"It seems like you can stand straight so clearly you must have a backbone.  Speak properly and stop stammering or people may begin to think you don't."  The boyish drawl was biting venom hissing from the frown of my mouth.

My fingers found liberation from the soft cotton of my winter gloves that I would tuck unceremoniously into my coat pocket before turning and beginning the long march down the hall and towards the dining room.  Not much had changed in my absence - the decor was still as gaudy as ever and the food smelled much better than the slop served in the barracks.  If nothing else, at least I could anticipate a good meal out of this parade of wealth and trickery.  With a sigh, I motioned for the girl to follow if she wasn't already.

"Have you supped yet?"  I regarded her again from the corner of my eye.

a wreath of thorns adorn the door.

He didn't answer her, he didn't even offer a hint that he had heard her soft inquiry. She didn't expect much, however, as she had spoken so tentative and low. She was adrift in a sea of curiosities. Why did he not stir some manner of recollection within her? Why did relief not come with his presence elike finally eking out the words upon the tip of her tongue that wanted to be free for so very long? Why was it still there?! This tension that only ever grew.

She remembered being the light to the darkness, a very vague sense, yes, but this was not it. If anything, she was his moon: a quiet, pale reflection of his encompassing light. Because his presence commanded attention, and it did just that as he spun quickly on his heel to face her. "It seems like you can stand straight so clearly you must have a backbone.  Speak properly and stop stammering or people may begin to think you don't." Her lips would part, her cheeks stinging as if his sharp words had been a forceful, physical strike. Slack jaw closed, though her words didn't come at first, her already frustrating stammer growing in its intensity faced with her fluster.

"S-sorry." Her eyes would fall, her features searing further. "I-I-I can't seem to help-p it. M-mother says it's f-f-from my illness. She didn't look at his face anymore, her once brilliant simper fading like the warmth of the sun did outside, leaving the world below in the cold gleam of the growing moon. Fingers would drift from their position behind her back to linger at her sides. For the first time, she had the inkling that perhaps he was angry, and the possibility came to her that their parents had written to him in explanation that her memories had been scattered to the winds.

"I-I'm sorry. If I've off-fended you. Or i-if you're angry w-with me for f-forgetting... y-you." Her brows furrowed as the last word was especially a struggle. Maybe it was because it was a lie. Because he wasn't the you she sought. You had dark hair, as long as her own. You stood on the golden dunes as soft silk wrapped around your form. You smiled at her without the glower of sharp eyes. Beads of silver were a stark contrast to the gilded monoliths that towered around you.

Despite her best effort, that thread was severed sharply, painfully as her eyes drew closed, almost desperate to keep trying. Was it her kidnapper, perhaps? She could swear she was fond of the woman though... Had she tried to run away instead? To escape this prison, only to be found and drug back?

"Have you supped yet?" Reluctantly, her sights would find him once more as he beckoned with his hand for her to follow, though they would glide away shortly after, the edges of her mouth hollowly remaining upright. "I'm n-not hungry." The words were accompanied by the lilting crescendo of the piano's recital. The dim and distant murmur of the guests and a brief bought of formal laughter from their morher. After a pause, her footfalls would echo behind him, her hands intertwined with one another and allowing the fabric of her gown to sweep across the floor instead of holding it properly. Another thing Babington would chastise her for, were the woman still present. She would clear her throat, her cheeks still burning as she tried to make her prior question more audible. "I-I asked how l-long you would be home f-for." With the reiteration, she would gaze at him from beneath slightly drawn brows. She didn't like this. She didn't like feeling like a prisoner in what was supposed to be her own home.

---

           
She apologized for forgetting me.  It took every ounce of restraint not to laugh, not to turn out that door and be done with this whole affair.  How could you forget someone you never knew?  Every chain held me from climbing onto the roof to bay at the moon about their wicked schemes for any and all to hear it.  Perhaps then I could see my beloved sister.  That was the leash which bound me, the ties that kept my feet stagnant in front of this impostor.  Mother had promised that I could see her if I returned when home leave came around.  I wanted so desperately to make sure that Arabella was doing well - well as she could be, in spite of her condition. 

Again, she was met with silence.  A suffocating quiet that was broken only when she replied to my question.  "I'm n-not hungry." 

She was rewarded with a scoff, a bitter drawl shortly following.  "For the better.  It looks like you could skip a meal... or two."

My words were like razors aiming to lacerate any part of her I could.  I wanted her to hurt the way I did.  I wanted her to suffer for being part of this plot my parents devised.  Why afford kindness to one so blinded by greed that they would take the mantle of another's duty for the sake of their own pocket?  I hated it.  Hated her.  Hated them to the point where I felt that my chest would burst and my throat would tear from violent screams.  Despite the turmoil, I tried to remain calm, a soothing attempt that failed when she spoke in that stammering voice again.

The journey down the hall towards the dining room ceased.  I turned and stepped closer to her, dangerously close, and I would grasp her chin with my thumb and index to hoist that strange face up so I could fully look into the blue of her eyes.  It was startling how much she really did look like Arabella.

"And I said to stop stammering."  My grin was cruel and slanted as I regarded my answer while tracing the curve of her chin with the pad of my thumb, heterochromatic gaze following the languid motion. 

"Long enough to see... someone.  Perhaps longer if his majesty allows.  Do you wish me to be gone sooner, sister?"

a wreath of thorns adorn the door.

She had suffered ridicule before. It was a memory not of her psyche, but one born of muscle. Even when her mind had relinquished sway of her past for whatever reason, sinew did not. A frame with subtle tone to it that should not belong to a chronically ill and fastened to her bed. She stiffened as he turned towards her in full and the soft plush of her cheeks tightened as her pulse accelerated. She took a step back, her fingers releasing one another as one coiled into a light fist beneath her breast.

There was softness in her heart, one that felt wrong to act upon, like she should ignore the whispers of tenderness, like she should place armor over it and refuse to remove it. Yet for all of the instinct she had to shield such a flaw, it was instead nurtured. She was a gentle woman, after all. A lady of fine courts who was expected to be soft, delicate. A flower to be looked at, clipped of its thorns. Perhaps she had never possessed any of her own, but there was a venomous coil within her that told her she should reject this, and it reared its head as he grew closer. As he uttered the words, "For the better.  It looks like you could skip a meal... or two." His sneer erased any hint of a smile from her features.

It wilted and it died. She'd seen them before. In the days before her parents had rescued her from her damning circumstances. She had been starved, shriveled to naught on the unbearably hot streets of adobe cobble. She had begged for water. For food. For something to cover the sun eaten flesh of her burning skin. Flowers had not survived in the desert. They could not. Not on their own.

It wasn't until he touched her, however, that the spark that stormed within her conflicted gaze caught fire. "And I said to stop stammering." The remnants of his words, his intended cruelty were lost on her as she raised her own hand, as hasty as a striking viper in pursuit of his throat. Her fingers and thumb sought either side of his jugular and if she succeeded, they would apply just enough pressure to distance him from her. Her concentration was zeroed upon him, and the tension within her frame was like that of bottled lightening. "Do. Not. Touch. Me." The words were clear, yet her intonation lacked civility. Her vocals were raw, burning as she withdrew. She did not stop there, however as she turned her back to him, the naked soles of her feet once more announcing her departure. "Do you wish me to be gone sooner, sister?" Her jaw clenched. Nothing could be soon enough.

---

           
Her hand was warm, and savage, unlike the gentle touch of Arabella's when the ductile pads of her fingers sought the edge of the book to turn its page or the script inked with careful precision with her feather pen.  She was nothing like my sister.  The girl who was so selfless despite the cruelties she faced, those handed to her upon a sterling plater by the devilish hands of fate.  Could she not see the fault in living a life catered to greed, this pretender?  Why couldn't I just let her continue her march down the hall, let her put that distance between us?  Why did my enraged hand grab her wrist to turn her towards me, to push her smaller body against the wall and pin it there with my more burly presence? 

A snarl drew upon the curve of my mouth, a foreign sentiment when it was customarily relaxed or curled into a smile.  This version of Aethelos that the pretender saw was far from the man I had become.  Rage... changes people, and bitterness transforms the soul.  I was no longer that soft, well-spoken boy.

I drew close to her face, dangerously close, the snarl curling into a sadistic grin while the grip on her wrist tightened like an unrelenting vice.  "Do it again."

Before I could do any harm to the girl, the sound of a maid clearing her throat was the only reason I released that honed grip, the only thing that made me step back and simply glare at this woman from beneath the hood of my furrowed brow. 

"Lord Aethelos.  Lady Arabella.  Your father requests your presence at the table."  Her voice was almost commanding when it came, though when addressing the golden-haired woman, there was a flicker of concern mirrored too in the way her eyes looked over her.

I wanted to slap her.  For the first time in my life, I truly wished harm upon a woman.  Visceral, scorching pain.  Instead, I offered a cordial smile and began to make my way towards the room where mother and father sat quietly and took my usual seat across from the empty space where the true Arabella used to sit.  Where were they keeping her?  Did this imposter know of her presence?  Though my head swam with unanswered questions, I'd waste no time in allowing the warm, crimson wine to fill my mouth, to sear my throat as it soothed my previous swell of anger.  I had to control myself from now on... for Arabella's sake.

a wreath of thorns adorn the door.

Her steps were quite effectively cut short as the grip snared around her wrist. She whirled in an attempt to face him, a blur of motion as he also spun her. The air was knocked from her lungs with a puffing exhale as the chill of frigid marble met her skin through the soft fabrics of her gown. She didn't allow herself to become disoriented, the hand he held close to him digging sere nails into the fabrics of his side. Her frame met his, unwilling to settle back against the wall after the initial impact. This felt familiar. This caged feeling. This sense of being backed into a corner. Perhaps it happened when she had been taken, but it filled her with an irrational sensation. Fight or die.

"Do it again."

Her teeth gnashed together as he tightened the hold he had upon her. Her free arm tensed, drawing back, and then- "Ahem." He stopped. He released her, but it did little to quell that fury that boiled like treacherous rapids under her skin. It wasn't fear, but it wasn't far from it either. She watched him change, if but just barely, in the presence of another. Was it the same in all their portaits? Where she smiled and so dulcetly touched his fingers with her own. Was there always such a madness within him? A cruelty that did not fit what looked like warmth in his stare. Had something happened? Had she wronged him in some way that she had forgotten to change the way he beheld her?

"Lord Aethelos.  Lady Arabella.  Your father requests your presence at the table." Her eyes didn't leave him as he further adjusted himself, but the jagged anger and instinct of danger softened into something else. It conformed to pity. She wanted to decline. To retire to her room for the evening, but she knew better than to disobey their father. Another feeling manifesting within her as she chastised herself for not having enough time put on shoes. Hopefully, the man wouldn't notice.

She entered the dining hall, raised onto her tiptoes so as to avoid immediately giving herself away. "Arabella, wine?" It was her mother who spoke up, and at the shake of her head, she felt the server breeze past her. "A-actually, mother, I-I'm not hungry. May I b-be excused?" Her sight strayed from the plate, watching the way her brother drank down the wine before lingering on the face of her matron. Her heart fell, however, when the woman shook her head in decline. "Your father wishes to speak to the two of you."

---

           

The edge of my jaw ticked with quiet vexation, a lingering rush of gnawing frustration roused by the grating stutter of her voice.  Was it noticeable, this brewing disdain that seemed to grow in fevered pitch like sourdough at the peak of summer's edge?  As if by instinct there was a soft rapt, the sound of my finger tapping upon the stem of my glass, a quiet tempo that seemingly soothed the frayed end of my unfurling nerves.  They mended with the consoling sear of wine and the fragrant steam of seasoned meats and stewed vegetables.  It appeared as if the Beleveron head went to great lengths for this feast. 

A shame I couldn't enjoy it.

Where I should have looked over to the giddy stare of my father, my hawk-kin gaze lingered on the impostor as if something about her could give me an answer towards the true Arabella's condition.  Instead, I found myself falling into scrutiny, observing the soft slope of her jaw, the stark contrast of her blue eyes to the pallid skin around them.  I even found my gaze trailing along the curve of her throat, the jut of her pronounced clavicle, and the delicate curve of her shoulders.

Then I hastily turned away when I realized where my studies were leading.  I glared at my sire, vexed further when the man began to speak with a partially chewed piece of meat chipmunked away into his cheek.  For a man so keen on appearances, he seemed to all but forget them now.

"We're so happy to have you home, Aethelos."  A lie.  I could tell by the gleam in his greedy eyes.  In lieu of speaking, I chewed a stewed carrot instead.  "Little Ara has missed you terribly."  Then he gained my full attention - which Arabella?  He continued, giving little room for anyone to interject.

"Your brother is aware of our situation, dear daughter."  He addressed the girl now.  Good.  I continued to eat in peace.  "A quite fortuitous opportunity has been broached to me regarding your... marital status.  Lord Lyon, the man that was here a few weeks ago, has agreed that you and his son should be wed in order to strengthen our families."  And there it was, the whole facade laid bare.  All of it with exclusion to the fortune that would line my parent's pockets.  "However... there are others that vy for the Lyon fortune and would kill Arabella to give their daughters a chance at lord Augustus' hand.  That is why we've summoned you home, Aethelos."

My gaze hardened on the man who did the same in kind.  "While you are home, she is not to leave your sights unless otherwise specified."  Then my mother spoke.  "It would tear us apart to lose our only daughter." 

I set my utensils on the table and attempted to collect the overwhelming ire that thrummed in my veins.  "Only if you uphold your end of our prior agreement, father."