She smiles at me, but there is something behind the smile. I see it. The opposite of all her words.
“Home,” I say. And there is something behind my smile too.
But the gong goes. And we vibrate like bells.
“Chop-chop,” cries a Statue of Cold moving through the hall, watching us. Because the Feast is imminent. Time to get dressed.
Our new garments, the ones they gave us in the bags, the ones we put on, are beautiful. “Just beautiful,” Lake says, standing up and twirling in hers. “Do you not think so, Moonbright?”
I look down at my new white-and-red dress, the only dress I have now in the world.
“Look, it has red roses on it,” Lake says. “Such pretty roses.”
But to me the roses look like other things. Tentacles or tangles of blood and guts. A web of veins. I tell Lake and she laughs.
“Tangled blood? Guts? How are you seeing that, Moonbright?”
“Or like the jellyflowers in the glass tank,” I say.
“Speaking of which,” Lake says. “Your jelly is obsessed with you.”
“Not obsessed,” I say.
“Didn’t you see it panicking when it couldn’t follow you in here?”
“I didn’t see.” I did. I don’t know why I’m lying to Lake about this. I saw its distress plainly through the glass when I was led away, and it made me feel strange. Why are you so distressed for me, jellyflower? I wanted to ask. But I couldn’t ask before the Queen of Snow, before the Statues of Cold, who were leading us away.
“How funny it was,” Lake says, though she doesn’t look like it was funny. She must mean something else, but funny is the only word that comes to mind.
“Yes, very funny.”
“It loves you. Love is funny, I guess.” She sighs. There is that longing again. That ripple on the lakesmooth surface of her face. But then it’s gone.
I wish I could stretch on the bed and smile at the ceiling like Lake. I wish I could wear my white dress of red roses and not see tangled veins.
“I wish I knew how I looked,” Lake sighs. “Before we go to the Feast. Because perhaps there will be princes there. I’d love to meet a prince. Or a princess. Royalty, at any rate. So long as I look good. Can you tell me what word I am?” she asks me.
I look at Lake. She is still lakesmooth, but paler. There are dark rings around her eyes like eye shadow. Like she went to a makeup counter and got a smoky eye from someone. Or they punched her. One punch for each eye. Her lips are blue now, blue as her eyes. Her white dress with the red silk flowers looks like guts spilling out of her.
She is looking at me, waiting for what word she is.
And then it comes to me. Swims up like a small gray fish. Dead. I look at Lake and I know that is the exact word for her face. But I say, “Beautiful, Lake. Beautiful.”
And Lake smiles.
“And me?” I ask.
And Lake looks for a long while. And then she says “Beautiful” too.
29
We are walking two by two in a dark corridor, up a twisting path to where the Feast will be. In celebration of our Beauty Journey. Held in our very own honor. Are we very excited? We should be, the Statues of Cold tell us. It’s a very long walk up a winding stair. Along the wall on one side, my side, is the glass tank again full of blue-green water where the red jellies pulse and swim. Some are very big. Some are the smallest things, like whispers. Lake walks beside me in the line again. We are partners in this Beauty Journey, it seems.
I would like to hold Lake’s hand, but she’s holding a silver tray.
I’m holding one too.
We all are. All the moonbright ones I walk with. All the lakesmooth faces on which there is not a ripple of sad or happy or mad. All wearing white-and-red dresses patterned with what the Statues of Cold keep telling us are roses but which look like something else to me. All gripping their silver trays close, like Lake and me. Each tray’s surface is covered with a black circle of paper, but nothing else. Because we don’t want you to look until it’s time is what the Statues of Cold told us. Strange to carry a tray. “Almost like we’re the severed ones, isn’t that right, Lake?” Serving ones, I meant to say. But Lake understands.
“It seems so,” Lake says. Ever since we left the Lounge, she’s been sounding faraway. The dark rings around her eyes are getting darker.
“But why would we be severed? Serving? Aren’t we the honored guests? Aren’t we the people who paid for here?”
“I haven’t paid for here yet. Have you?”