When I was a child, I remembered tales of the fae far better than my history lessons. Indeed, this was the case with anything that brought a hint of magic into my otherwise normal life. Now, when I search my mind for the date of a small skirmish or where I left my gardening spade, I instead find magic cloaks, riddles, vampires, ghouls, and midnight masquerades where certain facts should be.

Once the fae were considered fact rather than fiction, although children and those who still believe live among us still. In the stories, the fae were a certain foe to be faced the moment you found yourself in the deep woods at twilight, or on the open sea amid a storm, but most often in dreams. They were tricky, fair of face, light of foot, silver of tongue, and more ancient than the tides. It was a bad omen to be visited by a member of the fae folk in the world of the sleeping, but I'd like to think that when my mother dreamed of them, it was pleasant. It makes it easier to believe so.

"They are the most beautiful dancers," she said to me once, looking far off beyond the garden of the manor we called home. Her gaze was distant, and I got the impression she pictured their waltzes through the trees rather than the willows bowing to touch the river that gurgled not far from us. We lived on the outskirts of Ecrivenia's capital, Portfall, too far from town to have neighbors but too close to the royal palace for the legends of the fae to run as rampant as they did through other towns and villages spanning the country.

"Have you danced with them?" I asked, not more than eight at the time and perfectly unaware of whether the fae coulddance with my mother. They would have to exist to be danced with, after all.

"I think I did, once."

Like all mothers in Portfall, my mother told my siblings and me many stories before bedtime each night, but to this day, I was never sure which ones she believed and which were meant to be a fable. The tales mimicked our conversation—sometimes she could not say for certain if she'd danced with the fae or walked with them through dusk-lit orchards. As she told of pavilions filled with the fae court cloaked in gossamer gowns and jewels of starlight, capturing the imagination of me and my two sisters, it was always clear that as she spoke she stood with one foot in memory.

Where her other foot was, I couldn't say, at least until the day she began sleepwalking, in search of something she could not find in our home. It began suddenly, without warning and without any sign of stopping. However, it wasn't until my aunt arrived after three years of my mother's waning health that everything in my world changed.

—-

My aunt arrived on the eve of summer with the air of a coming storm cloud.

"Clara, look!" I flinched at Harriet's outburst, pricking myself on the silver needle threaded through my half-finished lock stitch. We sat in Mama's room, as we always did in the afternoons. Prior to her exclamation, Harriet sat draped over a plush armchair with a book barely read, and I busied myself with embroidery hardly sewn on a footstool beside my mother's bed.

"You're going to wake Mama," I hissed, sticking my blood-tipped finger into my mouth in an attempt to save my admittedly dismal floral design. Our mother lay in a fitful sleep close by, shrouded in the lavender curtains of her canopy bed. Both of us turned to look at the bed, but when no sign of stirring occurred Harriet rushed closer to the window. With her nose pressed close to the glass, her unbound red curls and taller frame hid much of the world outside from my line of sight.

"I can see the dust from her horses," Harriet half-whispered from the window, her voice carrying across the small space despite her attempt at quiet. "She must have a great many. Come look."

I laid down my embroidery hoop, stepping around the mess of cushions, books, and one small doll that my other two siblings had left prior to their afternoon stroll with our father. Careful not to catch my robin's egg blue day gown on the edge of my father's desk, I navigated the newly over-furnished room with practiced steps, at last coming to the window beside my younger sister. Sure enough, billowing dust spread out above the treetops just beyond the river that separated our home from town.

If we did not live in Portfall, Ecrivenia's chief port and capital, I would think it a coming sandstorm like those told of in the far eastern regions of the country. Instead, it was the tell-tale sign of visitors coming at great haste from town or farther. Once, we had plenty, with caravans and dignitaries coming from far and wide to meet with my father or show their wares at the dinner parties my mother once threw, now, we had few visitors.

"You are right," I whispered to Harriet, my brows furrowing with many an unspoken question, "there must be a fair few. I wonder if they are hers?"

The words fell away as I caught the first glimpse of our distant aunt's carriage. Six pitch-black horses pulled a carriage of darkest ebony from beyond the forest to the outer-edge of the manor's dirt drive. It rivaled the approach of a murder of crows, and despite the butter-yellow sun still shining through the white-rimmed windows, I shivered. Harriet and I exchanged a meaningful look, our expressions a matched set of grim resignation.

"I'll call for Mrs. Landon, and let her know they have arrived," Harriet said, turning from the window. "Shall I wait in the foyer for you?"

"Yes, thank you. I'll be only a moment."

My sister nodded, moving through the room with less care than I had and jostling the teetering pile of books. She did not stop to see if they fell, closing the door with a click just as the resulting crash echoed through the room. I grimaced, rushing, not to the books, but to my mother. If my gown caught on the golden metal swirls of my father's desk, I did not notice.

Mama surged forward, sitting straight up in bed with her brow dotted with beads of sweat and her eyes wild. I dashed to her, placing a placating hand on her shoulder and forcing a gentle smile to my face.

"Clara, where am I? What is going on?"

"Mama, you are in the guest room," I tried to settle her, rubbing soothing circles into her upper arm. Her hair, so like Harriet's, spilled around her in knotted bunches and her skin, pale from lack of sunlight, appeared translucent next to my own. Her pupils were blown wide, their dark black taking up most of her irises in the dim light under the canopy.

"What was that noise? Did it thunder?"

"No, it's a sunny day, see?" I pointed to the sunlight brightening the room beyond us, despite the heavy grief weighing on my every word. "Harriet just left, you know how she is." I forced out a laugh, light enough to not be too jarring, but it still skittered out, tripping at the edges of my lips. "She tipped over some books with the haste she was in."

Mama nodded, still seeming lost, the edge of her eyes hazy with the white film that had appeared one year prior, but more calm now. "Yes, she does like to rough-house. Is her arm still broken from trying to pick apples?"

I bit my lip, swallowing thickly around my sudden urge to cry. "No, no. She's all healed now."

"That is good, she never did like being indoors much."

"No, she doesn't." I forced out another laugh, this one weaker than the last. "Here, let me fix your pillows." I helped her sit up as I fluffed them behind her, then settled her into them once more. Her nightgown, sweat stained and worn with wear as it was, blended in with the white fabric of the sheets and her skin. "Is there anything you need? Do you need water?"

My mother shook her head, but peered around the room. I watched as she took it all in, wishing I could read her mind or find a way to ask her what she felt without upsetting her. At first, she hadn't minded, telling me openly of her headaches and her troubles with sleep whenever we managed to wake her early from one of her sleep-walking episodes, but now, everything had changed. The milky-white rimming her eyelids reflected some of the sunlight, and I frowned, my hands fidgeting with my dress, curling around one of its folds. My mother did not notice my movements.

One of the healers Father had researched and then prompted to come here had said her vision remained, that it was her mind that did not pick up on the small details she once remembered so well. Now, she could not tell fall from spring, nor one month from another. She moved as if in a daze even while awake, either too exhausted or still stuck in the realm of dreams, to be anything more than a shadow of the woman she once was.

"Mama?" I prompted her, pulling her attention though it wavered upon seeing me, her head turning back to looking towards the window. "Mama, do you need anything?"

"No, my sweet." She tittered a laugh, the high-pitched and unsettled kind that had showed up not long after her troubled sleep began. "I just need sweet dreams of my sweet." She beamed up at me, her once full face and rosy cheeks, gaunt and high with fever rather than health.

"Let me sit with you then, until you sleep." I knew my aunt and her daughters were no doubt already inside, and I skirted my duties as lady of the house by remaining by my mother's side, but I never could leave her easily. Tucking the blankets around her with a steady hand, I began humming. It was one of the small songs she'd sung me as a child while sick with fever or woken from a nightmare. It was less song and more saying, but unlike many of the small details of the last three years, the songs she sang my siblings and I as a child remained steadily in her mind. As her face began to droop, her head tilting towards me, I quietly sang the words.

"Lay me down to sleep, your world to keep me dreaming. May you dance today, and every day, keep believing. Sleep will come soon, and I'll hold you, too, until your new day breaks."

As I sang, she started with her attention fully on me, but soon enough, fell into her usual uneasy sleep. I observed her for a few moments, my smile giving way to a familiar concerned frown. There was nothing to fear for her while daybreak reigned, but as twilight dawned, her room would become a prison, like it always did. Whatever we could do to keep her safe, keep her inside, we did our best to do, but even in her sleep she could tell she was trapped.

My heart clenched as her chest rose and fell with her sleep-filled breaths. Although she was still in front of me, the mother of my childhood had disappeared long ago. The one who sang me songs, taught me how to read and garden and sew, who raised my siblings and I was a shade. To this day, it hurts to see her this way, and in my most selfish moments I teeter back and forth between wishing she'd wake up one day and become the woman she once was or one morning we'd wake and find she'd passed.

I swallowed down a thick sob, ignoring the way the corners of my eyes itched and the heat from my palms. It is a horrible thing to wish death upon a family member if only so they will cease their suffering.

Turning towards the door, I walked away from my mother's bedside, opening the door with the quiet and care my sister had forgotten. My gaze stayed on my mother until the door closed between us, leaving her to her haunted dreams and me to my duties in her stead. Pivoting away from the guest room turned sick room, I began to stride down the hallway, squinting in the dim light.

Whereas my mother's room was filled with sunlight, the rest of the house had become more similar to the hallowed halls of a mausoleum. While our house keeper, Mrs. Landon, would never allow it to fall into total disarray, what the hall lacked in cobwebs and dust, it made for in emptiness. Even when my youngest siblings, James and Amelia, were in the home, the manor maintained an air of dense quiet. Once, quiet was a rarity for the rooms and halls, an uncommon visitor, but now it had moved in full-time.

From downstairs, I could hear the timber of hushed voices, and as I rounded the bottom corner of the backwards "c" shaped hallway, I spied my first look of my aunt and cousin. Even from afar, I could see how well they matched their horses and carriage. The woman I assumed was my aunt wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a well-tailored black gown of crepe and lace that covered her from neck to toe. My cousin, Estella, was dressed in similar attire, but lacked the hat. Her brown hair, much like that of my father and brother, sat silky and smooth in a tight bun. I fought the urge to bring a hand up to my own blonde. Some part of me had hoped to find some familiarity of my features in them, but I could see there were none.

I paused at the top of the stairs, taking in the way they stood, stiff and refined, versus the posture of my younger sister, Harriet. Her own back was tight and straight, unlike her usual slight slouch. My frown from earlier returned. Was it possible for the air of our home to feel even more constrained than usual? I start my way down the velvet-rug covered stairway, calling out to them.

"My apologies for my delay, my mother awoke briefly." The trio looked up at me as I approached, and I fell into a practiced if rusty curtsy at the base of the polished wooden banister. "Aunt Linette, Estella—it is a pleasure to meet you at last." I directed a smile at my aunt. She returned it, albeit smaller. Her resemblance to my father was obvious in the set of her jaw and the way she inspected me quickly.

"Yes, it is indeed. It is remarkable to have never had the privilege. We were just becoming acquainted with your sister. I hear my brother is out walking?"

"Yes," I responded, raising out of my curtsy and looking from one thin, stern face to the other younger one of my cousin. "Although he should be back soon. My youngest siblings can only withstand so long a walk." I chuckled, though it died on my lips as I saw Harriet shake her head just outside of my aunt's line of sight. "Shall we take tea in the parlor? I'm sure you've had a long journey, and he shouldn't be more than a few more minutes." At least, that was what I hoped. Goodness knows my father had little concept for time.

"We would be delighted."

Her tone implied anything but, but I lead them from the front foyer with its large windows to the parlor just to the left where Mrs. Landon had already began setting-up tea. Usually, this room was one of my favorites in the house and I spent my time peering closely at the flourishing plants positioned by the windows, but this time I noted my aunt and cousin's reactions.

My cousin, Estella, who must be close to Harriet's age—fifteen or sixteen—settled onto one of the light-blue floral fabric and dark wood settees almost immediately, placing her hands delicately into her lap. They too were covered in a dark laced glove, and I did my best not to stare. I had heard from my father that her father had passed several years prior, but I never would've assumed they would still be dressed in dark mourning clothes, especially in the heat of the day. I shook the thought away. They lived further north, closer to the border with Marenta. Perhaps it was cooler there.

My aunt, meanwhile, took the long way from the door to the settee, glancing out the windows at the front gardens and eyeing every item, every book, every piece of delicate tea ware with an affect of suspicion. Harriet came to stand beside me and we exchanged a look as our aunt bent over an antique clock, sitting on a low table, and ran a finger down one of its golden legs. Harriet scrunched her brow and I did my best not to do the same as our aunt rubbed her fingers together and studied them, as if looking for dust.

"The tea is from Cairn," I said, speaking up in an attempt to end the inspection. My aunt didn't spare me a glance, continuing to make her turn about the room. "It is a fine floral blend, I do hope you like it."

"I'm sure it will be sufficient," she drawled, still keeping her gaze on the objects and decorations within the room. She moved to one of my father's many desks, this one placed by the window so as to watch the outdoors and keep my mother company on the rare days she was up to visiting the downstairs. Like all of his desks, it was covered in books, papers, and the other accouterments of a scattered if efficient duke cum merchant. My aunt ran a hand over some of the papers, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the faux-pas she was committing. A scowl formed on her lips, settling between her brows and turning her stern expression far more sour. A flare of disbelief flickered within me, but I batted it away. I'd never met my aunt before now. Perhaps she did this to every home she entered, sizing each item up to see if it fit her tastes.

"Is there something the matter?" Harriet piped up, coming over to our aunt to peer at the child's watercolor painting she now held in her hands. "Do you perhaps smell something unpleasant?"

I stifled my instinct to laugh, covering it with a cough when my aunt turned her attention from the watercolor to my sister.

"No, I do not," our aunt snapped, dropping the painting with little care and coming over to sit beside her daughter. "It is a lovely home," she bit out, taking up a cup of tea with no ceremony.

I arched an eyebrow, but sat across from her, taking my own tea cup from the silver tray on the low-table between the two high-backed settees.

"Why thank you. We always do our best to cultivate a welcoming home."

If it came out sounding sarcastic, it wasn't meant that way, but my aunt and cousin made no reply. Harriet and I sat quiet opposite them, and I endeavored not to make eye contact with my sister every few moments. Harriet's face nearly matched our aunt's, her expression screwed into one of disbelief and offense. I hoped my own matching feelings showed considerably less than my sister's.

Noting the lower afternoon sun, I set my tea cup back onto the tray, turning in my seat to address Mrs. Landon.

"I believe it is nearly sunset, if you would be so kind so as to take my father's place, for the time being." She nodded in response, leaving without a word while I turned back to my aunt and cousin. I've had many an awkward interaction in my life, but this one was presenting itself to be uniquely trying.

"We are truly so pleased to have you here," I said, smiling at my cousin. "I believe you may enjoy Portfall. It has much to offer and even more to see."

"Oh?"

"Yes, do you have any hobbies you enjoy? I would be happy to point you in the direction of other girls in town who share them." This appeared to strike a chord with her, and her blue eyes widened before her thin lips spread into a small, if hopeful smile.

"I would greatly enjoy that. I have a fondness for pianoforte. Are there concerts or plays here?"

I nodded, thankful to have found a subject other than our apparently lacking home decor. "Yes, the opera hosts a performance twice monthly and you'll be pleased to hear there are always a great many gatherings and balls throughout the year." I gave a self-depreciating laugh. "Not that I attend any of them, but I'm sure your mother would be happy to escort you."

"You do not attend?" My aunt cut in, her tone sharp and her icy green eyes fully on me. I shifted in my seat, my hands and jaw clenching as the corners of her mouth curled downwards.

"I've yet to enter society, unfortunately. There is simply too much to do here, but I do enjoy going to tea with the daughters of many of my parents' friends." I reached for my cup of tea again, but found the fragrant jasmine did nothing to calm my nerves. "Perhaps with your arrival, you may be able to convince Father that Estella and I should be out together." I sent a grin my cousin's way, and she returned it though her mother's expression remains stormy.

"We shall see," Aunt Linette replied, her response clipped and cutting. I kept my expression light, trying not to wither under her glare. Opening my mouth to reply, I paused as Mrs. Landon came through the parlor doorway.

"Mrs. Landon, is there anything the matter?"

She froze, her face ashen and her hands knotted in the fabric of her apron. Her eyes darted to my aunt and then to me, and she stepped closer to me, bending to whisper in my ear.

"Your mother is not in her room."

My veins turned to ice, but I didn't react, nodding once as I glanced towards the dusk painted sky outside the windows. It was only moments past twilight, but nightmares are not bound only to night-time.

"I see." I placed my tea cup back into its saucer on the table, and rose from my seat. Both my aunt and my cousin blink up at me with confusion, but I maintained my poise even as I felt my heart start to hammer. "You must forgive me, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Harriet, would you give them a tour of the manor?"

I didn't wait for her response, turning on my heel and quitting the room, fleeing before they can ask me what I cannot answer.

Where is my mother?