Beaumont was far too pretty for a village where people sought refuge from frightful pasts.

And it was landlocked. Something that Evelyn, who had only lived in seafaring coast towns, did not appreciate. At all.

"Bienvenue!" cried the townsfolk in passing, as they unloaded at the local tavern - the very opposite of the one at Windport. It was cleaner, for one, and Beaumont's inhabitants were overly cheerful.

Once again they stayed the night at the tavern, the owner accepting Ed's woven tale of woe and hard luck. This time, however, Ed walked out as night began to fall, without leaving any explanation.

Evelyn watched him leave from their room's window, suddenly afraid. Afraid that Ed had somehow changed, and had decided to gamble or gallivant around town. That somehow, he had cracked under the weight of everything.

She needn't have feared. He came back after an hour or so, creeping around the prone, sleeping bodies of their siblings and Father. His face was grim and tight, and he was shaking with repressed rage – for a moment, Evelyn felt like she was looking at her reflection after one too many intolerable dinner parties.

But he gave her a wobbly, false smile, and began to whisper the tale of his late-night excursion. Unlike in Windport, he had wanted to secure their living arrangements, and potential employment for all of the brothers, not leaving it to the next day.

She nodded, trying to put on a brave face. Ed, despite his constant anger, remained the same at heart, and noticed her despairing mood.

"This time it will be different, sister. You'll see. Leaving home, disgraced, and being chased from our new home... I know it has been hard, but it is going to get better." Evelyn might have been inclined to believe the brother who had always told her the truth if he had actually looked like he believed his words.

She did not say anything, however, and tried to get some rest before the sun rose. Fidgeting on the ground, under a thin blanket, Evelyn wondered how long it would take her repressed words and feelings to completely overwhelm her, and drag her under to Tartarus or wherever souls like hers went.

Waking up the next morning with morbid thoughts on her mind, Evelyn's mood was the opposite of hopeful. The harried escape from Windport, coupled with leaving yet another friend, and the secrets and uncharacteristic behaviour of her family, was taking its toll on her.

She still tried, though. Evelyn knew about how pretending and lies often became reality, and hoped that it would work for her. She needed to be strong, and cheerful, and compliant.

That was before she knew how different things would be here in Beaumont; unlike her fears, it was not due to the language barrier.

Before Father started to sit in the corner of their cottage, day after day, blankly looking at the wall. Before Ed started to become a tightly-winded cannon with words sharper than Father's temper, and before her other brothers became completely lost to drink and other vices. Most importantly, her new outlook on life was before Darcia, bright and kind and selfless, became cold and bitter and resentful.

Truly, it all began during their second week in Beaumont.

"Hello!" Evelyn called out her usual morning greeting. Father was already at it, running his hands over his cup as his fevered, broken mind made him mumble nonsense. No-one else was there, and only Darcia answered from her room.

Once waking up at the crack of dawn, ready to do everything in one day, she now slept until eleven o'clock, never bothering with chores and housework. All she did was yearn for home – a far cry from the perfect, angelic sister she had once been, before everything had been taken from them.

"Not all of us are awake at the time servants are, Winter," Darcia bit out, her cold voice floating down to the neglected kitchen.

Evelyn ignored the biting words and surveyed the room, which was damp and musty and utterly devoid of warmth. A wave of hopelessness almost brought her to her knees. Somehow, she stayed standing, telling herself that she was stronger than that.

It really is happening, she thought. The pillars have crumbled to salt and sand, and I am the only one standing up...

"Something has to be done. No one is doing the cleaning, or preparing the meals, or running the errands..." Biting her lip, Evelyn breathed through her hardened heart, and made a decision.

Grimacing, she tied on the ashy apron hanging on a hook by the kitchen, said a quick prayer to whomever was listening, and got to work. Her perfect, kind, productive family was broken and destroyed, and it was left to her to pick up the pieces.

She scrubbed the kitchen and the grimy floors, dusted the tables, shook out and opened the curtains. Then she walked to the town's market, which was open and friendly and calm, not caring about her dishevelled appearance. It was the least of her heartaches or worries, after all.

Evelyn purchased eggs, bread, and butter with the meagre coins she had been hiding, haggling with the stall owners who were much too happy and eager, their countenance grating to her raw soul. Body aching, she walked back to the tiny, cold cottage, wondering how she had ended up here in life.

From that day forward Evelyn was the only one, apart from Ed who worked the harvests with local farmers, who took care of anything. With the money Ed sometimes was able to give her, she would buy the essentials and stretch them out, and spent every day doing chores.

Her fingers burned every time she tried to cook, and blood kept spilling on the clothes she tried to mend. But her meagre, overcooked meals failed to poison anyone, and the few garments they had stayed together until she was able to buy more material. Her dresses became dirtier and turned to rags, and her arms and hands became stronger, and her heart became harder.

Because Devon and James almost always wasted the money Ed earned, Evelyn took it upon herself to help out a nearby old woman in her pottage. They needed the funds, desperately.

She hated the dirt, the hard labour, having to listen to orders. It was torture to her - nevertheless, her tongue was always in check, and her face serene and accepting. Everyone, especially Darcia, seemed to take her for granted, and still she worked and said nothing.

As a hard year came and went, Evelyn found it increasingly hard to imagine an existence where she was not answering to anyone and working from dusk to dawn.

Sometimes, and these times became more frequent, she wondered why she bothered. Why she cared about her family enough to relegate herself to unpaid servitude. But every morning she visualized Ed's tight, hardened face, and remembered the faces of her true family in Whiling who had always believed the best in her, and she would crawl out of bed, put on her rags, and work herself to bone.

One day she had to go to the market to get some ribbon to manage hair that had grown quite long and was constantly in her face. Every hairpin she owned had gone toward making Darcia's dresses 'acceptable,' leaving her no choice but to acquire ribbon.

In her haste, she nearly into Old Madame, the fortune-teller and beggar-woman of Beaumont. Face burning with embarrassment, she apologized and excused herself, now knowing enough of the convoluted torture that was the French language.

Evelyn, through trial and error, had realized the importance of apologizing if anything went wrong, or if her etiquette failed her. The people here, annoyingly cheerful and possessed of an air of superiority, had high expectations of proper behaviour.

Even if they all mistakenly thought her the servant girl of the 'Marchant' family, she was held accountable for her actions. That grated, naturally, and offended her sense of dignity - yet what could she do? Her promise had been to look after her family, to do what was necessary.

So as always, she was polite and outwardly calm and never let any hint of complaint pass her lips.

It had already been a tiring morning, and thus Evelyn was exhausted, drooping and seeing the world through a blur.

She bought the blue ribbon, feeling utterly sick of haggling over every penny, especially since Darcia had gone off on a spending spree about two days ago, and nearly ran over Old Madame once more.

Now she was swaying, eyes closing by themselves, tiredness dulling the fear of not obeying propriety. The judging glares had little effect, unlike with the previous encounter.

"Désolé, Madame," she repeated dully, and began the gruelling walk back to the cottage she had named Désespoir - Despair. Thankfully, the cottage was not too far away.

Evelyn had taken a few steps, lost in the haze of exhaustion, when a certain word stopped her abruptly. Old Madame said something about a Miroir Enchanté, transporting Evelyn to the night before.

When she was washing the dirt and soot from her face after another long, tiring day, the dull mirror above the washbasin had suddenly flickered. Wisps of white swirled, trapped ghosts seeking a way out, crying out silent pleas of aid that were never answered.

She had blinked, too tired to muster proper fear, and stumbled away, knowing it was the deprivation of sleep that was playing tricks on her mind. Sleep had come easily as it always did, and the thoughts of mirrors had vanished.

Yet now she stood, thinking about what she had seen, and desperately wanting to hear the story of Old Madame - for she was a storyteller of the finest degree, and entertained the townsfolk every day at market.

Ever since arriving at Beaumont, her curiosity and penchant for uncovering mysteries and truth had been pushed to the back, unused. For the first time in a long while, Evelyn chose to be selfish. She let her burning curiosity, now awoken once more, rule her actions, and so she softly approached the crowd gathering around the old woman, waiting to hear the story about an enchanted mirror.

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Finally! Another chapter! I'm really sorry for the late update - life has been pretty busy. Hope you all like it!

What do you reckon the story is going to be about? Any thoughts...

And remember to vote and comment, please! :)