Moonless by Crystal Collier

feet.
    “Abby, rumors do not penetrate through Father.”
    Abby rolled her eyes. “Anyone who is anyone is anxious to meet you, and all the men have their minds made up. Rupert was trying to beat them.”
    Meet her ?
    “I told him not to do it,” she apologized. “I said you did not hold him in your affections, not in that regard.” And she paced on.
    Alexia stood in the wake of the news, utterly befuddled. “Th-that is absurd!”
    “Am I wrong then?” Abby whirled around. “He is yours for the taking. He or any other available man.” She jabbed a thumb back at the house and spat, “There is a whole ballroom of them waiting in there. You have your pick!”
    Alexia staggered back a step at her friend’s venom.
    Abby stamped her foot. “What is wrong with you, Alexia? Why can you not take up a decent prospect like any normal girl? None of the rest of us can even get a second glance with you parading about!”
    She turned away to hide the hurt. It was not fair! Abby didn’t deserve to be shunned any more than Rupert warranted rejection. Her friends shouldn’t be affected by the alteration!
    But she feared they’d be the greatest affected.
    “What happened to you anyway?” Abby asked. “Did your Father hire a witch doctor to change your appearance over night?”
    “ What? Do not be absurd.” Alexia looked to the stars, wishing her birthday had never come, wishing instead for the prolonged dread of her imminent nightmare, wishing she could somehow fit into this altering reality. Her gaze dropped to her balcony, where she had stood last night making a very similar wish.
    The door slanted inward.
    “You know, it is not often you meet someone as good as Ru.” Abby propped her fists on her hips. “He at least cares about people. It is not as though—”
    Alexia stepped toward the house.
    “. . . but that is what they always say about vanity . . .”
    The shades blew gently through the frame. Was someone there?
    “Are you listening to me, Alexia?” Abby seized her arm. “You look pale.”
    “Oh?” She recovered. “It is . . . there is not . . . I—I have to go now.” Abby’s brows squeezed, but Alexia pulled free and started toward the house. “Tell Rupert I am sorry!”
    She used the servant’s entry and hurried up the back stairs to the second floor. The hall loomed darkly, deserted of people.
    The pane could have come loose on its own, or she might not have clasped it firmly last night. One of the servants could have bumped the latch.
    But she knew none of these were the case—knew it as deeply as she felt compelled to reach for the bronze handle.
    Her fingers froze.
    Could this be the fulfillment of another anticipated dream? His appearance?
    She leaned closer to the wood and listened, but no sound filtered through. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.
    The door fell inward, revealing a sliver of blackness. She swallowed, closed her eyes, then held them wide open and stepped into the confinement.

18
    Pain
     
    Night shadows played fiendishly about the room. Alexia twirled to the bed, the bureau, the open panel, the waving drapes . . .
    The mirror in the corner.
    His hands clasped at his back as he stood before the glass, unnerving stillness in his poise. His hair hung, softly moving in the reflective surface, straight nose turned to the window, pensive frown pulling at his mouth and stretching his scar. The cool luster of his skin was a beacon, like a lighthouse over a black sea.
    His gaze turned on her.
    She gasped.
    Even in the absence of light, his eyes revealed a night sky, endless and filled with mysteries she ached to explore. A hint of oak and nectar rolled across the waves between them, a sweetness she yearned to consume.
    She inhaled. “It is you!”
    “Alexia?” Her name drifted in over her shoulder.
    She spun. Father’s footfalls echoed in the hall. Lamplight crept through the open door. If Father caught the mysterious trespasser, he was doomed—more than doomed! She