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That night, driven by a yearning I couldn't quell, I disobeyed their orders. My defiance was a wildflower pushing through a crack in the pavement. The governesses' chidings echoed in my mind, but a pull like a siren’s song propelled me forward. My feet, silent on the worn floorboards, took me on a pilgrimage to Carmilla’s room. With each step closer, the air grew thick with anticipation, a mixture of apprehension and a bizarre sense of trespassing though it was my own home.
My hand reached for the forbidden door. It creaked open, a whisper on the hinge.
Our visitor lay stretched out in one of the schloss's most splendid chambers. Though grand and spacious, the room held an air of haughty formality. A tapestry, a macabre masterpiece woven in faded threads, hung across from the bed, showcasing a forlorn Cleopatra clutching the asp to her breast.
Beside the flickering candles on the nightstand, the girl sat propped against the headboard. Her slender silhouette was framed by the soft glow of candlelights, and her lovely, delicate form seemed ethereal against the crisp white sheets. Her white nightgown, the fabric cascading around her in gentle folds, only magnified her fragility.
A smile flowered on her lips. "What fortunate circumstances have placed me in a beautiful room, with a companion just as beautiful?" Her demure voice, sweet as candied violets, sent a heat creeping on my neck.
My gaze lingered on her mouth, a hint of parted fullness and rose blooming against the pale canvas of her skin. A warmth bloomed in my chest, spreading outwards like ripples on a pond.
“I wanted to say hello and see how you were faring tonight." My tongue suddenly felt thick. “Apologies, I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. I’m Laura.”
Talking to Carmilla stirred a nervous energy within me. It was a pleasant disorientation that left me tongue-tied and fumbling with words.
Carmilla's lips curved into a subtle smile, her amusement a faint crinkle at the corners of her eyes. “A pleasure,” she replied. “Please, call me Carmilla.”
"Carmilla," I said softly, her name a caress on my tongue.
Silence stretched for a moment, and I was trying my best to keep my insatiable curiosity at bay, but it gnawed at me. I had the incessant urge to know everything, anything, about her.
"You were traveling with your mother," I said. "Where were you headed?"
Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. “I do not remember, I'm afraid.”
“Where do you and your mother live?”
“Somewhere in Styria.”
I pressed on with another question, and another, but her answers were vague, elusive as smoke. Tendrils of amnesia coiled around her memories, obscuring them from my view. The carriage accident had not only dented metal and shattered glass, but had also fractured her memories.
Carmilla stared at the woven cloth with Cleopatra and the asp. “I am sorry,” she said softly. "I would weave a tapestry of my past for you, but the threads are frayed, lost in the loom of time."
I shook my head. "Think nothing of it. Let your memories return at their own pace. Rest now, and perhaps tomorrow, the fog will lift."
“Thank you, Laura.” Carmilla smiled and laid her hand atop mine. “Sleep well. May your dreams be untroubled.” Her touch lingered on my skin, the heat a tangible thing, spreading like wildfire through dry grass.
Snatching my hand away, I managed a smile. “Goodnight, Carmilla.”
“Goodnight, dear Laura.”
I returned to my room, and a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled inside myself. Like a shaken snow globe, a chaotic mix of fascination, curiosity, and a flicker of something more.
Chapter 3:
I couldn't shake the image of Carmilla from my mind the next day. Every rustle of silk in the hallway, every conversation had me craning my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Breakfast turned to lunch, the minutes stretching into an eternity under the watchful eyes of my governesses.
"You must let her rest," they had said, noticing my restlessness.
When my governesses left for the market, and my father was busy downstairs with the laborers he had hired to restore the parlor, I seized my chance. I made my way to Carmilla’s room. The door stood ajar, a silent invitation. Gently, I pushed open the heavy oak door to Carmilla's chambers.
The room was cloaked in flickering shadows of candlelight. Thick drapes smothered any prying sunlight, plunging the room into a sultry twilight. Carmilla lay sprawled amongst the tangled sheets. Her lips were parted, a soft sigh escaping them like she was having an unbidden dream. A rosiness colored her usually pale face, a flush that had nothing to do with the warmth of the candles.
A loose curl whispered down her cheek. My fingers itched to trace its tempting path, a slow descent down the curve of her face, to tuck it behind her ear. As I leaned in, her eyes fluttered open, a startling violet against her pale face, heavy-lidded with sleep and something more, something entirely too aware.
"Good afternoon," I said, my voice a touch strained. "I didn't mean to startle you awake."
Carmilla stirred with a languid grace, turning her head towards me like a bloom unfolding. “Such a shame, it was a most interesting dream. Though," she continued, a slow smile spreading on her lips, "waking to the source of my dream isn't quite the rude awakening I was expecting."
