Chapter 22
March 29th - Grythen
Evelynn
Evelynn pushed through the heavy revolving door. She saw the red of a shirt at the other side, but it was too sudden for her to stop and she collided headfirst into the clothed, muscular chest.
“Oh! Goodness me, I’m so, so awfully sorry, I- I-”
“Whoa, hey, slow down. It’s okay,” the man smiled. He gently pulled her away from the rotating door to stand in safer space.
Evelynn looked up apologetically and gratefully. And her breath was caught in her throat. “Master Viken,” she whispered. She felt very light-headed all of a sudden.
“Yeah, I guess everyone knows me. Wow, we’re actually wearing matching colours,” he chuckled good-naturedly. Evelynn had never been happier wearing red. “Please, call me Chairon.” He held a hand out. “May I know your name?”
Evelynn could feel her heart gaining speed. She shook his hand and swallowed, praying that her voice would come out normally-no, sweetly. “Evelynn. Evelynn of GoldCrest,” she said to the floor.
He was still looking at her when she turned her head up to meet his eyes and she tucked her hair behind her ear consciously.
“You actually look prettier close up,” he said in a much softer voice. One side of his mouth pulled higher than the other, forming his famous crooked grin.
She smiled shyly. “You’ve seen me before?”
“Well, once, in the dining hall. I never forget a pretty face when I see one.” His eyes were still on her face. Evelynn swallowed again. Her cheeks were ready to burn up her whole head.
“Do you need a ride to anywhere? I’m going to get my car now and I’ve got ten minutes to spare. Nah, let’s make it fifteen, for a beauty like you,” he grinned.
Evelynn blushed and shook her head minutely, not trusting herself to speak. She knew that was simply the way Chairon liked to joke with people, but she still couldn’t help feeling happy. She tried to look somewhere else, but he took away all the light in the room. He even took away all her air.
“Okay then. I’ve got stuff on, so… I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Y-Yea, see you…”
Kismette
Gwen proved to be as much of a witch as anyone else in the palace. Kismette chuckled inwardly at the thought of her. Her new friend’s company was very much enjoyable. They chatted briefly of their past and tried to predict their future, breaking out in heaps of laughter frequently. Kismette had so much fun with her.
“Breakfast?” Kismette went to stand behind her counter. “I have weird looking bread and, er, strawberry jam, I think. I don’t really know what it is… Can you read this for me?” she slathered a healthy amount of the red gooey stuff on two pieces of bread before holding the jar out for Gwen.
The dancetress turned the glass container until the label was facing her and smiled, placing the jar back to the countertop. “It’s cranberry.”
“Oh. And I’ve been eating this for days!” Kismette laughed. She inhaled the smell of soap on her freshly-washed skin deeply, then plopped down on her barstool and began attacking her slice of breakfast. “Continue the story?”
Gwen sighed and snuggled her back comfortably on the other barstool. “Of course she hated me. Ballet, tap, jazz, salsa, tango, waltz, rumba… you name it, she’s done it. Even more so, she has mastered them all. In fact, I grew up watching her, idolizing her and dreaming of becoming her,” she said.
It turned out that Gwen and Mejaine were archrivals in their high-flying industry. Mejaine was the queen of dancing queens, the top of the top. Everyone worshipped her. Her face was everywhere, her words were quoted time after time and she glowed with radiance from head to toe. She was the icon of dance, the media’s darling, the mistress of imagination; everything she did was sensational, and she revelled in their attention.
But like a twisted joke, fate dealt her a cursed card. At the peak of her career, Mejaine grew ill to a raging fever and announced a stop in all production until she recovered. A week later, a young dancetress with stunning silver hair and feet so light shot to fame after a widely broadcasted dancing competition. Gwen became the talk of the town, a celebrity in her own right. The court offered her a starting pay which was twice of what a normal dancetress received, and Gwen accepted without hesitation.
Mejaine did everything she could, lengthening her rigorous training and closing the door on others. She feared every day that even more people will surpass her, especially now that Gwen had taken her godhood away and made that impossibility seem very possible all of a sudden. Her nights were plagued by nightmares of her fans turning the other way towards yet another imagined rival.
She became bitter like a sour old cat and kept to herself most of the time, losing even more support. It was a vicious downward spiral. In desperation, she turned to the men, selling them her companionship. It got her money, but it wasn't the same as being popular.
“I guess that’s the only area of specialization that she’s confident in nowadays,” Gwen wrinkled her nose reproachfully, as though the mention of Mejaine’s distasteful conduct left an unpleasant smell in the room.
“She specialized in men?” Kismette asked through her mouthful of jam and bread.
“That’s what some dancetresses aim to do,” she replied hesitantly. “Mind you, I’ve only entered the trade because it was something I was good at and loved to do, and I do put down very strict rules for myself to follow. I was even more worried than my parents that I would stray and become those ‘loose’ girls,” she laughed.
Kismette gave her a weird look, incomprehension clearly written on her face. Gwen looked away and blew away the strands of hair flying in her face. This was definitely not her favourite topic for discussion.
“Well, a lot of dancetresses-okay, maybe just a few infamous ones-betray their body to get into good shows to earn good money,” she said hesitantly. The words were stuck at her throat, as if saying them out loud would tarnish her own reputation. “They often get too close to men, any men, as long as they’re rich.”
“Some of the girls leave the trade abruptly, saying that they’re getting married when you didn’t even know that they were dating. And when they visit or when you meet them on the streets only half a year later, you see them carrying a wailing baby,” she paused again and looked at Kismette. “You know, I really despise these black sheep. They make us all look like… scarlet women.”
Kismette nodded, understanding what Gwen was telling her. Her thoughts flew to Evelynn immediately. I must warn her!
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Next: Chapter 23