Stars through iron bars. There isn’t anything more beautiful. I reach my hand up towards the window several feet above me. I like to imagine grasping the stars between my fingers, behind the bars. Thick rusty iron bars line the window. The only window in this place. This place in which I’d spent what must have been nearly a week now. I slide down the back wall of the cell still facing the window, curling my toes. Yes, it’d only been a week so far. I’d spend the rest of my life here, I thought with a wry smile. I must have jerked a bit too hard as I feel a pang right below my eye. I gently run my fingers over the spot my eye used to be. Blood. The scent of fresh blood is rather refreshing in the constant smell of rotting flesh practically stained into the walls. I let the blood slowly drip down into my lap. I look back up to the window. I smile. I got away.

Six weeks ago they found me. I was at home with my mother scrubbing at grime seeped dishes while she sat haughtily admiring her reflection. When they came my mother initially defended me. That was before they threw a pouch full of some form of riches at her. Then they whisked me away without problem. They didn’t speak a word towards me. But I knew what was to happen. I had known. I had been hiding. I was supposedly ‘blessed’ with golden eyes. Eyes that were the cure to almost any illness if used correctly. Everyone knew what happened to people like me. Strangers came and took the blessed away, leaving no trace behind. No one ever tried stopping them because well, it’s to cure illness. Who could ever argue with that. Those born with golden eyes were a necessary sacrifice. So they took me and shackled me to a chair. “You’re a lucky one you know. You get to live.” I didn’t entirely understand what the man meant. Those were the first words directed towards me since I had been taken. What was I meant to make of that? I soon found out; they weren’t using me to create cures. Because, lucky me, I was an experimental guinea pig. So for four weeks I was injected with every needle I could imagine. I’d flinch and scream as pain surged through my body as though my blood were poison. The strange people just watched me through thick glasses, taking notes. Every few days they’d cut out a new rugged chunk of flesh. Not minding the dull blades, clumsily digging into me. A week in, my once long silky blond hair started turning a murky gray. I started getting random spasms like I was repeatedly being stabbed by thick knives. I regularly coughed up blood. This had become the most regular occurrence but at times I thought I might drown in my own blood. I’d never imagined I’d have such thoughts.

One day I was left alone in the room. The restraints were unusually loose. Next to me was a little side table and on it a scalpel glinted in the sterile lights. My eyes lit up. This was my chance. I carefully inched the scalpel towards me using my pinky. Yes! I’ve got it. Next step. Fear started gripping me. No, no I have to do this. I took a deep breath, curling my toes. I held the instrument, pointing it upwards in my shaky hand. In a swift motion I bent forward and pierced my eye with the scalpel. I let out an abhorrent scream. It still rang through the halls as the guards all came barreling through the door.

They told me I was lucky I survived. I think I would’ve been lucky if I hadn’t. But nevertheless I was free. Free from the lab. Deemed useless without my eyes. Now I was to spend the rest of my days in this cell. I could still taste bitter iron from blood remnants in the back of my throat. I liked to listen to the water dripping from the leaky ceiling. It was peaceful. It made me forget where I was. Like I was listening to forgotten raindrops. Suddenly through the drips, I heard footsteps. I could tell they didn’t belong to a guard. The door creaked open, letting bright light leak in, and from it a tall slim silhouette. “Oh poor thing.” A mocking laugh rang out. “Did you really think we couldn’t make use of just one eye? Pity.” I scuttled back scratching my hands on the rough cement beneath me. The man chuckled at my obvious shock. He spoke again, this time to a guard, excitement in his voice, “Please be so kind as to escort it back to the lab. We have new and improved plans!” I struggled against the rugged hands restraining me. Tears mixed with blood as I left my last chance at freedom. I’ll forever be longing to see stars through iron bars.

May 1, 1873

Dear Aunt Philipa,

Today I went to the market with my father to run some errands. As we passed by Main Street I saw a girl my age. She was wearing a bright red frilly dress and was holding a basket of flowers. She looked like she came out of a fantasy movie. I could hardly believe such bright colours existed, not in this society. I must have been staring at her a little too long because while my father was at the butcher’s, she came up to me. She rustled through her basket and pulled out a nice bright yellow chrysanthemum and handed it to me. She said smiling, “Here it matches your lovely eyes.” Honestly, I got pretty flustered and awkwardly thanked her, briskly turning away. I hid the flower under my jacket all the way home. I thought about what she said, but people would always sneer in disgust seeing my eyes. Amber eyes weren’t lovely, they were something to be ashamed of. But something about her seemed so sincere. She was such an odd girl but aunt, I can’t stop thinking about her. When I looked at her it felt like seeing the sun for the first time.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Charles

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June 12, 1873

Dear Aunt Philipa,

It’s been a bit over a month since I last wrote you. I’ve been going to the market nearly everyday now to see the odd girl. I’m lucky no one’s questioned where I’m off to. I learned her name is Azalea. Azy for short. She shines so brightly, she’s constantly smiling. We talk about everything but also nothing. None of it has any significance, yet It's amazing, it's like etiquette is a foreign concept I’ve never needed to worry about. When I’m around her, I forget there was ever anything wrong in the world. She seems to skip everywhere she goes. I know it’s corny but aunt you know you're the only one I could share this with.

After about two weeks of meeting she took me to her garden. She told me she wished to share it with the world but unfortunately society could never accept it and if anyone found it, it would surely be taken away. She said she was glad to finally be able to share it with someone. It’s beautiful beyond anything I’ve ever seen. It’s something I think you would like. I didn’t know flowers could be so colourful. I’m convinced she was grown in the garden. Now we both meet there everyday. I now have trouble understanding how I used to live. I can't imagine my life without colour. Without her colour.

Hope you’re well,

Charles

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April 22, 1874

Dear Aunt Philipa,

Azy and I are very well. I’m a little busy helping my father with his business so I don't get to visit her as often anymore but I still go to the garden once a week. She’s started inviting me to help her at the market. She goes everyday with a basket of fresh flowers and tries handing them out. I didn’t realize it before but she gets plenty of dirty looks and disgusted scoffs. Sometimes people want to pick a fight and rant nonsense aggressively towards her but every time she just smiles at them sweetly until they move along. To be honest I can’t see any difference in anything we do, it’s the same everyday. I don’t completely understand the purpose but it seems important to her so I do my best. She says people are just angry at the world. She says the world has become so gray it’s hard to see all the beautiful things there are to smile about. I suppose she’s right. I’ve never really thought about it but other people aren’t really all that different to her. She always seemed like some sort of estranged being but really she’s just another girl. So how can she find so much to smile about? She still never fails to amaze me.

Hope you’re smiling,

Charles

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January 19, 1877

Dear Aunt Philipa,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written about Azy. I've realized I can’t picture living in a world without her. Everything about her; her walk, her laugh, even when she goes on and on about flowers and their meanings. She says chrysanthemums are her favourite, especially the yellow ones, they represent friendship, happiness and well-being. I can't help but smile every time she starts mumbling over their beauty. She must know some sort of secret language of flowers. For her birthday I got her a flower sticker packet. They were all black and white unfortunately, but of course she found a way to colour them and now everything she owns has stickers somewhere on it. Even my things are somehow always covered in stickers. She likes sweets so I often take her out to cafes. She discovered chocolate cake for the first time. Now it’s all she ever wants. Yesterday she made me a flower crown of poppies. Typical of her but I walked to work smiling ear to ear. I can't wait for you to meet her. I think you’ll both get along splendidly. I worry I might go crazy for her.

Hope you’re smiling as much as I am,

Charles

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Dear Aunt Philipa,

You are invited to celebrate the wedding of

Charles Higgens & Azalea Verwelk

On March 21, 1877 13:00 - 16:30

At Welsure’s Garden Chapel

Please dress in anything colourful if you own any

Hope to see your smile,

Charles & Azy

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February 7, 1883

Dear Aunt Philipa,

Hope you are well. A few weeks ago someone new came into power in the autocracy. Things got much stricter. I don’t think I was ready for the change. I didn’t think it could get any worse. I’m not sure that Azy was ready but either way she didn’t show it. She’d already faced enough discrimination as it was but now it’s practically unbearable. It started with local businesses shutting us out. She can't even get groceries in her dullest outfit. It’s been rough but we have each other and we’ll make it work. We’ve been keeping our own spirits high. I've learned to bake and Azy always loves trying my creations. We hang out together in the garden much more now. Like we used to. I get anxious sometimes but then I look at her face and there isn’t anything I would need to change. So long as we’re together.

Always smiling,

Charles

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March 12, 1883

Dear Aunt Philipa,

Yesterday the fuzz came knocking at our door, they handed Azy a warning notice, she was to stop dressing and expressing herself ‘inappropriately’. The file stated, if  she did not stop her behavior, first would come a fine, next execution. Azy gripped the note tight. Seeing her face, I thought she might start a commotion. Their blaring gray uniforms certainly did nothing to help the mood. Instead she just thanked the officers, turned around and shut the door. Immediately she shred the note in two, letting the pieces fall to the floor. I wanted to stop her, ask her to follow the law. At least to tone it down for a little while but if you had seen her face, you too wouldn’t have dared. I can't help but worry, yet somehow Azy’s still smiling.

Still smiling,

Charles

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April 16, 1883

Dear Aunt Philipa,

Another notice came today. The fine. This is our last chance. This time I couldn’t let Azy do it. I got on my knees, I begged her with all my heart, not to continue this. She just knelt down, put her arms around me and whispered “I could never live in the gray world. I don’t belong here if I can’t share light.” Then she looked me in the eyes and smiled. It broke my heart but I know I could never repress her. She was right after all. If she can’t blossom she’s destined to wilt. Now all I can do is my best to protect her.

Keep smiling,

Charles

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August 27, 1883

Dear Aunt Philipa,

She’s gone. Azy’s gone. I couldn’t protect her. No, I failed to protect her. Again they came to our door. I answered, they asked for Azy. I told them she wasn’t home. I prayed she was safe in the garden. They stormed in and searched the entire house. After about 20 minutes they all moved out and I followed. I don’t know how but they discovered the garden. They found her. They took her away from me. I desperately shoved at the officers restraining me but Azy didn’t resist. She looked at me. No, she looked into my eyes. As if somehow trying to convince me it was alright. And in her eyes, I could see she regretted nothing. I think that just pains me more. Like she knew this was the outcome all along. Like it wouldn’t have mattered if I had done anything differently.

A tear ran down her face but she was still smiling. Still smiling, how can she still be smiling? As she was being dragged away out of the garden I only saw her mouth, “Thank you.”

I sat in the garden for the next three days. I couldn’t leave. I needed to be with the last part of her.

An officer in a bleak gray uniform barged into the garden looking very out of place in the colourful sanctum. He carelessly stepped on a stray pansy. He was accompanied by about 6 others, all wielding shovels. They paid me no mind and started digging up everything. Like a kid destroying artwork for the fun of it. In my mind I screamed at them. I was desperately shouting at them to leave. They had no right to even step foot here. I imagined myself kicking and screaming at them. But in reality, I just sat there. I didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. I just watched them dig up every colour I had discovered one by one. Like it was nothing. It had always been nothing. They kept digging up every remaining plant, thoroughly stomping on each flower and bud. Last of all her chrysanthemums. Our chrysanthemums. Bright yellow petals carelessly discarded and crushed under muddied soil. And for the first time in years, I swear, through my eyes, the world turned gray again. I guess all beauty is really destined to wilt.

Charles.

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You are invited to attend Azalea Higgens memorial service

October 7th, 1883 18:00 - 20:00

In loving memory of Azalea Higgens

May 13, 1860 - May 1, 1883

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“Oh darling you’re home!” The familiar tune traveled as a tall man scuffled his feet through the door. He wiped his feet on a rugged doormat that could certainly use a wash. Walking into the dining room, he was surprised to find his wife sitting at the table waiting expectantly. “Hey hun everything alright? Why haven’t you started dinner?” The somber light made her usual walnut hair look almost blonde. “Well I was hoping we could have a little chat.” She looked at him with an innocent smile gesturing for him to take a seat. She started, “So as you well know, last week when I went to the market, His Majesty the King had held a festival.” The man sat, an eyebrow raised. “What you didn’t know was that he himself was present, and I just so happened to be in the right place at the right time. He approached me as I was waiting in the pastry line and the next moment he had invited me for tea at the palace. Of course I am not one to turn down the king! So yesterday at 3:00 I made my way.” The man imagined her walking into the palace, it was a huge structure built ages ago but was still just as elegant. It was mostly stone heavily accented by quartz with beautiful tulip gardens in front. “I was immediately ushered in, and there, I found the king waiting patiently. Oh but darling, you should have seen; he got on one knee and gave me a kiss on the hand, m’lady he’d called me! I'd never have imagined this happen to me! He pulled out my seat and poured me the loveliest tea I’ve ever had. It tasted of starlight!” At this point the man’s wife had forgotten all about him, completely encompassed by her story. “We chatted for hours and the entire time he had shown me the utmost respect. He, the king! To a simple commoner girl. Before I left, the king stood and handed me a little golden box with this lovely pearl necklace in it!” She said while curling her fingers around a shining pearl necklace bejeweled in silver. She rubbed her fingers over the smooth surface. The man tried to speak but immediately the woman went on; “Today a letter came in the mail” she tapped on a rough beige envelope beside her. “From the king, he requested I come live in the palace!” She shrieked. Her husband gave her a concerned look. “Dear, I’ve been thinking it through all day, and I don’t think I was meant to be the lowly stay at home wife as I’ve been living. I was meant to be treated like royalty! I mean really, having to do my own groceries every week, cooking, doing laundry? I was made for so much more! I was meant to be having high tea with the king, riding in carriages and having every luxury as I so deserve.” She finally paused. Now the man sat there jaw open looking at her like he had married a stranger. He tried to protest but no words were found, so she went on. “So darling I’ll be leaving you. I leave bright and early tomorrow, just after the sun is up.” “I’ve got no need to pack, you mustn’t worry; I’ll have everything I’ll ever need once I’m there.” The woman smiled to herself pleased, she got up and headed to the bedroom. “Yesterday's leftovers are in the fridge” she said just before disappearing through the door frame. The man didn’t say anything, he didn’t even move. Just a few minutes beforehand he had been making his way home excited to see his darling wife after a long day at work. He loved her very much and presumed she felt the same, but in only a day she wouldn’t bat an eye to leave him for a life of luxury. The man ran his fingers through his greasy hair and sighed. He got up and wandered to the fridge.

A few months later a woman sat at a big dining table full of food, his majesty the king sat silently across from her focussed on his meal not looking up once. The only sound was the screech of the knife on a plate. The woman broke the silence awkwardly “So what kind of tea will we be having this afternoon?” Not looking up the king replied “I won’t be there. I’ve got some business to attend to” The woman trying not to sound too accusatory “B- but you’ve missed the past three weeks! I never see you anymore!” Her fork clattered on the table. The king shot her a look and she immediately bowed her head. “I’m a very busy man and can’t be wasting time playing husband to you.” With that, the silence returned.

Later that night the woman lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She would not allow herself to be treated this way! She would get his attention again. He’d realize her worth! She tossed the blanket over her feet with a huff. She’d have him kneeling at her feet!

The next few weeks the tension between them only grew. The woman getting desperate for attention and the king growing more irritated by the hour. One Saturday morning they sat once again. The aroma of fresh fruit and pastry filled the air. The woman took but a bite of her meal before starting her rant as per usual. This time the king wouldn’t hear it. He slammed his fist down making the table shake violently. “You ungrateful wench! I gave you everything but everyday all I hear is your wretched whining!” He paused for a moment then suddenly got up “I’ve had enough of you!” He cried before storming towards the door. The woman got up and called after him but his pace stayed steady. His heavy boots seemed to pound on the marble floor. Just before exiting the room he leaned over to a butler beside the door and whispered something in his ear. The butler nodded, glancing at the woman before the king stomped out the hall, the tall spruce doors slamming behind him, echoing.

A man scuffled along a gravel path through a cemetery weaving his way through tombstones. It was a nice day, barely a cloud in the sky. He stopped at a small granite tombstone. He stood for a moment before kneeling, his hat to his chest, “Oh hun, I do hope the luxury was all you’d ever wanted, I’m sorry you had to find that not every oyster has a pearl.”

“Isn’t this nice Tobe?” The phrase echoed through his mind. A teen boy stood, leaning over a cruise ship's railing, rolling his eyes at the thought. He chuckled, only hours earlier he had been hauling around her luggage as she insisted she couldn’t walk another step in her heels. Now she’s run off without a word, probably off to talk up some wealthy looking man. He pictured her twirling her strawberry blond hair batting her eyelashes. He scoffed, looking at the horizon, “What a joke.”

He reached to loosen his cravat. He’d have to remember to tighten it again later but he could hardly find any sense in the constant suffocation. While tugging at the stiff fabric something crashed into him just as the ship hit a rogue wave. Before he could really process what had happened he was meters under water. He frantically swam to the surface, taking a sharp inhale just before being smacked down by another wave. He thrashed about a bit longer, being tossed around like a ragdoll, before realizing how ineffective it was. “What are the chances?!” He scoffed once more, “I can see the headlines now, «Son of aristocrat, lost at sea».” What would become of him. Would he be rescued? Would he die here alone? “Death by drowning, how pathetic.” The boy couldn’t feel anything. He guessed it to be the cold, though he wouldn’t know. He could hardly tell he was submerged in water nonetheless if it was a bit chilly. He wasn’t even sure his eyes were open. “Maybe I’ll wake up in some merfolk land and be appointed as their new ruler. They’d all fall for my charm” he thought sarcastically, poking fun at the idea. Being swept away in the middle of the ocean, one wouldn’t think this to be his train of thought. Though really, what else was there to think about? He was going to die here. Plain and simple. This idea didn’t appeal to him, but what was there to do? The boy guessed he had four more minutes max. He was now sure, his eyes were in fact open as he squinted at a blurry figure in the distance. As it came closer into focus, the boy had not a second to react before a huge jaw twice his size lined with baleen plates started to close in on him.

“Oh where on earth is that boy?” A voice muttered through inherent noise. A lean woman stood, clutching her handbag. On the other side of the cruise, a crowd had started to form. People were bustling with excitement. An eyebrow raised, she curiously made her way over. She looked to the water confused. There was a big splash and from it emerged a beautiful humpback whale about 20 meters long. She gasped, grabbing her bright pink disposable camera. While taking some shots, she murmured to herself “Good heavens where is that boy? He must see this!” She took a look at her last shot, smiling.

The forest is so quiet but my heart is hammering. I can see my breath as clear as the snow, I pant gasping for air. I need to catch my breath. I quickly turn a corner and slam my back against a tree. Some snow falls from its branches above me. How long have I been running for? It feels like hours. I can't even think straight with this insatiable hunger. God, what do I do? I don’t even know where it came from. Or for that matter, what it is. All I can do is replay the scene in my head again and again.

Watching it from afar. It ripped him up barbarically desecrating chunks out of a corpse that now resembled nothing of a man but a bloody pile. Blood like wine dripped from its face, staining it, as it devoured an arm. I needed to run but I couldn’t move. I stood eyes unwavering. The stench might have made me question my sobriety if I wasn’t already so high on adrenaline. It shred off some other cadaver, ready to stuff it into its face, then stopped. It stopped, not moving at all. Suddenly it snapped its head my way. It had no eyes but it looked straight at me. That’s when I began to run. I ran and ran, feet stumbling through the heavy snow. I never looked back but the picture was still fresh in my mind, a tall humanoid figure hunched over. It’s skin, rotten and thin, if any at all. Its long slender arms hung by its feet carrying massive claws that would rip me to bits in seconds. Its back, mostly covered in decaying fur, did nothing to hide its tremendous rib cage filled with ice. But the image I would never forget; its head was but a deer skull., its antlers like branches, rigid and pale, a skull full of cracks and holes. Empty.

Now I’m in the middle of the forest, lost and starving. I’d eat just about anything right now. I pause, wait, where did it go? There’s no way I lost it. Another pause. My eyes widen as I realize, the stench is still there. In fact it’s stronger than ever. As if I’m in it, but that can’t be possible. Itd surely have wolfed me down by now if it were near. I slowly take a small step and look around carefully. I falter as something catches my eye. It’s tracks. In the snow. It’s here. I quickly start to jog away still with much caution. As I speed up, my leg gets caught on a branch and I’m thrown to the ground. I land hard on some ice, that'll surely leave a mark. There’s no time. It's here. I’m quick to my feet but… in the ice. It’s there. In the reflection. Its skull looking back at me. Empty.