Author:
M.J. Swenson has been writing stories since elementary school and earned a B.A. in Creative Writing from the University of St. Thomas, Minnesota. Besides writing and reading, M.J. also enjoys playing music and video games.

The wind ruffled the red and orange leaves of the half-wire trees, and strangers walked on either side of Lysandra, keeping their heads down, never once casting a glance at her. A perfect day for masquerading. If only every day could be as perfect as this one.

Lysandra’s skirts swished around her ankles, and she held them up just slightly with her hands as she ran. She parted the crowds on the street with hardly a motion, and no one even looked up to wonder why she ran when they didn’t. The wind rushed through her long auburn hair, catching it on the breeze just as it caught those leaves on the trees around her, real or not.

The wind did not rush through her hair when she sat in the window back at her father’s house—the screen blocked it. And her father’s servants seemed to think it was unbecoming of her to stare dreamily out the window in the first place.

Rewriting Memory

The Collingwoods could fill a room easily. Lysandra was the only remaining member of her family, and besides her, only the three servants lived in the Ferry estate. But the Collingwoods occupied the remaining space in the room - even their servants and guards had a seat somewhere. If it was not at the table, then it was at the side of the room or at the door. Lysandra felt crowded. She had grown used to the emptiness in her father's house - it made up for his absence better than any of these people did.


Ismene guided people to the table while Vasu offered them food. Lysandra hesitated at the edge of the room, and Remiel beckoned her over, smirking. Lysandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she crossed the room.


"My dear Lady Lysandra," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder as she sat down. "I am honored that you have brought us here."


Chapter 8