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

When Ismene had left the room, Lysandra walked to the windowsill and opened the window. Sure enough, the sill was empty. Zephyr had no free time, and Lysandra was stranded here - not even alone, but with the Collingwoods. She pulled the frosted glass panes back together and stepped away from them.


Next to her window lay a small vanity. On it, Lysandra kept a brass pocketwatch - her father's. It no longer worked, and the metal was rubbed smooth in some places and crusted with dirt in others. She had meant to clean it and wind it up again, but she had not yet done it. She wished it would tell her the time.


She opened the window a crack and consulted the clock at the end of the road. Nine o'clock. Lysandra sighed. Lunchtime wouldn't come for a few more hours, and yet Ismene wanted her to wait downstairs until the Collingwoods showed up.


Lysandra made her way down the hall until she came to Nereus's quarters. She knocked, hoping he had finished his errands for Ismene.


Chapter 6