Only once she was in the safety of her own room did Malisa allow her emotion to overtake her. Crashing onto her bed, she hugged herself tightly as the tears freely flowed. Ander was dead, and now that he was gone, what else did she have? She was damned to a life of servitude at her father's wish with no longer the chance to offer her own insight into what she wanted or needed for her own future. Her father already believed she was damaged and if he wasn't trying harder to sell her off before, this would be new motivation enough for him to get rid of her and her malediction once and for all.

She had never known about what had happened to those people involved in her early life— another aspect of shame she was certain to have bestowed upon the household, and a decade-long inspiration for her father to be rid of her. What well-respected lord would want such a shadow hanging over his household? And now that there was another death in their hands— her hands...

What if her father attempted to blame Ander's death on her?

Her mother mentioned that testing him could make for a far worse fate. And though she said he was more motivated by coin and trade, could he go so far as to turn Malisa over for judgment just to be rid of having to deal with her forever?

No, Malisa did not want to wait around long enough to figure out the answer to those questions.

She needed to escape on her own terms, just like she would have with Ander, had he survived. She needed to leave before her life was decided for her, or worse— it ended before it even began.

But what could she do? Where could she go? Ander was dead, and the only other person she had been allowed to interact with in her recent years was Demetra, who had since been dismissed by her father...

Oh gods, Demetra.

She had promised she would go to see her once she talked to Ander.

But that never happened, and now...

Now, Demetra was all she had. And she had to talk to her. Had to tell her what happened. Had to figure out what to do next because if anyone was going to know how best to traverse the future from here, it would be one of the smartest people Malisa knew.

But how?

Then she remembered their last encounter in the library, muddled with everything else that had happened throughout the day. Their kiss, their promises...

Grasping at her chest, she sought out the paper that she had hidden in her bodice that contained the address for Demetra's residence, but it was gone.

It was gone because the dress she was wearing at the time was later covered in blood and she had been bathed and...

Sitting up quickly, she looked around the room for any sign of the dress. But nothing came to view and she felt her heart sink just as quickly as it began to rise. Had it fallen out of her dress when she was crawling around the loft in the stable, lost among the mess? Or had one of the servants found it while they were bathing her and threw it away like a piece of rubbish? Or worse— realized what it was and had given it to her father?

Panic rose in her throat as she jumped from the bed, beginning to pace around her room. As quickly as hope flashed it was dimmed and she needed to think— could she possibly recall any of the address? Could she chance seeking out Demetra without knowing where she was going? What if she couldn't find her— would she be able to return, or was this her last, final chance? None of it mattered without that paper...

Something glinted next to her bed, halting her pacing and drawing her attention to the bedside table. As they were every night, candles were lit by silent servants, yet something glimmered in the candlelight.

She hadn't remembered leaving anything on the table, but as she approached she almost forgot how to breathe.

It was the note from Demetra that contained her address, held down by one of the pearl drop earrings she had worn that day.

A hand immediately went to her lobes— she wore nothing there so perhaps the servants assisted in removing those as well. There was only one of the table, however— the one she had wanted to leave as a message for Ander was missing...

She would worry about it later, she decided as she began to lace up her boots and found her warmest cloak. She also discovered a satchel at the bottom of her closet and began stuffing it with travel clothes and a few personal items, including the odd pearl drop earring.

Hefting the satchel onto her shoulder and clasping the cloak around her neck, Malisa gave her prison-like room one final glance and listened at the door of her room.

Silence welcomed her and she tried for the handle.

Locked.

Just like her father had instructed her mother to do so. She hadn't heard the lock latch when Lady Anyma left, perhaps because she was too preoccupied in her misery. But it didn't matter. She had to think fast before an opportunity passed her by.

Giving her room one more glance she made the decision quickly. If she couldn't leave by the door she would leave by the window. Of which she had one. A rather large one, that led to a rarely-used balcony that overlooked the front of the manor.

Malisa was desperate. She needed to leave before she was suffocated by more of her father's rules and punishments. So she would take more of a chance than she had ever before.

She had nothing left to lose.

Throwing aside the thick curtains, she forced the window open and climbed out into the dying daylight, the warmth of the day's sun quickly giving in to the crisp evening air.

She dropped her satchel to the ground first, watching it fall into the well-manicured shrubbery below. Her room was on the second floor of the estate, so if she hung from the base of the balcony, she'd still have a decent fall, even if the bushes could somehow break her impact.

It was a risk, but one she needed to take.

In the distance, the sun had disappeared beneath the tree-lined horizon, painting the sky a rainbow of colors that she and Ander used to use as the palette they would follow back to each other...

But Ander was dead. And if Malisa remained where she was, she may as well have been, too.

Another pass over the land surrounding the manor indicated things remained just as uneventful as the rest of her life. Chances are if she left now, it could be hours before anyone checked on her, and perhaps there was still the opportunity to salvage the scraps of life she was going to make for herself.

But none of that was going to happen if she remained on that balcony.

Throwing one leg over the railing and then the other, she kept her ears open for any movement below, and her eyes trained on the curtains once again covering the bedroom window. If anyone had heard her, she assumed they would have approached her room by now, and she wasn't going to hesitate any longer to find out. Her boots weren't the best, but they were good enough to keep her feet steady as she gripped the balusters and braced herself to hang.

A sense of dread overcame her just as she was about to let herself drop. Fear froze her in place on the side of the balcony, and she had to close her eyes to the nausea that swept over her. If she didn't plan this perfectly, she was going to fall and gravely hurt herself. One wrong move and they'd hear her, and bring her back and she'd never get the chance again. But she never had to sneak out of her bedroom and onto her balcony before either, so she had no idea how to plan it in the first place.

The more she hesitated, however, the more time she was wasting, and the better the chances of her getting caught. What was the saying— it was like ripping a bandage off of a wound? Not that she wanted to test that either if she didn't plan this right, but she wasn't going to wait any longer. She couldn't.

With one final exhale she dropped her feet out from underneath her, causing her to hang from the balcony alongside the exterior of the house. She quickly searched for a ledge or someplace to regain her footing, and upon discovering that there was nothing to assist her, she stopped thinking about the outcome and released her hands.

The fall ended just as soon as it began, and the shuddering pain in her feet as she landed had her falling to her knees. She bit back a scream as she maneuvered herself through the bushes and rolled into her back out of sight while she caught her breath.

Listening carefully, she didn't hear any footsteps racing towards her, which suggested no one heard her fall. No shouts of warning and no opening of doors— it didn't seem her fall caught anyone's attention.

Now she just needed to get down the drive and beyond the gates, and then to the road that led to Demetra's, which should be far easier to traverse, even in the dying light.

Gritting her teeth she stood, already feeling sore, and knew she was going to be stiff in the morning. But that morning would come in Demetra's house, far enough away from here.

She just needed to move. To get there.

One step and then another, she moved down the long gravel drive, the shadows seeming to follow her, to keep her undercover while she walked toward the gate. To her surprise, once she arrived, it had not yet been bolted for the evening. She was able to slip out silently and undetected. She let out a breath as she did so, looking back at the house only once— it looked as if nothing had happened, as if everything was normal and no one any wiser.

Good.

Reshouldering her satchel and adjusting her cloak, she began to make her way towards Demetra's homestead.  

The house was not what Malisa expected, but then again, neither was Demetra.

It was a one-story cabin on the outskirts of the city, with a well-kept garden in the front and a pond in the back, reflecting the moonlight that now shone overhead. The lanterns within still glowed, and Malisa felt guilty for making her friend wait for so long.

But that she waited up for her was a good sign, and Malisa wasted not a moment more before picking up her skirts and sprinting towards the front door.

"Demetra!" Malisa called out as she knocked on the door. She was done with whispers and keeping quiet.

When there was no answer, Malisa called out for her mentor again, boldly turning the handle to find the door unlocked. Confirming that she was indeed waiting for her— why else would she leave the door unlocked? — Malisa stepped in and looked around.

A warm sitting room greeted her, its walls lined with books and the furniture looking well used and loved.

"Demetra?"

The kitchen to the left was empty, the hearth cold. Frowning, Malisa gave it a deeper inspection. There were no dishes in the sink to be washed, or food on the stove to be heated, eaten, or put away. She's never spent time with Demetra outside of her mentoring, so there was the chance Demetra was just efficient when it came to her mealtime rituals, so it wouldn't be too odd to find a clean kitchen...

A shadow deeper in the cabin caught Malisa's attention, drawing her from the kitchen and along the short hallway towards the back of the cabin. Movement behind a partially closed door made Malisa's heart skip a beat and her cheeks blush.

Of course...

After their encounter in the library, of course Demetra would want to pick up where they left off, and what better place to do so than in the privacy of her bedroom?

But she didn't know about Ander.

Clenching a hand to her aching heart, Malisa took a deep breath and prepared herself to break the news to her.

"Demetra, there's something I need to tell you—" she started as she pushed open the bedroom door the rest of the way.

And stopped.

And screamed.

Malisa didn't remember running from Demetra's cottage or who found her after she collapsed, hysterical in the street.

She didn't know how she was brought back to the manor or who delivered her to her parents.

All she could remember was the look on Demetra's eyeless face where her severed head rested on her bed looking down as her lifeless body sprawled on the floor, letting out a silent scream with a toothless mouth as she drowned in her own spilled blood.