In Her Element

Not for the first time since the arrival of Frederick some two weeks or so ago, Almyra stalked into her room and slammed the door behind her, very nearly cracking the mahogany frame. Her anger blazed in her fiercely, and a flame burst out of her sweating hand. She ran to the basin in the adjoining washroom, turned the faucet, and shoved her red hand underneath it, where the flame fizzled out. She stood there for a few moments with her hand resting under the water until she notices her hand slowly returning to its normal color. She closed the faucet and walked out of the washroom, smoke trailing behind her as she walked to her bed.

She sat primly on the edge of the queen-sized bed near the large assortment of pillows, conscious of her manners and propriety even with no one around to watch her, and slipped her feet out of her slippers. Then her temper got the better of her and she gave them a shove towards the foot of the bed.

Almyra leaned over and reached into her bedside drawer to pull out a sheaf of parchment pieces bound by leather that Rupert had put together for her at her request. She opened up the booklet to the next blank paper before sticking her hand back into the drawer to find a quill and inkwell.

“… He gets under my skin! Just his existence does, and he does not even try. At least I think he doesn’t, although I would not put it past him to make it his mission to make me miserable and uncomfortable in my own home. And with him always around, I cannot go to the lake as often as I should like to. This means I cannot ‘let out’ as I should. I cannot exercise my abilities. What with my Powers bursting to be expelled and he always doing his very best to bring my anger to new heights, I have come close to flaming him too many times to count. Not that that would be such a terrible thing. For me, anyway, though it would out me as a “witch” forever. And as much I detest him, Frederick is not worth setting some of my nightmares in motion. He has only been here for two weeks or so. Any longer than a month, though, and he might just find himself in some rather remarkable situations…perhaps in a beautiful coffin designated to spend the rest of eternity in the cold, dark earth?

What is difficult for me is that I cannot always believe what my mind knows of him—that he may very well be the most infuriating human being to ever tread the earth in my vicinity, which he does every so often. He has been making comments—such as of my features, like any man attempts to flatter a woman—that sound kind and almost sincere, yet deep down I know I cannot believe he has changed, even if his eyes do sometimes have that earnest genuine look of .tenderness. Although in regard to my physical appearance, that may just be my vanity speaking.

Goddess above, help me please! Help Rupert as he attempts to help me last. Help me last!

Good night.”

Almyra closed the diary with a heavy sigh. Her anger at Frederick was slowly subsiding as she sat there, having put all her thoughts of the way he irritated her into the small leather-bound book.

She could not for the life of hers figure out what was bothering her about him now, other than the fact that he was around her all too often. It did not help that he was making her feel very confused with her feelings in regard to him.

She wanted to hate him. She really did. But it was because of what happened those few years back, and her infuriation for that was fading. Especially since she was now old enough to understand that by telling her mother about the company she was keeping, he was really trying to protect her. Had she kept up the friendship with those scoundrels who stayed at that castle—those rambunctious boys who always seems to ask so many questions—she would most likely have gotten hurt. Thankfully, it had been by the summer cottage, so she never did see them again.

It still hurt her, though. She had trusted Frederick, as she was so eager then to share her newfound friendships—especially friendships with members of the opposite sex, something that was entirely new and enticing to her. She remembered how he had demanded that she describe these boys, how he had suddenly become stiff, with hardened eyes and pursed lips when she did, as though he recognized those boys from her description, which may have been true as he was a boy from the village who had lived there for years. He had threatened to tell her mother if she did not break it off with those “ruffians”, as he had called them. Almyra had not believed him, and the next memory that stood out in her mind was of her clutching at his arms, her feet dragging as he made good on his threat.

Almyra had not talked to him for the rest of her stay at the cottage. She had even refused to say good-bye as she and her family piled into the carriage for the return trip home.

Almyra sighed again realizing she had not let go of the incident like she thought she had. She stood up to prepare to herself for the night; one that she predicted would be full of tossing and turning. She put away the diary neatly, and started undressing. Her ladies’ maid had gone home for the week due to a sudden bout of a nasty cold, and Almyra had no one to help her with all the laces. She could have asked her mother, but her mother was too busy trying to run Almyra’s life, especially considering the ball coming up on her eighteenth birthday, and the less Almyra came across her, the less opportunities she would have to set up something new.

However, Almyra was not completely dependent on another—she had other “helpers” at her disposal that no other girl did. She sent a few thin wisps of air to loosen the many buttons on the back of her dinner gown. She slipped it off and the many undergarments as well, before pulling on her nightgown and sliding under the thick covers.

She closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her as thoughts of Frederick traitorously filled her mind. Thoughts of his tall, muscular build, standing there, slightly hidden in the shadows, as he watched her go about her daily activities. He smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled when she laughed, as if wishing to take part in the humor that filled her face with joy. And when she was unlucky enough as to meet his steady gaze, she always became unnaturally still, and her breath caught as her eyes drank in the fill of him.

Sometimes, to her complete horror, she would feel the need to smooth away the lines on his forehead, the times that he knew not that she was there, and he let his worries and anxiety take over. He was troubled a lot, and the Goddess knew from what.

Besides, he was no longer the rowdy, know-it-all, bossy boy of the village, nor the shy, awkward, lonely young man that he had been those three years ago when he came to them for the first time. He had become a man while he had been gone, and there was no way she could not see that, nor forget it. However much she wanted to still see that boy—either one—whenever she looked at him. And troubles were some of the unfortunate things that came along with growing up.

With these disturbing thoughts, Almyra finally fell into a fitful sleep.