The Pawn and The Puppet (The Pawn and The Puppet series Book 1)

Approaching the dining hall, I inhale the scent of steamed broccoli and mashed potatoes. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread and melted butter only infuriates the growling in my gut. Dishes for lunch have been arranged on a long rectangular dining table with white porcelain plates, silverware, and trays waiting to be filled.

I ignore the tables with conformists enjoying afternoon tea or picking at pieces of fruit as they gawk at me walking by. Before I make it to my destination, a cold hand snatches my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

“Hi,” Meridei greets me with a kind smile. Sitting next to her, Belinda, another conformist, mirrors her welcoming expression.

“Hello,” I say, nodding my head to each of them.

“Could you spare a moment?” Belinda asks.

I look down at their table. Three cups of hot tea and a plate of biscuits in the center. Meridei signals to the cup of tea, disclosing that they’ve already prepared for me to say yes.

I smile back and sit in front of the third teacup, violets and angels painted on the fine china. “Is this for me?” I touch the handle of the cup.

They nod in unison.

I lift the cup, saucer in my other hand, and sip at the hot herbal mix.

“We have not formally met,” Belinda states. “But I was acquainted with your sister.”

I stop at my third sip, peeking over my cup at their expressions. They are neutral, hardened, like glass dolls, with their glossy, watermelon-pink lips and the emptiness behind their cloudy eyes.

“She was not the easiest to see eye to eye with,” Belinda informs me as if somehow, I should apologize for her lack of bedside manner. I want to laugh. Scarlett didn’t get along with anyone. She was bitter and saw the worst in people.

“Since your arrival, I’ve been waiting for my moment to speak with you. In hopes we might understand each other.”

I take another sip before setting my cup down, my stomach twisting once more to remind me why I’m here.

“And what is there to understand?” I ask.

“Your sister made a fuss once or twice about wanting to change certain traits the asylum has to offer. We did not agree. I was hoping we’d have that in common.”

The treatments. They don’t want them to end.

Meridei has remained silent, letting Belinda share their concerns. But her eyes are taunting, fixating on me as if she waits to see if I’ll sprout horns and a tail.

“I can’t say I share your beliefs,” I say, rising from my seat. “Thank you for the tea.”

In synchrony, their mouths part, opening to speak. I hurry along to the food before I can get sucked into their conversation again.

I fill Dessin’s plates with as much “unprocessed” food as I can find.

My clean exit out of the dining hall without any more confrontation is an earned victory.