Fae Fiefdom - M. Sinclair Page 0,7

mother at such an early age…but who was it harming? So what if I thought an owl somehow was related to my deceased mother.

I shook my head thinking about the night I’d lost her. I remembered it so much more clearly than I probably should.

They had found me that morning sobbing in the rose garden on my 6th birthday, and you know the first thing they’d told me? My father met my gaze, lifting me by the shoulders, and fixing me with a disappointed look before sternly expressing that ‘Your mother is gone, crying won’t help.’ That was it. No hug. Nothing.

Later, they’d explained in more detail about her death and the cancer having advanced too fast to stop it…but even at that young age, everything about it felt off. Felt wrong and dirtied.

Muttering a curse under my breath as I tried to temper my anger at the past, Artemis took off, circling the garden before disappearing into the misty sky.

I looked down at my long blue nails, the darkest color Denise would let me use, or else I probably would have gone with black. I felt like it matched more since most of what I wore was in fact black. Some color was added in, but it was usually darker tones or faded colors, nothing very bright or cheery. It really wasn’t an attempt at a reflection of my personality, I felt like I tried to be pretty upbeat…but you liked what you liked. I did not like bright colors, I wasn’t going to apologize for that.

My eyes fell on the massive stone statue that stood in the center of the garden with me. The clearing itself was actually stunning and very ornately decorated, especially considering the only upkeep it had was of my own doing. I did nothing except sometimes clip off dead leaves that ruined the stunning array of red and green shades. The rest of the clearing contained several benches and these mythological marble statues that rose vines crawled up in enticing patterns.

My favorite was the one right in the center though, an elegant woman with wings and angular features. Two small fangs dipped over her bottom lip and stone eyes stared at me with interest. I stood up and narrowed my eyes at the statue, trying to work through the odd feeling of it watching me, because that was clearly irrational. Right?

Shaking myself from my insanity, I found my way back through the maze, the sky a slightly darker tone for only being mid-afternoon, darker than when I’d entered. As usual, it seemed as though hours had passed without notice while in the twisty, ever-blooming, maze. To be fair, that was one of the less freaky things that had occurred to me. At least time gaps could be explained away by being distracted or having daydreams. These other occurrences? Not so much.

I nibbled my lip, stepping through the back door and slipping off my jacket and boots. I squeezed out my hair that seemed to always attract moisture before walking into the kitchen. Immediately, my eyes traced the many shadows that seemed to float right out of sight. The same ones that scared and comforted me when they stood around my bed at night, whispering things I didn’t understand.

Maybe I had lost it.

“What do you do when you’re out there?” Alice asked from where she sat at the kitchen table. In front of her laid a large sketchbook. She was a fantastic artist, from what I heard, but she never showed anyone but her sister her work.

I didn’t blame her, I didn’t like to play harp around other people. That almost made me smile because I had played massive concerts for people, yet a private performance was somehow very different. Felt more intimate.

“Nothing much,” I admitted with a shrug, “I mostly relax.”

She watched me with an expressionless face, “What’s at the center of the maze?”

“You’ve never been?” I wondered authentically, her dark eyes stayed focused on me attentively. Sometimes their gaze felt far older than how they appeared, something that made me feel very apprehensive.

“No,” she sighed, closing her sketchbook and running a hand through her blonde hair, “I always get lost.”

“Do you want to go?” I asked my brow dipping.

“No.” She stood up and walked out of the kitchen without another word. So odd.

Really though, how the heck did I get pegged as the weird one in this situation? I shook my head and went to make myself a cup of tea.

The entire house