By the time I exit the washroom, Aurick has left for the city.
I’m certain he doesn’t want to be here for what comes next.
An older woman, dressed in all black, with a tight bun of ash-colored hair and a pinched expression, steps out of the buggy. Aurick sent her to get me ready. Dressed. Makeup. All according to the theme that is so delicately placed around the oh-so-perfect city surrounding the asylum.
I’ve lived a sheltered life in a stretch of land on the perimeter of the seven forests. The Bear Trap, the outskirts of the Chandelier City. I’ve never had to abide by the principles of the strange and particularly vain country we live in. Our small country, Dementia, is run by an invented vision of the perfect society.
Perfectly built estates, castles, and people. Oh, the people are stunning, Scarlett would say. Women as skinny as the elderly folks they’d bury. The physical appearance of a woman is the gospel. They go by The Lady Doll Regimen. It’s a long nightly routine—hours of soaking in herbal water, a vigorous process to moisturize the skin and hair while also following the strictest dieting standards. Eat if you feel as though you might faint, she’d say. And topping it all off with their attire—dresses for every time of the day; tea time, household work, and evening gowns.
My father’s job was to cut lumber and deliver it to the city. If you have a job like this, you’re automatically exempt from falling into societal restraints. If you’re not seen or heard throughout the city lines, you might as well be a ghost. It’s in the laws written during first settlement, which has always seemed fair to the hardworking families.
Hearing about it through Scarlett was like peeking through a window to an alternate universe. After our mother gave birth to us, she ran off with Scarlett to live closer to the Chandelier City, leaving me with our father in the Bear Traps.
After aggressively making herself at home, the crone Aurick sent to get me ready set up shop in the cottage sitting room.
She roughly yanks a charcoal-gray dress over my head. Its sleeves are capped at the elbows, and the center of the dress is darted around the bust and fitted around the hips. I pull my arms through a women’s winter wool coat, with a nipped high-waist and puffed black bunch of fur covering my shoulders and neckline. My feet are the last to dress up with a pair of black leather pumps.
The taut woman pokes and rips small hairs from my eyebrows with metal clamps, sneering and shaking her head in silent judgment. Everything else is a blur as I say a prayer for my interview to go well.
“You’ve never been to the city,” she says. Not a question, but I nod anyway. “You’ll have to get used to abstaining from regular meals.” She pinches the skin on my waist. “Or at least purging if the temptation is too heavy.”
I blink. “Purging?”
“Yes, girl. Your bosom is full, and your backside is round. The goal is to see the skin stretch over your bone.” She assesses my nails and clucks her tongue. “And your nail beds are dirty. If you’re going to live there, you’ll need to start the Lady Doll Regimen the moment you get to Aurick’s estate. Otherwise, I’ll likely hear of your swift movement into the female ward of the asylum as one of the patients.”
She’s right. Scarlett told me that if Demechnef—our government that so keenly values a pristine presentation—were to observe a slipup such as gaining a couple of pounds, or God forbid, developing an outbreak of unwanted blemishes—they would discreetly be swept away from their day-to-day lives. Away from their families and friends, and as far as anyone knew—they’d simply disappear until they came back with knobby joints, slight hair loss, prominently outlined rib cages and gaunt facial features.
“Don’t fret, girl. Your body’s measurements are usually taken by a husband, or if unmarried, an official representative of Demechnef will arrive to oversee the process. But I’m certain your new friend will assist.” She pats the top of my head as she tucks my last curl in place behind my ear.
I swallow down the fear that builds in my throat. I want this. I asked for this.
I’m voluntarily stepping into this buggy that will lead me into the only life Scarlett knew. That will lead me into the only place I swore I’d never set foot in.
The Emerald Lake Asylum.
