Marmalade's Love Potion

Penelope wandered the gardens until her feet ached. With numb detachment, she turned to face the lights shining from the tall windows of the ballroom. As she approached, the sounds of strings and flutes, so pleasant earlier in the evening, grated at her, causing nerves along her neck to twitch. The bright glow spilling from the ballroom, which had earlier seemed so enticing, now seemed harsh and piercing. She blinked against the onslaught to her senses, breathing through the pain building behind her eyes.

Drifting back across the terrace arcade towards the nearest arch, Penelope stood once more on the precipice of the ballroom watching the revelry.

The whirl of dancers, once so enchanting in their glimmering finery, now seemed a gruesome carnival; laughter was shrill and mean, the rapid tread of feet discordant and threatening.

Penelope longed to leave. Circling the edge of the room, she raced towards the staircase, behind which she noticed a series of doors. Heart racing as the noise chased her through the room, Penelope flung open the nearest door and stumbled through, slamming it shut behind her.

The sound of falling water brought her back to herself. Peering around the room, Penelope found herself in a lavish washroom. The space was hexagonal in shape, with doors set along each wall save the one opposite the entrance, which bore a large, bronze-framed mirror. Set in each corner was a small potted tree. Thin trunks of knotted silver wood climbed upwards, branches twining overhead in a pavilion of delicate wisteria. The mass of flowers chimed with a sound like starlight striking crystal. In the centre of the room stood a circle of quartz wash basins. A delicate waterfall spilled into them, the constant flow of water fed from copper pipes set into the high ceiling.

Penelope found herself able to take a full breathe for the first time since speaking with her parents, and she sagged her weight against the door. Hearing voices approach from the other side, Penelope quickly enclosed herself in a stall. She spent long moments working to gather herself, her thoughts spiralling in painful disarray, as she listened to the muted chatter come and go.

When the voices were gone, Penelope emerged once more, rinsing her hands in the cool stream of clear water. Splashing her face and neck to alleviate the fever prickling across her skin, Penelope dried her hands on a plush towel with careful, deliberate motions. She drew her gloves back over her fingers, distracting herself from the torrent within her mind with the sparkle of diamonds.

She wondered idly where the Sisters were, and how she would find them. Penelope was desperate to return home. Home. She longed for the quiet of the forest, to wander amongst flowers that had yet to be named, to sit sequestered beneath the shaded branches of trees that knew her heart.

Penelope turned to lean back against the sink and raised her eyes to the large mirror. Her gown seemed bare without her flowers, rivers of beaded lace exposed in their absence. Ringlets framed her flushed cheeks, her skin still dewy with cosmetic butters and the shimmer of eye powder.

Gingerly, Penelope wiped at the charcoal smudges beneath her eyeline and scrubbed away the evidence of tear tracks. Save for the slight bleariness to her eyes, she appeared much the same as when she had arrived. Yet she felt she were now a wholly changed creature.

Penelope watched the tick in her jaw as she clenched her teeth, watched the lifeless fabric of her sparkling gown ripple as she raised her curled hands, stared into her own narrowed eyes as she brought her fists down against the mirror’s surface in a great crunching of glass, her shriek of grief and rage muted in the unnatural hush of the room.

At that moment, the door behind her opened and Ivy tipped into the room sobbing into her gloved hands. She was followed by a tall man in a crisp suit with flowing tails, who was murmuring a litany of comfort to the distressed princess. He abruptly stopped speaking as they caught Penelope’s eye in the mirror, both staring at her in shock.

Penelope stared at them in turn, unable to muster anything for the scene but a mild curiosity. Penelope stared at her own face, fractured in the web of splintered glass, recognising herself in pieces between the cracks.

There was the girl who, at ten years old, had climbed a tree with the goal to fly herself home on the wings of a storm. There was the girl who whispered encouragement to budding saplings as they struggled to thrive in the winter melt. There was the girl who had folded away all the layers of herself, neatly, precisely, to appease tutors who never saw the snapping billow of her whole person unfurling in the springtime breeze. There was the girl who spoke to autumn as a friend, inviting the wayward winds through her windows. There was the girl who had seen both the worst and the best of herself… who knew the euphoria of cosmic beauty and the snarling teeth of exhumed rage. There was the girl who craved love, and home, and family, and understanding from those incapable of giving it.

There, in that fragmented mirror, was the girl who had all of those things within her grasp, and the excruciating power… the inevitable, choiceless choice… to embrace them.

Ivy and her companion edged around the basins as Penelope watched the mirror’s cracked and broken edges illuminate. In a burst of dripping light, the surface resealed, perfect and whole once more.

“Well,” Ivy spoke into the silence, “I would guess you’re not the first of us to throw a fit at the mirrors.” She seemed to be aiming for her usual air of wry haughtiness, though her tone was undermined by a wet sniffle as tears continued to fall down her face.

Her companion laughed awkwardly, masking it as a cough when Penelope shifted her gaze to him. His skin was smooth with golden tones, emphasised by the warm glow of skin butters. Sharp strokes of bronze extended the long lines of his dark eyes, which were narrowed at her in thoughtful scrutiny.

They all regarded each other in wary quiet before Penelope’s shoulders sagged as she let out an exhausted breath.

“Would you like a turn?” Penelope offered with sweeping graciousness. Ivy’s companion laughed again, a rich, relieved sound.

Penelope ducked a curtsy. “Princess Penelope of Royal House Starwood.” Her voice faltered on the name of her House, yet the others made no comment.

“Prince Arin of Royal House Heartwood, a pleasure.”

“You have cake on your dress,” Penelope blurted out when she noticed smears of jam and cream down the length of Ivy’s skirt.

Princess Ivy’s lip trembled and the princess began to wail about “that absolute oaf, Prince Tristan” tripping over his own feet and her subsequent fall against the buffet table. “And now, no one will dance with me, and if no one will dance with me, no one will marry me, and—and—everything is ruined!”

Prince Arin smoothed circles along Princess Ivy’s back as she continued to cry into her hands and Penelope was suddenly overcome with a sense of surreal absurdity.

The contrast between cataclysmic portents of the future and concerns over a party dress were too much, and Penelope found herself doubled over with painful laughter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she gasped, feeling genuine remorse when she saw the scowls on their faces. “I’m not laughing at you, truly, I’m not… It’s just… It has been a strange night,” Penelope finished lamely as her giggles settled.

“You know,” Ivy spat, ”this is just like you. You’ve never taken anything seriously.”

“Excuse me?” Penelope frowned, genuinely baffled.

“Oh, the First Scion of Starwood can do no wrong. You always showed up wearing flour sacks, pockets filled with dirt and slime, gifting people rocks, and hideous weeds, and tarnished pennies of all the ridiculous things. As if you aren’t born of the greatest wealth in all the realms. It was such a mockery. So utterly disrespectful.”

“I never wore…” Penelope started to grumble before realisation set in. “Wait… Is that why you were always so awful to me?” Penelope demanded. “You thought I was mocking you?”

Ivy raised her chin in challenge, the movement elegant despite her ruddy cheeks and puffy eyes.

“I was doing my best!” Penelope spluttered. “I had nothing and you—you, were always so vapid! Endlessly bragging that you had the best of everything. You—!” Penelope inhaled sharply through her nose. “You know what? I don’t care. That doesn’t matter… Why didn’t you just confront me, if you thought I was being so disrespectful? Why didn’t you simply tell me?”

Ivy cocked her head in disdain. “Why would I do that? You were heir to one of the most powerful Houses in the Valley. You could have snapped your fingers and had us all following after you like ducklings. Instead, you seemed so content to put everyone offside. Do you have any idea how easy you made it for me to collect allies in your wake?” Ivy scoffed and Penelope’s heart sank at the confirmation she had never truly belonged in this society… had always been so deeply misunderstood. If she had simply known…

It never would have made a difference, a voice whispered in Penelope’s mind. A voice that sounded remarkably like her mother’s.

You could not walk in both worlds… Would you unmake it?

“At least,” Ivy continued, “until tonight. You just show up in a gown like that, after years of home-spun rags, not only securing the hand of a Grimwood Scion, but stealing the whole show with your theatrics—”

“Theatrics?” Penelope protested with an incredulous scoff.

“—as if the rest of us haven’t had to actually work for years building networks and… and alliances. It’s easy for you to laugh, your future is set! A certainty—!”

At that, Penelope threw her head back and howled with laughter. Both Ivy and Arin eyed her with apprehension as she clutched at her stomach.

“You are right about that,” Penelope wheezed. “Set indeed… Mercies…” Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes as Penelope’s laughter died down.

Penelope looked at Ivy, her pale face blotchy and tear-stained. “I never intended to mock anything, or anyone. Truly. It was…” Penelope sighed against a wave of fatigue. “I did the best I could with the resources I had at my disposal.”

Penelope looked at Ivy’s cake stain again and came to a decision. Ivy was correct about one thing. Penelope’s future, her choices, were indeed set. She intended to return to the Faewood at the end of the night, and continue the life she had crafted under the Sisters’ loving guidance.

She had no idea what the Sisters might want for themselves, now or in the future… And Steph… Would Steph want to be with her, after she shared her family’s part in Grimwood’s destruction? Penelope stopped that thought before it stole her breath.

Come what may, if Penelope was to continue living in the cottage, she would need greater means of survival. Penelope nodded to herself.

“Trade gowns with me.”

Ivy’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Trade..?”

“Yes. Trade gowns with me. I’m exhausted, my feet hurt, I could eat half the buffet on my own at this point, and all I want is to sit in a quiet corner until I can go back home.”

Ivy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “And in return?”

“In return, you tell everyone who asks that I crafted that gown, and that I work on commission.”

Prince Arin raised his eyebrows as Ivy continued to stare at Penelope, confounded.

“And you stop calling me Princess of Pennies.”

“I… yes. Alright.”

“Wonderful.” Penelope marched to a nearby stall and shimmied out of her gown, passing it to Arin through the partially cracked door. When he passed Princess Ivy’s gown to her in return, she donned it quickly, struggling slightly to pull it over her broader frame.

Prince Arin was cinching the ribbons for Princess Ivy when Penelope emerged. He then turned to help Penelope with her own gown, tying the ribbons more loosely at her request.

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered as he finished. “Ivy would have been insufferable for the rest of the night.”

Arin winked and Ivy gave a soft, playful smack to his shoulder as they exchanged what seemed to be genuine smiles.

Penelope watched the exchange in bemusement, marvelling that Ivy, despite her mean attitude and ruthless opportunism, seemed to have at least one true friend after all.

“Well…” Penelope said as the quiet lengthened and grew uncomfortable. “Enjoy your evening.” As Penelope turned to leave, Ivy called after her.

“Thank you… Princess Penelope.”

Penelope nodded in acknowledgement, turning the handle of the door. “Oh!” Penelope exclaimed as she stepped across the threshold. “I expect that gown returned, of course.”

Penelope grinned at Ivy’s half-indignant, half-amused ‘Of course,’ as she closed the door behind herself.