Hannah Tyler
Clef Putnam
this is part of book of revelation!
Hannah Tyler
Chopped black hair that grew back in patches was styled as best as it could. Scars were covered beneath an elaborate gown, silken gloves, and makeup that burned in the heat of late spring. The worst mutilations were hidden where only a suitor could see. All of Hannah's siblings gave her one more goodbye. A tight hug from Vivian, excited waving from Clover and Holly, a cheeky "don't get your hopes up" and a wink from Lydia. They couldn't stay long, though. Hannah had to do her part as the heir of this shredded family. The feeling of her father's hand felt like puppet strings tightening around her own, gently pulling Hannah into his chariot to meet yet another suitor.
Hannah was far from an ideal woman for the shallow noble houses and their frustratingly fast courtship rituals. Intelligence, personality, refinement, skills with sword and song, none of the virtues of nobility mattered for a girl like her. The Tylers' heir knew well the mutilated thing she had become. Not a single suitor who got that far could look past it and see Hannah for who she was beneath her skin and scars. Her father was getting desperate, sending requests every other week to noblemen no proper lady would bat an eye at. There was no time to develop a relationship more than skin-deep, before Hannah was dragged away to start the cycle all over again.
This time, her father beamed like he'd mined a ruby. Baron Lucas Tyler, the lowest of the nobles, had won a meeting with the child of the duchess herself. They-- for once, her suitor was not a man-- were eight years Hannah's senior and still unmarried, living in a modest home in the southern side of town. Her father explained it like a catch, his hands wavering nervously with each word he signed, but Hannah dug for the gems beneath the surface. Either this Clef Putnam was incredibly picky, and nothing Hannah could do would win their favor anyway...
Or they were like her. The kind to seek companionship before courtship, the heart of a friend before the hand of a spouse.
There was only one way to find out.
Hannah walked agonizingly slowly across the courtyard. The few servants milling about the place felt more like guards than handmaidens, despite their unassuming appearances. The puppet strings tightened around her hands, forcing her to step in that mechanically graceful way her mother had taught her, suppressing every ounce of personality so the families that controlled them would know that even a mutilated thing like Hannah fit in among the nobles. The mask stayed on when Hannah finally approached. With silent grace, the Tylers' heir curtsied to her suitor and held out a hand.
Clef gave her a soft smile, eyes unfocused, looking like they wished they could be anywhere but here. And yet, still following the script they both knew by heart, Clef kissed Hannah's hand and bowed for her. "Good morning," they said, but their words were as empty as their eyes. "I'm Clef. What's your name?"
In lieu of words, the baron's daughter signed her name with her hands. "Hannah Tyler." Then, she looked around behind her. The guards seemed to be gone now. Hannah let the puppet strings around her hands fall slack. She adjusted her position to one that was more comfortable than demure. A wicked grin formed on her face as Hannah signed: "I'm not here for your hand in marriage."
Clef took a moment to process this. After the gears turned in their head, Clef made a real smile, warm and imperfect and reaching all the way to their eyes. They slowly signed with uncertain movements, "I'm so relieved."
Hannah giggled, though it sounded wrong, choked against her slashed tongue. "But we still have to play the part..." Her grin faded a little as she moved closer to Clef's side, the puppet strings tightening around them both once more.
Clef nodded slowly, following the same script they had used time and time again for days like this. "Let me show you around." Clef's hands moved far more quickly this time. The pair glanced towards the courtyard, in case any of the guards happened to be lurking. Once they both knew they weren't, Hannah nodded softly, allowing Clef to lead her through the surprising amount of hallways and rooms crammed into the tiny abode that Clef called home. They walked throughout the house, signing eagerly to each other as they passed by the house's ever-watchful staff.
"I suppose we're to be heading to the ball as a couple..." Clef signed, giving Hannah a sympathetic smile.
"We'll have met for barely a day, and as soon as we get there, they'll ask for children. Terrible, right?"
"Truly. The less we have to think about it, the better."
The final stop on the grand tour was Clef's music room, and they turned to look at Hannah before entering. "Mother expects me to practice this piece I've composed for the ball at least half a dozen times before I perform it..." They paused, fidgeting for a second. "You wanna watch?"
"She's expecting me to play with you, isn't...?" Hannah deflected, but she knew well what that question meant. Her suitor had assumed she was deaf. She wasn't, she could fulfill the duchess's expectations just fine. Explaining it to Clef was another story. No suitor she'd ever met could look past her mutilations and see Hannah for who she truly was. And yet she had been backed into a corner before she could even start a conversation.
"What's wrong?" Clef's head tilted ever so slightly.
Hannah's puppet strings became so tight around her hands that they quivered. She had barely noticed the distance growing between the two of them, the way one hand clamped over her mouth. "You... you won't judge?" It was a fool's question. They always said they wouldn't. They always did.
Clef paused, eyes locked on Hannah's shaking hands. Then their own began to move, faster than ever before, an apologetic look forming on their face. "I'm so sorry-- I should've asked earlier, that's my mistake..."
Hannah's gaze focused not on Clef's hands, but their expression. She knew the mask of social graces like it was her own face. Hannah scanned Clef up and down, searching every detail for that mask forming over it. She didn't see it. They were being genuine... at least, she thought.
Hannah took a deep breath. Then another. It would be fine, she told herself. What were the odds Hannah would even see this person again? Once the ball was over and their families had extracted as much use as they could out of this false couple, she'd have to start the cycle all over again. If Clef judged her, if they hated her, better to know now, than to waste any more time trying to win the heart of a friend.
Hannah lowered her hand from her mouth, opening it wide to reveal what she had been hiding. The tongue inside was mangled, nearly black from infected slashes that she had to stitch back together in a prison cell. "I can hear. I can play," Hannah signed, hands still shaking, a deflection from the nightmare she had just shown her host.
Clef only nodded. That warm smile, sheepish but still real, returned to their face. The duchess's child was trying. "Sorry for the mess." They led Hannah into a slightly disorganized music room. "Nobody told me what was going on today; I didn't have nearly enough time to get the room picked up." A violin was out of its case, resting on the table in the corner next to a stack of freshly-written sheet music.
"What do you usually play?" Clef used their voice for the second time since Hannah arrived. "I'm sure I've got it... somewhere in here." They gave a half-hearted chuckle as those puppet strings wrapped around their own wrists. "I'm pretty fond of the violin."
Hannah pointed towards the cello case in the back of the room.
"Have at it." A tiny spark of what looked like hope seemed to pass through their eyes. "I hadn't planned to write it as a duet, but I, ah... I'm excited to see what you bring to the piece!"
Hannah pored over the pages of Clef's latest composition, her brow furrowing more and more tightly as she read. There wasn't much bass in this piece. A cello would be useless here. For a moment, Hannah glanced towards a viola next to the open case that held Clef's violin, but then she stopped herself. Hannah put the composition on an easel in front of her, then hauled the cello from the back of the room to her seat at Clef's side. Before she could even land on the chair, Hannah threw together a bass line, fast enough to match the pace demanded by Clef's composition, but simple, leaving room for a melody played on top to shine.
Clef's smile only grew, surprising even themself as they picked up their violin and took a seat. After a moment, they started to play right alongside her. The puppet strings, still attached to both their hands as they played, hung loosely above their heads. Every scrap of joy this false couple extracted from their little performance tugged against those strings, against the social forces that fought to make Clef and Hannah into more than what they were.
The mother who desperately wanted her child to choose someone. The father who hoped against hope that someone would choose the mutilated thing his daughter had become. The noble children who sought companionship at their own pace, without puppet strings attached to every word, every sign, every move. All fought within the strings of their instruments.
The composition fell to the wayside. Discordant notes clashed against one another, before slowly smoothing out into a tune the false couple had never heard before it came into existence from their hands. A snicker became a chuckle, then a hearty laugh. Neither Clef nor Hannah cared for accuracy anymore. They barely cared whether the song they played sounded good. They were just having fun, in whatever way those puppet strings would allow. No obligations. Nothing forced on either of them. They were just two nobles, enjoying the moment as humans rather than possessions.
It wouldn't last. The hours spent playing music, walking through the little garden in Clef's yard, riding their horse, all came with the looming dread of what was to come. The sun tugged on Hannah's puppet strings. She tried to ignore it, tried to bury her nose in music sheets and flowers and horse hair. And yet the sun faded, as it always had.
Clef's primary butler approached the false couple, spelling the end of their reprieve. "It's getting rather late, you two..." He started, glancing towards the manor with something that resembled a smile. "Perhaps you should retire early...? You've got to be up rather early, anyway. Best to get as much rest as you possibly can..."
A shiver ran down Hannah's spine. Clef took notice, and stood in front of her to speak with their butler. "I don't think I like the way you said that, Danforth." They said, looking up at him with a scowl.
"Ah, don't worry-- you'll understand in a moment, Clef." Danforth laughed, "Besides; you do have to be up early to prepare for the ball. You said so yourself; you can't perform well if you're not well-rested."
The false couple exchanged a glance. Their reprieve was over. They followed Danforth back into the house without another word.
The bedroom Hannah walked into was an explosion of pink and red. Hearts and flowers decorated every spare shelf and desk. A portrait of Aphrodite dominated the wall across from the entrance. The four-poster bed was covered with rose petals that matched the curtains left teasingly open. A vanity and makeup spread was surrounded by two bookshelves filled to the brim with romance novels and love poetry. The main lights in the room were cold, leaving this place dimly lit with moody candles that flickered in the night.
Whoever had designed this place-- certainly not Clef, given the way their face turned the same shade of pink as the bedsheets-- was determined to get her in the mood. They failed. The overbearing display only made her stomach turn as the door was closed behind her.
Clef's head was buried deep in their hands. It did little to stop the nearly-luminous blush across their face. Muffled by their gloves was a string of words that only barely sounded like human speech.
Hannah reached to open the door, but before she could, those puppet strings tightened around her wrists. She stormed towards the bed and removed the rose petals from the sheets. It would do little to make this horrible room less creepy, but anything was better than nothing.
Clef peeled their face from their hands for a moment. More pained groaning and distraught sputtering left their face. "Th-this was... not my idea." They mumbled, hands magnetizing back to their face as they stood, taking a slow and deep breath. After a moment, they lowered their hands again with a soft sigh. "Let me see if there's still..." Their voice trailed off as they gave Hannah an awkward smile, turning their head towards a closet barely big enough for two people.
They walked over, opening the door and rummaging through it for just a moment before turning around, holding up a now-crumpled handful of ordinary white sheets. "Here we go."
Quickly, the red sheets were on the floor and the white sheets were neatly stretched onto the bed. Clef's eyes bored through Hannah, and towards a small loveseat tucked into the corner of the room. "I'm... sorry about all of this. Hopefully that helps a little." They said softly, maneuvering over and quietly curling up, their back toward the bed to give Hannah as much privacy as they could.
It helped far more than Hannah expected it to. The duchess's child was trying.
Clef Putnam
Clef was the first to awaken to the sound of Danforth's disapproving tutting. A quiet hiss escaped their lips as they shuffled, effortlessly falling onto the floor before scrambling to their feet.
"You two were doing so well..." Danforth loomed over the couch and gave Clef a pitiful face that looked almost sinister to the duchess's child. "What happened?"
"I cannot believe you!" Clef hissed, eyes already smoldering with anger. "Even if-- even if we had elected to do such a thing, privacy is paramount! Be serious with yourself for a moment, Danforth."
Danforth's face turned the same shade of pink as the bedsheets. He backed up to give Clef some space and examine the scene of this horrible room. The plain white bedsheets tossed in a pile. The ruined flower petals scattered on the floor. Hannah's mortified expression, her eyes welling with tears and her body shrinking back as far as possible. "No, it's just-- you looked -" Danforth's breath caught in their throat. "You looked so happy together yesterday and now... What happened last night? Are you two okay?"
Clef's heart dropped like a stone. They knew what this looked like. They also knew how blatantly Danforth was deflecting from what he really wanted to imply. "Danforth..." A heavy sigh left their lips as their hands snaked down their face. "Nothing happened until you walked into the room." They pulled their hands away, glaring up at their butler. "She's fine, I'm fine. What do you want?"
"Are you two going to be able to play your parts today?" Danforth let out a little chuckle that was quickly smothered. "It'd be such a shame to go through all this effort, only to throw it away before the ball even begins..."
Clef scoffed, eyes alight with anger again. This awful man hid behind soft smiles, but this wasn't the joke he made it out to be. "Some people would balk at the thought of offending the gods like that. You should know better." Clef snarled. "Don't they need you in the kitchen to prepare breakfast? I've got to bathe and get ready for today, and I'm sure Hannah doesn't need help with her morning routine."
"What could you mean by that, Clef...?" Danforth's grin became even more saccharine, with the knowing glint of a man who had the upper hand in conversation. "We simply want you two to be happy together."
"You do a poor impersonation of Mother," Clef spat. "For all of your saccharine words, you aren't skilled at hiding your true intentions." They raised their arm as if to push Danforth to the side. Danforth simply stepped away and allowed Clef to proceed. The false couple rushed out of the room like it was haunted.
Warm water flowed down Clef's hair once they were alone. The weight of being a Putnam truly threatened to smother them. The fact Clef and Hannah were forming a genuine connection was plain as day. It pained Clef more than they cared to admit. Though Clef certainly didn't feel the sting of Cupid's arrow through their heart, Hannah was someone who could truly relate to Clef in a way nobody else paraded before them had before. Her puppet strings were as tight as their own, her burdens seemed to weigh just as heavily on her heart. A part of Clef wondered - feared?-- what would become of her when the curtains fell and this show was over.
Being shoved together like this only made that ache worse. Neither Hannah nor Clef were ready for church bells, yet that was what every hand that piloted their shared strings careened towards. A strange part of them wondered; if Hannah wasn't as hesitant as they were to be wed...
Clef wondered how the nobles before them managed to fall in love in a day. Maybe they didn't, Clef mused, and they just lied until the arrow struck true. Maybe it took a different force to allow them to fall. All Clef really knew was that all the Putnams that came before them were wed by the time they reached 20, and Clef was nearing 30. With each passing day, the whispers behind Clef's back only grew and Martha only became more insistent they find a match.
Clef prayed silently they could find a way out before they were forced to settle down.
The duchess's child rose from their bathtub, water flowing down their tan skin as they stepped onto the cold floor. They looked around for a moment to find a new outfit set next to the towels. Clef quickly dried themself off and began the arduous task of putting on such a garish display of status with a straight face.
The outfit the duchess had chosen for her child made them look pale, with their lifeless hazel eyes and ashy skin propped up against deep black silk and red velvet and stark white gloves. Clef imagined themself snarling, sharp fangs bared, drinking blood from Hannah's neck like they had crawled out of the trashy romance novels stuffed in the bedroom where they'd spent the night. Clef indulged in a little humor-- a playful face in the mirror, a soft snicker to themself. It looked just like the macabre style of the vampire who had taught them violin.
Clef hadn't seen Vladimir in a while, now that they thought about it.
Satisfied as much as they could be with their appearance, Clef made their way out of the bathroom and down the stairs until they'd found themselves in the living room. Hannah was still getting ready, and they saw Martha speaking with Hannah's father just outside the window that gazed into the front yard.
Clef thanked any god within reach that their mother and her father hadn't barged into the house the moment Clef arrived downstairs, tutting like Danforth had barely an hour before. The duchess's child sat on the couch, keeping themselves as hidden as they could manage while the two elders spoke, far too close for comfort.
After too long and nowhere near long enough at the same time, Hannah descended down the stairs. A relieved smile crept across Clef's face as they watched her rush across the room as quickly as her enormous gown would allow. When the duchess wasn't looking, Hannah closed the curtains before collapsing on the couch next to Clef. The ball hadn't even begun, and already they both looked exhausted.
Clef took a slow breath. "At least one of us had the sense to close the stupid curtain," they joked with a little laugh. "...You holding up okay?"
"As okay as I can be." Hannah signed in reply, nodding. "You catch anything about us in whatever they were saying?"
"Not clearly, anyway," Clef shrugged, "Mother wouldn't shut up about me, but that was all I could gather."
"How about you, then?" Hannah tilted her head just a tiny bit, giving them a little smile. "Are you doing all right?"
"...Better, since I've finally got someone who gets it sitting next to me." Clef opted to sign their reply with a soft grin. "Best to keep that quiet though. Wouldn't want them getting the wrong idea...!"
"Gods forbid, they'll assume the worst." Hannah rolled her eyes. "We'd never hear the end of it."
The door let out a creak of protest. Martha sauntered inside like it was her own home, then motioned for Hannah's father to follow. He followed Martha's motions, the pair of them smiling at their young with wolf-like serenity.
"Ah, there's our happy couple!" Martha excitedly clapped her hands together like a child. "Look at you two, all ready for the ball..."
"Of course we are, mother." Clef shook their head. "The most important thing you taught me was punctuality."
Martha's face twitched imperceptibly, but just enough that Clef knew their mother was in a foul mood. The duchess's child would have to stick to the script whenever she even glanced in their direction. "Naturally." She looked over at Hannah's father before returning her gaze to Clef and Hannah. "Come along, you two. You'll have a carriage to yourselves..." Martha hummed.
Clef and Hannah shared a look. Phrased like that... dread filled Clef's entire body. The last thing they wanted to do was allow this to happen. A desire unheard by the puppet strings that tightened around their wrists, the forces that policed every microscopic detail of their life. They took a slow, deep breath. No more stalling. It was time.
The duchess's child gave a grin as warm as they could manage, guiding Hannah up into the seat before climbing in themself. As soon as no one was looking, Clef let their head rest against the side of the carriage and took a moment to breathe. Hannah wasn't doing much better.
The rattling wheels of the carriage faded in the back of the false couple's minds. The poor neighborhood gawked at the procession of wealth riding out of their part of Salem as abruptly as it had arrived. Clef stared intently at the crowd, hoping against hope they'd see the faces they had only caught glimpses of in the past six months.
They never did.
--
Martha had Clef and Hannah play before the guests even arrived. The false couple's hands turned to stone at the fifth playing of their newest composition. This bridge was going to be the death of them. This ball was going to be the death of them. Every time the wind changed direction, Martha had a new social event to host, a new script of banter her child was forced to adhere to.
Clef's face was a mask of thin makeup and fake smiles. They raved about their art, how much they adored the craft, exactly their favorite moments making the composition, thanking Hannah for bringing life to it that they never thought possible. Every lie they'd told so many times before, with one honest truth tacked on.
Hours of playing were followed by hours of dancing and hours of chatting with people Clef had barely met. Unfamiliar faces with the same familiar gaze, all in it for their own power and gain. It drove Clef mad, having to play pretend like this. As if they didn't feel enough like a marionette, puppeted by strings that threatened to cut off all circulation in their wrists.
Clef's own mother was the fakest one of all. Like clockwork, the duchess cycled between saccharine smiles with the sickly-sweet exchanges of backhanded praise and poisonous glares with hissed corrections over every aspect of Clef's existence. In one moment, she would berate them under her breath for a facial expression nobody else had perceived and in the next she would laugh warmly, clap Clef on the back, and sing the praises of her most precious, exceptional, darling baby. It made Clef sick.
A thousand different ways to ruin the ball and go home swirled in their mind-- emptying their stomach all over their mother's gown, mistakenly knocking over a few butlers at the wrong time, getting too chummy with Mayor Robert... Why had Mother invited him, exactly? Well, Clef knew why, but that didn't make it any less surreal. Their terrifying mother was so afraid of breaking some nebulous social rule, that she would ruin her own ball by inviting her ex-husband? It was almost ridiculous.
The only thing stranger to Clef than still seeing the tiny little Mayor was not seeing Robert's lover at his side. Robert seemed just as vexed by the peculiarity, as he stuck out like a sore thumb walking around the ballroom with a vein that looked ready to burst.
"Hi there, Mr. Mayor!" Clef impulsively walked over. Their smile was just as forced as ever, but it put on a more playful appearance now. "Have you been enjoying the ball so far? I'm glad you managed to come out here, it's nice to see you!"
"Oh, if I'm interrupted one more -!" Robert scoffed, before glancing over and realizing his mistake. "Ah, my apologies, Clef. I'm quite enjoying myself!" The Mayor's shark smile failed to reach his eyes. "Your mother throws such wonderful parties."
"Are you quite alright?" Clef tilted their head, their expression one of feigned concern mixed with the genuine article. "You look... stressed."
"Truth be told, I was actually looking for Edgar. He'd said he would be right back, but it's been nearly an hour with no sign of him." Robert explained, tapping his foot impatiently with each word. "I'm getting rather concerned, but I feared leaving the ballroom. Wouldn't want to offend, after all..."
Not that the rules exactly matter if your loved one is missing, I would hope... Clef thought. "Have you checked..." They turned, hand raised to point towards the other side of the ballroom where Clef had been only a moment before when they paused. Huh. The duchess managed to disappear in the thirty seconds that Clef had spent speaking with the Mayor. "...The other side of the ballroom?"
"Mm." Robert turned his head, eyebrow raising curiously. "I hadn't managed to get that far, but perhaps now would be a good time..." The Mayor didn't even finish his sentence before storming off.
"I'll find you if I end up running into Nevermore," Clef waved after Robert, knowing full well they never would.
Well, whatever reason Martha had disappeared into the ether didn't matter much to Clef. They simply took it as a small blessing and moved on. By now the old fogeys hanging around the false couple had sloughed off, leaving them blissfully alone. Clef sank down in their chair like they were about to deflate.
Hannah noticed. "Are you okay?" Even the most genuine expressions of concern looked fake on Hannah's painted mask of makeup. It made Clef's skin crawl.
A cold, fabricated laugh escaped Clef's lips. "I'm going to lose it if I have to speak to another one of Martha's groupies. How long is one person expected to chatter on about nothing?!" They fidgeted with their hands for a moment, trying to gather their words. "Are you doing alright? I was planning on getting some fresh air."
"Oh." Hannah looked around, far less subtly than when she had glanced about at their house. Once Hannah was certain no one was too close, her demeanor changed. Her puppet strings fell slack onto the floor. A wicked grin formed on her face. "Want some help with that?"
Clef's own puppet strings practically yanked at their wrists. An abyss of no return stood before them. Clef jumped in without a second thought, a wicked grin of their own curling up to match Hannah's. "Gods, you know what? Why not?" Clef's eyes scanned the ballroom. For just a second, they glanced into the light on the other side of the event horizon, before turning back to their suitor. "We'll... have to make sure people don't get the wrong idea, though."
Hannah's fervor grew, her hands shook with excitement. "Are we sneaking out, or putting on a show?"
"We're causing moderate havoc, if nothing else." Clef's eyes shined with mischievous glee. "Put on a show, first and foremost. Rattle these bags of bones for a good laugh."
"Would cutting the lights work?" Hannah glanced upwards.
Clef fell further into the abyss of no return. In the depths they saw the screeching, demonic, utterly glorious fury that would become Martha's face when she returned to the manor and saw her facsimile of a party in pieces on the ballroom floor. "Yeah." The duchess's child fought the urge to chuckle at the sight within their mind. "That would do it."
"Will do, honey," Hannah signed, wearing a look of feigned adoration. With one hand she subtly pointed at the chandelier dangling from the center of the ballroom. "How do I get up there?"
Clef leaned in close, eyes flicking briefly to the ceiling, then back to Hannah. "Alright. See the column near the north alcove?" Clef signed, hands moving quickly. "There's a lattice of vine decor around it. It's fake, but strong enough to climb if you're careful. It'll get you halfway up. Once you're past the vines, there's a beam you can crawl across. Gets you right over the chandelier."
Hannah's eyes followed the path Clef described, her grin sharpening. Her head tilted slightly. "You've done this before."
Clef shook their head, stifling a chuckle at the thought. "Not exactly. But I have fallen off that beam. Once. It holds, though."
"If I fall in front of all these nobles, I'm blaming you." Hannah jabbed a finger at Clef.
"You'd be doing me a favor." Clef smirked. "Mother would be too busy fainting from embarrassment to notice we're gone."
"We'd never live it down." After a suppressed giggle of her own, Hannah pointed towards the stage. "Play another song for me? I need you to draw the crowd one last time."
"You wound me," Clef rolled their eyes, that playful smile still on their face. "But, alas, anything for my darling." Clef looked toward where they'd played for this same audience so many times before. They let out a deep sigh, before trotting back to their violin.
A quickly-improvised tune filled the air as Clef drew the bow against the strings. They played slowly, stalling at first to gain their bearings. Clef's notes wobbled, their hands hesitated for a beat too long, their rhythm swung just slightly enough to be noticeable, their fingers fumbled ever so painfully along the neck of their violin. The crowd of puppets that congregated around the stage began exchanging whispers.
A sudden longing struck the duchess's child. Clef ached for the people who weren't here. For the golden smiles of Eddie and Tommy. For Sabrina's unapologetic chaos. For moments in dusty little cafés they'd have never seen in their life without the miracle that won them the slightest bit of freedom. For laughter that didn't tighten the puppet strings around their wrists.
The song buckled under the weight of Clef's thoughts. Their bow hovered just above the strings, motionless for far too long. In the depths of the crowd, someone murmured, confused. Clef barely heard them. In their mind, the duchess's child was elsewhere, far away from these strangers in layers of lace and hollow etiquette.
Clef saw themself back in the side of town they'd made into a home, making potato soup and doing bad impressions in a house where Mother would have dropped dead if she set foot inside. Their memories brought them to a crumbling rooftop, watching starlight flicker like candles in the wind, cracking jokes with Sabrina about the beings in Heaven looking down on them. Their heart dredged up images of the friends who'd stayed behind, locked out of the walled garden that kept Clef ensnared in Martha's puppet strings.
Clef would give anything to be spending tonight with them, and not here.
Slowly, as if coaxed out by those memories, Clef's bow began to move again. A rhythm took shape, like the soft pattering of early rain and footsteps through familiar dark alleyways. Clef latched onto it, their fingers moving confidently along the strings, pulling out a melody that hadn't existed a moment ago but insisted on presenting itself to the world now.
Music didn't feel like a burden anymore. Clef allowed themself a smile, a tilt of the head, a loosening of the heart. Their violin responded in turn, sung clearer and bolder with each passing beat. The notes circled each other, climbing upward before twirling gracefully back down. The piece became mellow and warm, expanding into a dreamlike blur. A waltz emerged, glowing with the kind of golden joy that only came in the springtime sun, when the cold finally broke and flowers defied the winter chill.
The army of puppets noticed. Heads turned, whispers silenced, people drifted closer to the stage like moths drawn to the golden light of flame. Clef's body fully relaxed, their lips curved into a real smile for the first time since the curtains rose on this show of a ball. Clef barely cared whether the song they played sounded good. They were just -
A violent crash. Shattered glass and screams echoed in the air, spreading like wildfire. The chandelier that once formed the centerpiece of this grand room now lay in pieces on the marble floor. Its shattered remains glittered faintly in the flames of upturned candles. The last embers of light skittered across the marble in tiny trails, then died out, smothered by shadows and smoke.
The guests, for all their snobbery about being refined, reduced to a frenzied mob in seconds. Panic peeled away their practiced grace, revealing what they were beneath the etiquette: frightened animals in expensive fabric, scrambling for safety with no idea where the exits were anymore. Bodies jostled, people cursed, people wept, fine shoes slipped on a floor littered with glass. Toppled chairs cracked like bones underfoot. A high-pitched squeal rose from somewhere in the crowd, followed by the unmistakable thud of someone falling-- perhaps being shoved-- to the ground.
It was just the cue Clef needed.
While the rest of the ballroom spiraled into a panic, the duchess's child slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, weaving between flailing arms and upturned furniture. No one noticed Clef vanish into the shadows near the exit towards the grand hallway. Why would they? Panic and darkness made a crowd blind. Clef's soft footsteps padded down the back corridor, past kitchen and linen closets and rooms full of secrets for Mother's eyes only. Their violin quickly found its home on the travelling case strapped to their back.
Beyond the ballroom, along the hall, the sounds of panic had reduced to distant muffles. Putnam Manor was quiet now... too quiet. Like the place was holding its breath, waiting for Clef to do something foolish. The duchess's child obliged.
First stop, the study. Clef produced a key from their pocket and flung the heavy door open. They sauntered inside one of Martha's many private rooms like they still lived here. The study smelled of polished wood, dried ink, and the faintest scent of something sweet. Everything was exactly as it had been nine years ago when Clef came here last - including the empty box where Martha's wedding ring had once been, before her child claimed it and their freedom in one night.
The place was perfect in every way.
A wicked grin formed on Clef's face.
They dragged a chair two inches off-center. Flipped a paperweight upside down. Adjusted the quill holder so the feather pens pointed south instead of west. Miniscule changes, just enough to drive someone like Martha mad. Clef moved through their mother's study like a ghost with a grudge, brushing their fingers over the spines of forbidden tomes and knocking over a carefully arranged vase just enough to spill a few drops of water onto the floor. In the bottom drawer of Martha's massive desk, Clef found a velvet-bound journal with no text or design on the cover. Meant to look inconspicuous, in the gaudy way only Mother could pull off.
Clef's heart stuttered. A saner scion would have put it away on the spot.
Clef made no claims to their sanity. The first page was covered in uniform, looping script. Far too neat to be anything but performative. Deeper in, Martha's handwriting changed to something nigh-unrecognizable. Her real entries were raw, furious, her handwriting jagged and the ink darkened with thick, angry lines. These pages vented Mother's frustrations, scrawling names that Clef vaguely recognized, but couldn't quite place where they'd heard them from.
The glee in Clef's chest rose with each word. They snapped the journal shut and placed it back, right where they'd found it. Martha was still their mother-- they'd give her this victory, let her think she'd gotten away with something.
Clef couldn't let their mother win too much, though. They prepared one final act of rebellion, plucking a rose from the ornate vase they'd spilled water from. The duchess's child pulled the flower from its stem and crushed it between their fingers, then left the petals scattered like blood along Martha's pristine desk.
Clef turned and crept deeper into the house, towards places even they had never been allowed to see. Some doors within the hallways Clef had grown up memorizing always stayed locked. The grin they wore slowly faded. They moved at a snail's pace, the mischief drained from their movements, replaced with the instinctual quiet Clef wielded in unfamiliar mansions. They paused at a hallway they couldn't ever recall walking down. It curved slightly, tucked away behind a tapestry that wasn't there nine years ago. Dust clung to furniture and air. The sounds of the ballroom had silenced completely, smothered to nothing by distance and walls.
At the very end of the corridor, the duchess's child found... nothing. Just a small, unassuming alcove. No grand doors, no gilded locks, nothing but a wall with a narrow sconce mounted a little lower than usual. Clef's fingers brushed against this stone void. They leaned in closer.
The wall was freezing cold despite the warmth of late spring. It wasn't stone, though it had a similar chill. Nor was it wood. The surface bore a subtle grain that felt almost woven, like the threads of a loom, but as Clef pressed against the wall they felt it was as hard as iron. The pattern caught the candlelight in shifting angles and lattice patterned shadows. It was an otherworldly, time-traveled material that made Clef's skin crawl. They inspected this puzzling space for a little while longer, their fingers ghosting over anything they could reach, until the wall gave way beneath their hand with a soft click.
A horrible groan echoed through the floor beneath Clef's feet, making the earth shake and the duchess's child wince. Dust spilled from the seams of the walls in this tiny hallway, threatening to flood Clef's lungs and burrow into their eyes. They hacked and coughed for what felt like hours, until the awful shaking stopped.
Slowly, slowly, Clef dared to look up. They took a step backwards, looking down to find an oddly normal staircase tucked into the wall that hadn't been there a moment ago. The air seemed to grow colder, almost darker. That metaphorical abyss they had joked about in their head just before coming here had become all-too-real.
Would they as carelessly leap into the unknown as they had before? Questions, confusion, all sorts of anxieties swirled in their mind. This sort of feature was unique to Putnam Manor; no other place they'd prowled had contained such a strange and secretive place.
Clef took a deep breath, rolling their shoulders and neck as they braced themself. The unknown would not rise from the stairs to greet them; therefore, they would simply have to descend into the inky pits of uncertainty themself. One foot in front of the other, down each step, wincing at every slight creak and groan of the wood underfoot. Worst of all was the smell of the place. Mildew and iron and something faintly sweet rotting beneath the surface.
At the bottom of the steps, the room opened up, and Clef's breath caught in their throat. Lining the walls of this grisly place were thick, rusting iron bars, bolted with the kind of locks they'd seen used to cage animals at zoos and farms. Each cage was no larger than a coat closet, barely tall enough for a person to stand. Blankets were wadded into corners, stained red and brown and torn in various places. One cage had a teacup that looked a century old. Another had a pair of dolls, faded and tied around the bars by the hair. Scratches marred the floors near the gates of each cell, some deep enough to splinter the stone.
Clef's body went cold, locked in place by dread that crept in slowly and threatened to smother them where they stood. The duchess's child stood in this nightmare of their mother's creation, surrounded by cages and blood. And then... a sound. So faint Clef could almost tell themself it was just the wind, or their own shaky breath. Wet gasps from far away and too close at the same time. Echoes bouncing off the stone walls deeper inside. Clef turned towards the far end of the cellar, eyes straining to adjust to the barely-there light at the other side. The sound came again, too irregular to make out.
A chill ran down Clef's spine, and then they couldn't hear it anymore. The sound of their own heartbeat was deafening in Clef's ears. They stumbled forward, barely touching one of the bars before recoiling back as fast as their body could manage. It was cold and solid and horrifyingly real.
Clef bolted back to the stairwell and clutched their own chest like it would keep their heart in place. Their head spun, their knees buckled, their throat filled with bile they had to force back down.
The serial killer rampaging on Clef's home was their own mother.
Clef's mind reeled back to the puppet strings torn to ribbons around their wrists. The iron bolts behind the duchess's child locked their recent memories in place. The endless scrutiny. The curfews. The pitying, furious stares Mother gave Clef at the theater and in the ballroom. Those manifestos masquerading as letters, insisting that Clef was better than their neighbors, too good for the poors in their side of town. The flood of invitations begging them to return home.
Clef had always thought it was a matter of mental health-- worry for their well-being, guilt for casting them out all those years ago, misplaced blame for her child's depression. What Clef saw down there was none of those things. It was a twisted, malignant fear, an obsession with purging the old enemy of Salem that had Martha write off her child's own neighbors as nothing more than irredeemable witches.
The fact that it was, in Mother's mind, for Clef's sake, made that bile burn their throat again. Clef dug their nails into their palms, trying to blot it out. They couldn't scream here. Adrenaline flooded Clef's chest. Every creak of the stairs beneath their feet felt dangerously loud, threatening to awaken the manor and catch someone's attention.
The golden candlelight atop those stairs felt like the light of Heaven itself. Clef stopped just long enough to survey the hall and catch their breath. To their endless relief, the place was as empty and silent as it was when they'd arrived. Clef whipped around, hands trembling, and reached for the hidden switch. With another click, the wall began to slide back into place.
Clef's feet moved before their mind. The duchess's child took care to retrace their steps. They nudged the chair they moved back into place, they recentered the vase on Martha's desk. The rest, they'd have to leave as it was. Clef didn't have time to clean up everything, just enough to cast doubt.
A sound echoed faintly through the manor. A groan of wood. Maybe a door opening somewhere else. Maybe nothing at all. Clef's pulse surged.
They ducked back into the grand corridor, slipping into the same shadows that shielded them on the way in. The chaos from the darkened ballroom still bled faintly through the halls. Raised voices, scraping shoes, panicked footsteps and tumbles towards the ground. No one had regained control. No one would miss Clef, except for their own mother. The thought of what Martha might do invaded Clef's mind as they burst back into the ballroom like they had never left.
"Clef!" Mother was there in an instant, pulling Clef into a tight embrace at a speed only a parent could match. "Are you alright? I couldn't find you when the lights went out-- I feared the worst..." Martha quivered slightly, the worry in her voice as true as the panic in her iron grip.
Clef froze. The duchess's perfume clung to her clothes, to her child's lungs. The smell of something faintly sweet rotted beneath the surface. They let Mother's arms wrap around them. They couldn't scream here. "I-I..." Clef stammered, forcing a tiny, tired smile. "I'm alright; it was certainly a scare, but I d-didn't get hurt or anything."
Not physically, at least. Their mind was wrapped in the horrible sounds from the depths of Putnam Manor. Clef's stomach only twisted further as they thought back to their mother's earlier disappearance; before Hannah had dropped the chandelier. Where had Martha gone? Worse, would there be one less person in Clef's neighborhood when they returned?
"Oh, thank the gods..." Martha's voice cracked slightly. "I should have never left that ballroom. I never will again. Come, darling, let's get you home."
Clef didn't have time to answer. Their mother's grip closed around their hand, pulling them towards the nearest exit. Clef followed without a hint of protest, heart hammering against their ribs like a prisoner against iron bars. A sudden dread struck Clef's chest. Hannah was nowhere to be seen.
Clef's eyes darted around the half-lit ballroom, scanning the whimpering guests and servants quietly working to restore order. No sign of her-- not a touch of pink or blue or muted sarcasm. No figure in the chairs where the false couple once sat.
Had she been caught? Was Hannah still climbing when the chandelier fell? Had someone seen her? Was she -?
No. Not a chance. Clef shut their eyes, drew in a breath, clenched their jaw until it hurt. Hannah was fine. Her dad probably pulled her out of there the moment things got messy. Hannah never went near those cages, there was no reason she'd be in them now.
And yet, a second set of puppet strings coiled around Clef's throat. They pushed it aside. They couldn't scream here.
The carriage stood ready outside the manor, its lacquered black frame gleaming dully under the moonlight. Martha helped Clef inside this time, her hands fluttering nervously before she turned to climb onto the driver's bench herself. No servants, no middlemen, just the duchess and her child, all alone.
Clef didn't question it. They stepped into their mother's carriage and sat down, folding their hands in their lap like they hadn't just discovered a dungeon in the manor of the woman taking them home. The ride stretched for eternity through the winding streets of Salem. The opulent estates of the walled garden in the north snapped into the calm facades of well-off but normal citizens. Huge houses passed by at lightning speeds before fading into the narrow alleyways and flickering lanterns of the south side of town.
The further they went, the more the air outside the carriage changed. Perfumed gardens and succulent fruits became chimney smoke, then the faint tang of sea salt and city grime. Not a single word broke the heavy silence within the carriage.
Martha didn't peek in. She only drove, like if she just got them home, everything would go back to how it was, before Clef stopped being the duchess's child and became their mother's witness.
Clef didn't lean out. There was nothing they could say.