Chapter Seven

Oakley Ruby Oriana

DAY TWO

I’m wrestling with latex—half of my energy is spent dragging it up my body, and the other half is spent keeping myself steady. It’s a black bodysuit I found in a wardrobe stationed near the foot of the bed.

The room is small, just a twin bed crammed into a corner, a table beside it, and a wall dividing the space. On one side, the bed and wardrobe. On the other, a bathroom and the door out.

I flop on the bed, left breathless after the battle with the suit. I listen as the watcher restates almost everything Muscaria had told me the night before, but as it drones on, I lose interest. 

All of the players are expected to join together and celebrate the game. I don’t know how many people will be there, but the uncertainty isn’t too unsettling. Surprisingly, the body suit causes the most stress. It’s tight, black, and suffocating. It covers every inch of my legs and abdomen, and I’m itching to get it off. 

I’ve been dreaming about my first ball for as long as I can remember, and I distinctly recall them featuring dresses. Not bodysuits. 

I tried not to let it spoil my attitude, but it did. There were no powders, paints, or anything to pretty myself up with. I walk over to the robot, who has made it clear he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. 

“So… are we going to go, or what?”

 The robot stands idly, without response. I groan and throw my hands up.

I freeze. The suit shines, then melts, billowing into layers of crimson. Fabric piles around me, and I feel as if I am vibrating. 

Red pours down my body like wine. Silk presses against my skin, flowing over my chest and down my legs. 

The hem brushes against the floor, but doesn’t drag. It moves like it knows where to go, even if I don’t. 

Sometimes I forget how much I love magic. The dress is made of multiple thin layers piling around me. The waistline transforms into a basque style, complementing me perfectly.

Around my stomach, there is a corset, with each wire covered in deep scarlet fabric. In between each wire, there is a red mesh. Around my bust, there is another bunch of material, solid but ruffled. It has a sweetheart neckline, and the overall dress is a perfect A-line ball gown, with ribbons wrapped around my arms. 

I twirl a time or two, admiring the design. 

An idea comes to mind, and I tug at the ribbons adorning my arms. They covered the cuts there, but I had a better purpose for them. When they finally come free, my dress starts to become discolored. 

“Oh, relax, Magic. I’m not breaking your dress, I’m just repurposing this part.” The change stops, before receding, and then turns back to red. 

I pull my hair up, trying my best to braid it. I try to weave in the ribbons, but they either jut out in weird places or fall out entirely. It’s too long anyway.

 I toss the ribbons on my bed. “Okay, I did break your dress. I’m sorry.” I wait for it to change again, but it doesn’t. It’s being forgiving now. 

“Look, isn’t it pretty?” I swish the fabric, but I still get no reaction from the watcher. 

“You are expected to be there in 10 minutes,” it says. 

 I sigh, “Can I just go right now? I’d rather be early than sit in here.” 

He steps to the side. I want to speed down the hallway, but I have no idea where I’m going. So, instead, I wait as the watcher walks out in front of me. He leads me down a flight of stairs before turning and walking through an arch that opens into an expansive room. 

This is what a celebration should be. There were white tiles on the floor, a tall ceiling, and a balcony watching over all of it. What grabs my attention is the long tables of food. 

The watcher leaves my side and stations itself near the archway. 

I cross the room, approaching the tables. I walk around a time or two before picking at a few things. There are little meatballs on sticks, as well as strange foods I’ve never seen, scattered throughout the display, alongside fruit. There are delicate glasses filled with dark red liquid for the beverages. 

People start to file in. There had to be at least half a hundred people here, but the majority stuck to the walls, while only a few ventured or talked. 

One girl caught my eye simply because of her anxious nature. She pulled at small pieces of her hair, twirling the strands. Her eyes flew around the room, and I could sense the panic behind them. I pick up a glass in each hand and make my way over to her. 

Her eyes grow wide when she watches my approach. I smile in an attempt to shake her nerves, but she doesn’t reciprocate.

I hold the drink out as I introduce myself, but she makes no move to take it from me. I hold one of the cups out and blink. She looks down and shakes her head, gnawing her lip nervously. 

“Oh, right. Don’t take things from strangers,” I say, scolding myself, “There's nothing wrong with it though, I promise.” I look around before putting the goblets on the floor up against the wall. I brush my hands against my dress just to give myself something to do. 

I wonder if walking away would make the situation less awkward or make it worse. I decide to give it one more shot. 

“I love your dress!” I put all remaining energy into the statement, hoping it would be the icebreaker. 

She smiles and blushes, and her blond hair falls into her blue eyes as she looks down. Her dress is more pink than red, complementing her suntanned skin. It’s made of silk, hugging her nicely. She looked to be a year or so younger than me.

 Red seems to be the theme, everyone dressed in varying shades of it, both boys and girls. 

She mumbles a short, “Thank you,” but nothing more. It takes a moment, but she continues the conversation. 

“I doubt you did anything to the drinks, I just don't know what's in them.” Her voice is soft, like warm blankets and crisp spring mornings. 

“Honestly, neither do I,” I laugh softly with her, “you just looked a little spooked, so I thought I should come over and try to shake the nerves.” 

Her face softens before a large hand lands on her shoulder. She flinches before recognizing the person.

I hadn’t noticed the boy approaching until he was here. I find the owner of the hand to be a tall boy with dark hair and ice-blue eyes. My focus flickers between the two. 

“I see you’ve met my sister.” His voice is the opposite of hers, confident, deep, and loud. 

“I have! Very sweet girl.” It’s the only thing I could think to say, seeing how she doesn’t display anything other than a shy demeanor. I introduce myself and hold my hand out for him to shake. 

He takes it, brings it up to his lips, and carefully kisses my knuckle. It’s unexpected, but I would be lying if I said I am disappointed about it. He is a very striking young man. It takes everything I have in me not to giggle. 

“Alexander,” He says, dropping my hand. My stomach immediately tumbles. 

The girl whispers to her brother before sparing me a slight wave and leaving the two of us to our own devices. I smile at her as she leaves, before turning back to the young man. 

My face still burns, and his eyes are still glued to me. We sit that way for a few breaths, before I break the silence.

“So,” I start, “is your sister always that shy, or is it just me?”

He laughs, rolling his eyes, “It’s just her. Evelyn’s not good with people. Always been the silent type.” 

“She’ll warm up, I’m sure. It’s nice to have a friend, and we’re both here alone; it’s a win for both of us.”

He smiles down at me, “I’m sure she would appreciate it. As annoying as she is, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to understand, “I think I would trade my sister for a cupcake.” I don’t understand the bond that other siblings most often share. “Actually, I take it back. I would probably have to pay someone to take her.” 

“You’re a funny girl, Oakley.” His laughter is loud and turns a few heads, and suddenly imthe shy one. I take the compliment, offering him a soft thank you.

“Are you ready for this? The whole game thing?”

I nod excitedly, “Oh yeah, I can’t wait.” 

“Really?” He asks, genuinely intrigued, “Not nervous? Not at all?” 

I shake my head, smiling widely, “I’m actually really excited about it. It’s going to be fun.” He looks at me wonderingly. He opens his mouth but closes it a moment later, his eyes finding something behind me. 

“Do you have any friends here, Oakley?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Why?”

He squints, “A blond boy is storming towards us.” 

I can feel my face lighten, and I whip around so fast that one of my braids smacks into the side of my face. 

I run forward before practically mauling the man. 

“Rowan! I’m so happy you're here!” I squeal, “Well, not really, I think you should have just left me back in the forest, but I’m happy you're here now!”

 He looks horrified. He looks down at my dress, and I step away, “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Here, let me give you a twirl, it fans out and it's gorgeous, you'll love it,” I ramble. “Whoever the designer is, is truly amazing. Well, I guess the magic designed it, but—”

“Oakley, your arms.” He says, finally, the words spoken in a hushed tone. I almost forgot about the scratches, but now that they have been brought to my attention, I want nothing more than to hide them. Before I can, Rowan's hands are already running up and down the damaged skin, gingerly touching each scrape and bruise. 

“Oh, I don’t know how those got there, but they don’t bug me too much, only a little.” 

“It’s my fault.” He whispers. 

I tilt my head, looking up at him, “What do you mean?”

“I did this to you. When I thought that man was trying to hurt you, I fought as hard as I could—I had him down. I grabbed you and tried to run. He hit us, and you fell out of my arms, I’m so sorry, Oakley.” He never takes his eyes from the markings until the last sentence. 

“It’s okay, I hardly even feel them, just scratches that’s all.” He finds the various slices on my hands, and I pull away. 

“Oh, those were me. The light in the room, it… broke.” I choose to leave out the part where that was my fault, too. 

Alexander clears his throat behind me, and though I don't notice it at first, Rowan does. 

“Where are my manners!” I exclaim, “Alexander, this is my best friend Rowan. Rowan, this is my new friend Alexander.” 

Neither of them says a word. The weight of the silence is enough to make my head hurt, but I seem to be the only one. They seem content staring into each other's souls. 

“Well then, I’m going to get a drink…” Rowan stops me from pulling away, grabbing my armwith care, clearly still paranoid about the cuts. 

“Kiki, I need to talk to you.”

“Her name is Oakley.” Alexander interrupts. 

“No, it’s a nickname.” I giggle. 

“What does that mean? If you're going to call her anything but her name, at least come up with something good.” 

Rowan doesn’t respond, just pulls me away. He leads us away from the people, towards the corner of the room.

“We have to get out of here.” I’m snapped out of my daze, my mind slinking off without my knowledge. 

“Excuse me?” I stutter.

“We need to leave, find a way home.” 

“No… we need to play the game. Muscaria said we needed to play the game. If we get eliminated, we go home anyway. It’s just a game, Rowan. It’s okay.” 

“Kiki, I don’t think you understand. We aren't safe, not while we’re here. We have to leave.” The words send a sense of panic through me. Rowan has always been the sensible one, yet he is being anything but. But part of me is scared he is telling the truth. 

“Hey, hey, I don't want to scare you. We’ll be fine, I promise. I just really need you to trust me. Please.” My hands ball up at my sides, and I fiddle with the fabric there. 

“Rowan, we need to stay here. We’re here for a reason, I know it. We are going to play the game and then go home. Either that or fight for a good cause. The line between right and wrong is thin, and no matter what we do, it's going to feel like we are using that line as a tightrope.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “I’m staying. You can try to leave if you want, but if you do, please don't go unprepared. There is clearly magic here, which either means we are in Candorless, or somewhere neither of us knows of.” 

He stays silent, my seriousness surprising him. I fill the silence as soon as the thought comes to mind. 

“I'm leaning towards the latter. I’ve lived in Candorless my whole life, and I can promise you I have never seen a castle. And if there were one, the magic would make sure everyone knew about it. It likes pretty things. The big, the magnificent, the colorful; all of it.” I gesture wildly with my hands. I smile when he raises his eyebrows. 

“Wow,” he crosses his arms, “what makes you think the magic is like a person? That it has preferences?” 

I roll my eyes. “Because, of course it does. But that's not the point.” I cross my arms too, in more of a pout. “Are you leaving or not. I won’t judge you either way, I just want to know the plan. I’d like to keep you alive you know, however I can.” 

He takes a moment to just look at me before he answers. A voice slices through the crowd, completely silencing his response before it can reach my ears.