[September 25, 2042]

It was about three in the morning. Otter House was completely silent, besides from the creaking of the old wood and the rustling of some animals outside the windows. Dark shadows fell deeply upon the inside of the house, and Cal was attempting to scuttle down the stairs without making too much noise or tripping.

An hour ago he had awoken with gasping breaths, and after lying in bed and watching the moonlight trickle through the window of room 01, he had decided that falling back asleep would be pointless. He had left the room, trying not to awaken his ghostly roommate, and descended down onto the first floor of the manor.

The boy had had a nightmare, and was trying to escape his own feelings.

Cal had no immediate plans for what he would do, but he knew that he felt restless, and that returning to sleep wouldn’t be an option. He had a vague plan of making himself some tea in the kitchen, retrieving a book from the library, and sitting in the entry hall to watch the sun go up.

This plan was immediately upheaved when Cal reached the bottom of the steps and a surprised voice called out: “Mr. Cal? What are you doing here?”

Cal nearly jumped a foot in the air, though he somehow managed to keep himself from exclaiming aloud. Sitting in one of the leather chairs was the attendant of the fourth princess of Luvinia: Bridget, with her long legs crossed and neck leaning back in a more relaxed posture than he had ever seen from her before. Inexplicably, she was still wearing her uniform, though she had deigned to undo the golden buttons of her long dark-sleeved jacket that she wore over her formal dress, presumably to relieve the pressure it exerted on her large chest. Cal hadn’t noticed before because of how typically conservative Bridget dressed and acted, but this small change in her clothes and usual posture brought to his attention that in addition to her advanced height, Bridget was quite full-figured and curvaceous.

Cal immediately felt guilty upon thinking this, and blushed red as if he had just come upon Bridget undressing. “O-oh, Ms. Bridget,” he stammered, “sorry about that- I just — that is — I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”

Bridget nodded understandingly and turned on the lamp on the table next to her chair. The sudden illumination made Cal avert his dark-accustomed eyes, and made Bridget’s long brown hair glow for a moment. It also made her brown eyes twinkle attractively, and Cal felt even more self-conscious about looking at her than he had before.

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Cal.” Bridget said, “I apologize if I startled you. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, no. Everything’s fine.” Cal shook his head, trying to concentrate. “I just had trouble sleeping. I only came down to make myself some tea and decompress.”

“Oh, allow me.” Bridget immediately got to her feet, buttoning up the jacket of her uniform. “Please have a seat, Mr. Cal, and I’ll be back in a moment with some tea. Green is fine, yes?”

“Wait!” Cal exclaimed, taking a step forward, though Bridget had already turned and begun to head into the kitchen. “You really don’t need to go out of your way to do that.”

Bridget turned her head, and said softly but firmly: “It’s not an issue. Have a seat, Mr. Cal. I’ll be back before the morning birds can begin their song.”

And then she was gone, down the hallway into the kitchen.

Nonplussed, Cal sat down in the leather chair opposite the one that Bridget had just occupied, and listened to the sound of the kettle. Everything about the encounter so far had thrown him off his typically cool-and-collected nature (as Mel had once put it), and so he began to breathe in and out, calming himself down and returning to a sort of equilibrium. When Bridget returned with two cups of steaming tea, he accepted his own cup with a smile and a calm expression.

The two sat in silence for a while, listening to the silence and the quiet movements of each other’s bodies, as they adjusted slightly in the leather seats and raised or lowered the cups of tea.

Finally, Bridget fixed her brown eyes on Cal. “I apologize if my presence is making you uncomfortable. You probably had the expectation that you would be alone.”

“No, that’s okay. I like your company.”

“Don’t feel the need to sugar-coat anything, Mr. Cal. I know that my formality can make conversations with others who are not my lady a little awkward.”

“I was being sincere,” responded Cal, with a little more feeling than he intended. Then he coughed and rested his tea on the cardboard coaster. “I mean that. You’re an easy person to talk to, Ms. Bridget. You have a very calming presence, and you’re considerate of others. I like spending time with you.”

Bridget's eyes widened slightly, and then she lowered them demurely. “That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Cal. I’m only trying to reciprocate what you have done for me. I have felt nothing but welcome in this manor, so I feel an expectation to treat you as I would the head of a noble house.”

Cal coughed again and rubbed his dark hair. “Geez, I’m nobody so impressive. You can talk to me and treat me normally, if you want.”

Bridget’s brown eyes filled with warmth. She smiled slightly, took a sip of tea, and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “If I may say, Mr. Cal, as someone who has met my fair share of aristocrats and leaders of powerful families… you are more dignified, patient, and attentive than the vast majority of them.”

Cal’s face reddened, and he raised his cup of tea to partially obscure his face. “I have done nothing to deserve such a compliment, Ms. Bridget.”

“Yet I pay it nonetheless, and have no intention to rescind it. I hope that will communicate the genuineness of my feelings.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

They sat in silence for a bit longer. Somewhere upstairs, a toilet flushed, which made both Cal and Bridget freeze. They simultaneously held their breath, tentative of making any noise, not wanting to be discovered. They were not embarrassed per se, but were instead united by a single wish to continue this time spent together in nothing but each other’s company. Another person arriving would break the spell — the quiet unspoken intimacy that had built up between them, which the earliness of the hour had granted a sort of enticing secrecy and mystique.

More time passed. The darkness outside the windows began to pinken, and Cal became aware of the fact that this time he was sharing with Bridget would come to an end sooner rather than later. This realization prompted him to ask the question that he had been wondering about all morning.

“If I may ask, Ms. Bridget,” he said, tracing the rim of the teacup with a finger so as to not look her directly in the face. “Why were you down here in the dark by yourself? Did you have trouble sleeping, too?”

For a moment, Cal thought he had said something wrong, because Bridget’s face hardened with consternation. Then the tension left, and she sighed heavily. Her gaze fell upon the window.

“Oh… I suppose there is no utility in keeping this a secret. You would find out eventually, anyway.” Bridget murmured. She fixed Cal with a direct stare. “Mr. Cal, my full name is Bridget Abigail Dornlathe.”

Cal nodded, unsure of where this was going but letting her talk.

“This means that I am of House Dornlathe,” continued Bridget, “an old family of Luvinia that since their inception has only had one purpose: to produce exceptional attendants, maids, and servants for House Cormarc — that is, the royal House, my lady’s House.”

Cal felt the need here to intercede with a question, but managed to hold his tongue.

“To serve royalty is a great honor, of course,” Bridget added, though Cal perceived that there was a little bit of a rehearsed nature to the words. “My mother serves Idris ud Comarc, my lady’s aunt. My grandmother served a cousin of my lady’s grandfather. It would be no exaggeration to say that I was groomed from birth for the express purpose of being my lady’s attendant and confidant…. This is a familial tradition held in very high regard throughout all of Luvinia… but it comes with certain conditions.”

For some reason at that very moment, despite the hot tea he had been sipping, Cal felt a chill and a great sense of foreboding about what Bridget was about to say.

“House Cormac — the royal house — before they induct a member of House Dornlathe — my family — into the company and close access of one of their members, request a certain ritual must be done.” Bridget rested her eyes on Cal, as if to make sure he was still following her explanation about the nature of a world he had never seen. “That is to say, three conditions — three curses — are placed upon the members of House Dornlathe.”

“Three curses?” breathed Cal.

Bridget nodded. “In Luvinia, a curse is anything that impedes the exertion of free will. It may seem harsh, but the royal family is extremely protective of their members, and in order to allow an outside clan to serve them so closely and intimately, they feel that curses are necessary for the sake of safety.”

Bridget raised a finger. “Curse one. I cannot harm my lady, or any member of the royal family. If I even attempted it — say, raising a knife and attempting to stab Aina — I would not be able to complete the motion before my blood would boil and my brain would melt out my earlobes. I would be dead before I could lay a scratch upon her.”

Bridget raised a second finger. “Curse two. I cannot serve another master but my lady or a member of the royal family. I cannot pledge loyalty to another, or serve them with my heart or soul, not even a lover. This is to ensure no conspiracy is performed. If I did, my tongue would instantly be severed from my mouth, forever branding me a traitor to the royal family and a deviant.”

Bridget raised a third finger, her expression intensifying. “Curse three — the one pertinent to your original question. The royal family must be able to call upon their attendants at any hour and said attendants must be able to perform those duties with immediate expediency. Therefore, the final curse: the removal of the ability to sleep from the members of House Dornlathe. I can grow weary, or rest my body, or close my eyes, but can never fall into slumber or dream. My life will be an endless experience, an unbroken consciousness.”

For a moment, all Cal could do was gape at the attendant, completely shaken by her words and the calm face with which she said them. It was as if she was describing the weather.

Finally, he found his voice. “I can’t speak for what is normal in your world, Ms. Bridget but… what you describe… It sounds like something horrible has been done to you. A cruel act.”

Bridget held his gaze calmly, pursing her lips.

“It is what it is,” she said finally.

Then she smiled. “It isn’t so bad Mr. Cal, truly. I’m used to it. My lady can’t fall asleep by herself, so I must lay beside her and coax her to sleep, which can take up some of the night depending on her mood: how talkative she is — how nervous she is. Then I lay next to her, listening to her breathing. It’s very calming. On nights like this, when I desire to move around, I can sit and read, or do chores, or anything I like.”

When she noticed the expression on Cal’s face, Bridget’s voice immediately became a little more insistent, as if she was afraid she had scared Cal. “Really, it’s better than it sounds. Boredom is a factor, I admit, but I can always find ways to spend my time. Like sitting here, chatting with you.”

She smiled again, though this time it seemed more anxious. She wanted to put the boy in front of her at ease; to not unnecessarily excite his emotions.

Cal sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was trying not to let his horror and disgust show too clearly on his face. “How long… have you had to live like this?”

“They performed the ritual when I was five.”

Bridget leaned towards Cal and pulled down the collar of her formal brown dress. For a moment he was flustered, because the movement seemed as if Bridget were about to show him her breasts, but then he realized she was trying to draw his attention to her pale collarbone. Upon the skin, clearly made with a sharp blade like a knife, were three red scars: identical in shape and width. They looked like a trio of rectangles on the skin.

Bridget leaned back in her chair. “Oh, and please don’t blame my lady for any of this. She had no part in it — being too young, of course — and has no love for the practice besides. I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to her. Despite being guiltless, she feels responsible for what had been done to me.”

Cal narrowed his brow and grunted to communicate that he understood.

“Thank you,” she said, “and again, please don’t worry too much about it. As I said, I’m used to my condition.”

Cal’s dark and serious eyes turned upon Bridget. “I can’t help it,” he said sincerely, “I just can’t help imagining how I would feel in your place.”

For a moment, Bridget didn’t speak, touched by his words, by his simple and genuine empathy. Her chest swelled with a warmth she wasn’t used to.

“In that case,” she said softly, “if you really want to do something for me…”

“Yes?”

Bridget blushed slightly, surprised by how self-conscious she felt. “If you wouldn’t mind… you’re the first face I see every morning… and I admit, I get a little impatient waiting for you to arrive. I always look forward to our chats before breakfast.”

Cal smiled. “I'll be sure to wake up an hour earlier from now on.”

Bridget waved her hands, flustered. “Oh, that’s too much, just fifteen minutes or so-”

“An hour,” Cal insisted. “Starting tomorrow, you can be sure to see me.”

She folded her hands on her lap, looking down at nothing in particular. “Thank you very much, Mr. Cal.”

“It’s not a problem.”

The sky reddened outside. A bird was singing. There was a new feeling in the air between the two: the boy with dark hair and the tall young woman, one that hadn’t existed before. A newfound understanding that was more deep and sincere than it had been before.

Bridget cleared the now empty tea cups, and Cal helped her wash the cups and put away the kettle. It would still be two hours before anyone else in Otter Manor would awaken.