A Curse of Shadows

I expect the clothes to be a little snug or even too big, but each item fits perfectly, including the jean length, which rarely happens for my short frame.

This isn’t strange at all. A lie I keep telling myself.

After brushing my hair and tossing it into a bun with the hair tie I found, I brush my teeth with what I assume is a new wooden toothbrush since the toothpaste still had a seal on it.

Once I’m back in the room, the crown from last night lies abandoned on the side table, glinting softly in the ambient light. Am I expected to wear this while I’m here? It seems redundant; everyone knows who I am already. I dismiss the fleeting urge to place it upon my head and instead, I reach for a pair of heeled, brown boots from the closet. The added inches elevate not just my normally five-foot, one-inch frame, but my spirit, boosting my confidence as I approach the door with a newfound determination.

I have no clue where the kitchen might be in this labyrinth of a palace, but I’m certain I’ll encounter someone along the way who can direct me. Not that Cain hasn’t done his best to make me comfortable, but I just don’t want to rely on him. I need to find my own way around, to claim some autonomy in this foreign world.

Stepping into the corridor, I hesitate, my gaze darting left, then right, and left again. To my surprise, the man Asher claims is my father is sitting just outside my door, his posture one of weary resignation. His shoulders are curved in and hands are folded in his lap while his eyes remain closed. For a moment, I begin to wonder if he’s even still breathing.

“Um, hello?” My voice echoes slightly in the vast hallway.

His response is slow, his head lifting to reveal a gentle smile that doesn’t reach his tired eyes. This time, when our gazes meet, the expected surge of emotion doesn’t materialize. Confusion mingles with relief—had I imagined the intensity of our previous connection, or has the stress of this ordeal begun to warp my perceptions? I don’t know, but there is still a kindness seeping from this man that I can’t ignore.

“Hello, Issie,” he says, a note of hesitation in his voice. “Is it okay that I call you that?”

Isobella? Issie? Isla? They all sound close enough and there’s something about this man that makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go, so of course he can call me whatever he’d like.

“Sure,” I reply, my voice softening. “That or ‘Isla’ is fine.”

“Isla,” he repeats, testing the name as if it offers him some comfort. “I like that for you. My name is Grayson.”

A pang of something akin to loss tightens within my chest, an ache for a connection that should be there but isn’t. I don’t know if it’s just being here in this place or if I’ve officially gone crazy and the lack of pull that I feel toward Grayson now is actually painful.

I glance around again, trying to ignore the growing pressure in my chest. “What are you doing out here? Did Asher not help you somewhere more comfortable?”

Grayson shakes his head, a faint smile playing on his lips as he gestures to a door just down the hall. “He gave me the room next to yours. I was waiting for you—I hoped we might have dinner together.”

Now, this is a man whose company I’d enjoy for a meal.

“I’d love nothing more,” I say, extending my hand to help him up. His fingers are cold in mine, and a fresh wave of resentment toward Asher washes over me. “I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle of his threats.”

Grayson’s chuckle is tinged with sadness. “I’m sorry to laugh and I don’t mean to overwhelm you, but…” He looks up at me with pure joy shining through his familiar, blue eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Even this temperamental version of you that you’d long since grown out of before…”

He stops talking and my entire body tenses. Not one person has talked about what happened to this Isobella woman, just that they insist I’m her. Maybe it’s time I learn more about the shadow of who I once might have been.

Gently, I press for more information. “If it’s too painful to talk about, you don’t have to, but I would love to know what happened to your daughter.”

I might not be her, but maybe I’m her doppelgänger or something else that I didn’t think existed in real life. You know, like portals to other worlds.

Hell, what else might not be fiction?

With a slight shake of my head, I put my focus back on Grayson as he starts to answer me and walks toward the stairs, his gait carrying on with more ease than I expected after first meeting him.

“She disappeared,” he says first. “Nobody knows what really happened, but there are theories, none of them all that appealing.”

His answer doesn’t offer me any solace and the way he avoids looking at me, I decide to ask about something else that’s made me slightly curious.

“Why does Asher seem so angry with me?”

This brings a smirk back to his face. “My Issie and Asher were…close, best friends since the day they were born in fact. When she couldn’t be found, it wasn’t just my world that unraveled, but also his.”

“Maybe she left because he’s such an asshole,” I say out loud without meaning to, then I cover my mouth and mutter an apology.

Grayson doesn’t seem offended; instead, he nods sagely. “You both had your tempers, but together, you were something special.”

As we descend the stairs, I’m having trouble breathing from his revelation since I feel like his version of “close” means more than I want to know. Though Grayson saves me from having to ask by changing the subject.