Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Six
Isabelle followed her father up the stairs, glancing at the walls that she had once been forced to scrub clean for a chance at dinner, and smiling wryly to herself. Oh, how times had changed. She followed him down the hallway, and they stopped in front of a large mahogany door. One that she had seen several times before and had been forbidden to open. It was a large door, with so many more locks on one door than she had ever seen in her whole life. The door was large, imposing, and stared down at them with the presence of a god. Or perhaps it was just the significance of the place and what could be hidden within it. 
She had always wondered what was hidden there. She had spent nights imagining that her father had captured a monster and held it captive in their house, or that he had a treasure chest of gold that he hid. It had piqued her curiosity further when she learned that he had refused access to Annabelle. Isabelle smiled to herself as she remembered how furious she had been.  
And now, her father had brought her there. She stole a glance at him as he stared at the door, a blank expression on his face. Isabelle had always thought that she would hate her father forever for all the neglect, for how he had always acted like she was not there, like she didn’t exist, for letting his wife and second child maltreat her, and for passing on her birthright over to her sister.  
But now...now, it all made sense to her. She understood it all. He wasn’t her father. He was a man betrayed, scorned. One that had been forced to live with the consequences of another’s actions.  
The more she continued to stare at him, the more she began to feel sorry for him. She hated it. She hated how she empathized with him; she hated how she understood him for mistreating her, for ignoring her existence...for all the pain caused. Understanding created an even bigger hole in her chest, one that she wished didn’t exist.  
She hated how she suddenly understood Fiona. After all, if the one the moon goddess had sent to her had ignored her, and went on to marry a woman who could not even be faithful to him, and let the product of her sin live with them, she would not like it very much. Isabelle sighed heavily and blinked back the tears that threatened to make an appearance.  
“You never let us near this door...” Isabelle said as she glanced at her father.  
Zane chuckled and drew his claws, staring up at the imposing building before them. “Well, I guess that there’s a first time for everything, don’t you think?” 
“What are we doing here?” Isabelle asked.  
Zane turned to her with pain in his eyes and a wry smile on his lips. “You’ll see.” 
Isabelle shrugged and stood in silence as her father tore the padlocks from the door and broke away the latches. Soon, due to his ministrations, the door swung open, creaking as it did.  
Isabelle turned to her father. “What are we doing here?” she asked, as she looked at the dust-filled room.  
Zane didn’t respond. Rather, he stepped into the room, leaving Isabelle to follow behind him. Isabelle followed him into the room and began to cough and sneeze uncontrollably as the dust found its way into her nose and mouth. Zane muttered apologies to her as he opened up the windows, letting light into the room and much-needed air.  
Isabelle wiped her tears and held her hand over her nose when her sneezing reduced. She looked around the room. It was large, abnormally so, and she wondered to herself why her father had left the largest room in the house locked up. And worse, why had Fiona allowed it? After all, she was known to run the household like the military.  
All the furniture in the room had been covered with wide, white bedspreads that were laden with dust, so much so that they were now a dull shade of brown. And she wondered to herself how long the room had been locked up.  
Everywhere she looked was a picture of her mother. On the nightstand was a small figurine of her, on the wall, a life-size portrait, and on every other surface, pictures, paintings. She must have been obsessed with herself...or someone else had been obsessed with her to make a shrine in her name. She cast a glance at her father, who was looking up at the life-sized portrait with pain and longing in his eyes. It was the most emotion Isabelle had ever seen on her father’s face. One thing she knew for certain, he had truly loved her. And she wished that love had been extended to her.  
Isabelle came to stand next to her father and looked up at the painting as well. It felt as though she was looking at a painting of herself. She was truly the spitting image of her mother. Isabelle stared at her mother, at her hazel eyes, at the pitch-black curls that formed a curtain around her head, at the haughty tilt of her chin, at the intricate curve of her lips, and at the mischievous glint that was in her eyes.  
A small smile played at Isabelle’s lips. She wished she had met her. Not in dreams or visions, but in real life. She wished her mother had held her hands out to her as she learned how to walk, and that they had done all the things that daughters do with their mothers.  
But then, wishes were roses...and Isabelle was too poor to ride them.  
“She is beautiful...” Zane said in a breathy sigh.  
“Yes, she is,” Isabelle acquiesced.  
“You are her spitting image, you know...” 
Isabelle smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes. I can see that,” she said. “Why did you bring me here?” 
“I brought you here so you could see everything.” 
“Everything?” she echoed and looked around the room, wondering to herself what and where the everything was. “What do you mean?” 
Zane sighed and turned to face her. “Inside this room is everything your mother ever had, every memory of her. Her books, her clothes, her shoes, her jewelry...everything.” 
Isabelle turned around and looked at the room again with fresh eyes. In that moment, she had forgotten the primary mission that had brought her to her family home; she wanted to explore and get to know her mother through her items.  
“But...why did you bring me here?” 
Zane shrugged. “I think the first step to truly understanding who you are is to know and understand where you came from,” he replied. “I strongly think that you will find something in here that would help you on your journey.” 
Isabelle watched as her father began to walk leisurely around the room, stopping at the bed and pulling the dusty white sheet off of it. He threw it to the side and smiled at the queen-sized bed. Isabelle watched in shock as a lone tear rolled down her father’s cheek.  
“You’re crying...” she said, her voice calm and low, lest he alarm her father to his own malfunction.  
Zane ignored her words. “This was our room. Mira and’s. Oh, how she loved it...” he said as he lovingly ran a finger across the bed, a wide smile on his lips as he reminisced about their time together. “We were really happy together...” 
“You must have loved her...” Isabelle said after a long spell of silence.  
Zane chuckled. “With my heart and soul,” he replied and sighed heavily. “I didn’t like the memory of her, of always seeing things that belonged to her around the house. So...I did the next best thing and threw everything of hers in here and sealed it.”  
“I understand.” 
Zane turned to face her, the nonchalance she had known him for all her life back in his eyes. “Your mother was a special being. I’m sure you know that by now. There’s not much information about her kind, so there’s not much I can tell you, which is why I brought you here.” 
Isabelle nodded as she held her father’s gaze, absently thinking to herself how this was the most words he had ever spoken to her at a stretch.  
“Your mother...she was blessed by the moon goddess herself. I brought you here so you can go through her things. You might find something that would help you in your journey.” 
Isabelle smiled and nodded. “Thank you...” 
Zane smiled and nodded, and with one last look around the dusty room, he turned around and left, closing the door slowly behind him. 
Isabelle stood still for a while, unsure what to do, where to begin. She looked around the room once more, at the browned sheets and the pictures and portraits of her mother. Suddenly, she felt a strange presence in the room, but whenever she turned around, she saw nobody in the room. She sighed heavily and began pulling at all the sheets until all the furniture was exposed, sneezing and coughing as she completed her task.  
She smiled as she caught sight of a large vanity that sat against the wall. She walked to it and pulled out the stool. She sat in it, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she imagined her mother seated there, applying her lipstick with her father standing behind her, admiring his wife. Her smile faded as she forced herself back to reality.  
Isabelle opened the first drawer and gasped in awe as her eyes were blessed with a beautiful assortment of jewelry arranged in the drawer. But one necklace stood out to her; the more she stared at it, the more the presence in the room increased. She took a deep breath and reached her hand into the drawer, biting down on her bottom lip as she carefully pulled out a cross-shaped red ruby pendant necklace with the cross encased in gold.  
She held it up by the chain, staring at it, and then she touched the ruby, and her eyes blurred. The room began to move, and her head felt heavy as though it was a struggle to keep it attached to her neck. The last thing she remembered was her eyes fluttering closed.  
When her eyes opened, she realized she was still in the room, seated with the necklace still in her hand, and then a voice came from behind her.  
“Hello, Isabelle...”