Free Sinister Sentiments by K.C. Finn Page B

hand.
    “Bedelia,” I said.
    “Roland,” he replied, nodding. He squeezed my fingers lightly, our gloves slippery in one another’s grip. “Since I have your hand already, might it be persuaded to lead you out to dance, Bedelia?”
    “She’d be delighted,” Mother said, retreating and holding me at the waist to guide me forward.
    It wasn’t as though I needed encouraging. Roland was markedly better looking than any young man in the whole of the grand hall, perhaps more handsome than any I’d ever laid eyes on. I had been presented last year, on my sixteenth birthday, to make my debut in society, but it wasn’t until recent months that Papa had finally rubbed shoulders with enough of the right people to get us noticed. Now, at seventeen, I was the premium age to secure a good match and Mother had made it her mission to get me one.
    As I took up with Roland to dance, I saw her over his shoulder pointing to my hair, as if to warn me to take care of the style. I nodded ever so slightly, then let my gaze fall to the floor as we began a few steps. The music was faster than I was used to and my fear for my gown had me tripping up every few paces. Roland let that fine chuckle of his loose once more, and I couldn’t help but look up into his beaming face to see his dark eyes glitter again.
    “You’re an odd little thing,” he remarked.
    I didn’t know how to respond to him, so I simply giggled and let him twist me to a new footing, trying to follow the song.
    “Are you shy Bedelia?” Roland teased. “Shall I have to dance with you all night to get more than a word from you at a time?”
    I pressed my lips together a moment, considering my reply.
    “Perhaps.”
    He laughed boldly, louder than the music, his hand at my back growing stronger as he tried to guide me in the steps. We twisted again, the motion and his flattery making me so giddy that I forgot to mind my hem. The underskirt caught in my shoe, as I’d feared it would, and I stumbled backwards wildly, out of Roland’s grip. I fell to the floor with a horrid thump that pained the bottom of my back, my pale face flushing red as I realised that everyone had noticed my accident. Struggling to get my heel free of the gown, I looked down and wrestled with the skirt, hoping the other guests would go back to their entertainments and forget me soon enough.
    But they didn’t. They were staring still. Roland had not come to help me rise; he simply gaped at me, and the sparkle in his fine eyes was gone. Mother rushed towards me. I thought she was going to help me stand, but instead she moved past me as swift as the wind to a spot behind me. I turned my head to follow her steps and let out a horrified shriek. My hands ran up my neck to the top of my scalp where there was nothing at all to touch.
    My wig had fallen off, leaving the whole grand hall to witness my bald head.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Weather Vain
     
     
    A humble clerk knows that his future position in any company is fully dependent on how he looks when he enters the office. I always stand by the window when I finish dressing in the morning, under the arch of the roof in my third-floor bedroom. The gilded mirror sits in the corner just beyond this window, reflecting light into the modest room behind it, and onto me as I stand, appraising myself in its polished glass.
    Two eyes in a fine amber shade. Dark brown hair smoothed into an austere backward sweep. A slim jaw and slightly-pointed chin. One slim, straight nose in a symmetrical position, sitting atop a thin moustache that I don’t seem to be able to cultivate into a proper beard. An aspiring businessman ought to have better facial hair, but perhaps I’m still too young for the right kind of whiskers to grow in. Someday, I hope for better growth.
    “Your tie isn’t straight, darling dearest.”
    Annette. The brightest light in my life. I don’t know how long she’s been standing at the bedroom door, but now she swiftly moves into my