Free Crewel by Gennifer Albin

Enora or Maela. But her features are Eastern in origin, her eyes sloping elegantly around toffee irises. Even in her heels, she’s much smaller than the rest of us. I’m beginning to understand why Spinsters are so finely polished. They could never allow other, inferior women to be more beautiful than they are. Staring at the number of prep tools on the cart next to me, I can’t help wondering how much time they waste in pursuit of perfection.
    After an hour of lining and curling and spraying, Enora brings in her final choice for today’s outfit – a peacock-green suit that puffs at the sleeves and tapers to my knees. It is at once perfectly understated and completely unmissable. I slip into it and then grip the post of my bed while Enora hands me a pump.
    ‘Wrong foot,’ I say, passing it back to her. ‘Left first, please.’
    She gives it to me with a raised eyebrow. ‘Superstitious? I’ve never heard that before.’
    ‘Not superstitious.’ I shake my head. ‘My grandmother always told me to put my left shoe on first, because my left leg’s stronger than my right. Easier to stand on one heel.’ I slide on the shoe and demonstrate my perfect balance.
    ‘Are you left-handed as well?’ she asks.
    ‘Yes, my grandmother was, too.’ The memory of her tugs at me; it’s an old sadness, more of a ghost than an ache, although it pulls harder on me here than it has for years. It’s different from the hot, panicked grief I feel for the rest of my family.
    Enora hands me my other shoe, and Valery pushes me towards the mirror. The image is not the shock it was yesterday, but this girl with the brilliant hair and bright eyes is not me. I’m simply dressed in someone else’s skin.
    Valery and Enora stand behind me like proud parents. My new mentor places a hand gently on my shoulder. ‘You’re stunning, Adelice.’
    ‘This isn’t me,’ I say, watching the strange scarlet lips move.
    ‘It is now,’ Enora whispers firmly. I can hear in her voice the same tone I use with Amie when I know what’s best for her, even when it’s something she hates, like brussel sprouts. I wonder if she has anyone watching over her now. I feel the panic creeping from my belly into my throat, but my reflection doesn’t change.
    Now that I’m dressed, Enora escorts me to my first training class. I try to memorise the route – what my hall looks like, which floor to choose on the lift – on the off-chance that I’m ever allowed to move around the compound alone. We don’t pass through the same sterile hallway we used yesterday. Instead she guides me out into a beautiful garden surrounded by the high towered walls of the Coventry. Sunlight radiates down on us directly, creating a bright spot in the centre of a concrete fortress. Palm trees shade small, prickly pines. Animals scamper peacefully at my feet. It is the most wild – but tame – place I’ve ever been. Just when I’m sure it’s all screens like the ones in my room, reflecting a pre-programmed code, I spy him and a thrill sends my heart into my throat.
    Crouched next to a wheelbarrow and wiping his forehead with a simple rag, there he is: the boy from the cells. A gardener, an escort? What other jobs does he occupy here and why? He glances up as we pass, and then he looks more closely, and I feel a tense energy fill the space between us – the force of it almost palpable. He’s taking in my vibrant tailored suit and new face. He looks puzzled for a moment, then something darker flickers across his face. It’s not anger or hatred. It’s not even lust.
    It’s disappointment.

 
     
     
    5
     
    Enora pushes past the young man and hurries me along to another tower door on the far side of the garden. I fight the urge to turn back to him. What would I do? Apologise? Explain myself? What did he expect? Did he think I was going to set fire to the compound and run away, hungry and cold?
    ‘Adelice.’ Enora’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Try to