Holding up each article of clothing that my sisters had thrown away, I asked Obsidian “Which do you like?”

He just stared back with his glassy eyes. “I know, I know. I don’t want to be going to this thing, but if I don’t look nice, she’ll have my head. And since I so rarely get to dress up, I can’t pass up this chance!”

His head tilted to his left.

“Really? The red one?”

He blinked.

“True. I do look good in red. Oh, but this blue one seems so right! Maybe I could-”

“Squak!”

“Okay, I hear you. Red it is. Next,” I returned the dresses to a moldy box and pulled a magazine out of my book pile. Flipping through the pages, I found one I had dog-eared months ago. I set the magazine in front of the Grimm’s basket, his gaze was unchanging. On the page were pictures of different hairstyles worn by renowned Huntresses with my length of hair, along with descriptions of which page that had the step-by-step instructions. “Which one?” He considered for a moment, still as a statue, before gently pecking one picture of a woman’s hair done up in a bun and chopsticks. “I like that one, too. Let’s see…”

I scrounge around the garden to find twigs that could take the place of the chopsticks. Having found a pair, I used a knife to strip them of their bark until they shone white in the sun. I returned to my cabin, immediately beginning to prepare. I slipped into the dress, dusted off my sandals, and found the page with the detailed instructions. With the aid of Obsidian occasionally holding my hair with his beak, I finished relatively quickly. Using a book as a prop, I angled my Scroll on the floor, setting the camera to take several pictures of me from a mouse-eye view. A video would have been easier, but I’m partial to pictures. I made sure to strike the exact poses at each side that I wanted before the notification announcing the camera’s last photo chimed.

Retrieving my Scroll, the pictures rolled across the screen leisurely. I look great, better than I had in a long time, but one thing doesn’t sit right. My hair was immaculate, the polished twigs forming a perfect ‘X’ in the middle of the bun. The rich red fabric was loose in a few places, but I could fix that with a few safety pins. The lack of adornment made it bland, but it’ll work for now. What threw sand in the gears were my shoes. Just past my knees, the dress splits to reveal my feet, which were clad in a pair of sandals that I had retrieved from Enyo’s discarded items. I don’t own many shoes, two pairs to be precise, so the sandals had seen their share of use. They were worn with fraying straps, which the attendees will spot a mile away. If she saw this… My side ached at the thought.

How can I hide this? The only other shoes I own are sneakers, which are even worse. I just need to keep their focus away from my sandals. Groaning, I sunk to the floor next to Obsidian. Stroking his feathers, I asked “Do you have any ideas? What would keep your focus off my feet? Don’t birds like shiny things? But, since you’re a Grimm, that probably doesn’t apply. But… That gives me an idea…”

I reached into the hearth, pulling out a brick that had broken away from its mortar last year. A vial rolled out of the opening right onto my open palm. It’s about the size of a can of peas, topped off with a stopper bearing a glyph logo. Inside, bright orange Dust shifted with each turn of my hand.

Most of the mansion’s basement was dedicated to my father’s Dust stores. It’s one of my chores to dust the dusty vials of Dust (yes, that was intentional; I had to) once a week. Even though I’m training to be a Huntress, I’m only allowed to use a bit of red Dust to practice. My school hasn’t let us use any besides the most basic Dust samples yet, so my options were limited when it came to using my glass. It's an odd method of combat, I know, but using it just calls to me. Right now, I use glass by filling canisters with Fire Dust and sand, which isn’t as effective. It gets the job done, but orange Dust is superior. Blades crafted from obsidian glass! Just the thought thrills me.

One night, I had been talking to Obsidian about how much I wanted to use orange Dust but wasn’t allowed to get my hands on any. He had spoken then. It used to startle me at first but now it was mildly surprising. He’d been with me for almost six months now and occasionally Obsidian would speak. Briefly. I’d only heard him a handful of times with each occurrence being welcome. I could still hear his words from that time, his voice lacking any sort of familiarity: “Then just take it from them.”

I had refused at first since I would be caught and the punishment would be dire. And yet, the next time I cleaned, I skimmed the contents of an orange Dust vial into a plastic bag. I had been so anxious the rest of the day that I accidentally broke a picture frame of Deino. My shoulder had to be popped back into its socket. But the next week, I opened another vial. Little by little, I stole minuscule amounts of Dust from my father. When my nerves had toughened, I attacked the red and white vials, fire and rock, to create a mixture that could mimic orange’s properties to a lesser degree. Now, I had four cans stashed away in my room in my hiding places. I could’ve gone for the other types of Dust, but they just didn’t appeal to me like these, so they weren’t worth the extra risk.

I pulled out the stopper, the faint aroma of fresh ash leaching into the air. Obsidian cooed as I stirred the contents with my finger. Instinctively, my Aura reacted to the presence of Dust, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I drew my finger out, a cloud of Dust trailing through the air to follow. I kicked off my sandals before I guided the cloud to my feet. I recounted the measurements of the sandals as the Dust wrapped around the Aura of my feet. Once I was finished analyzing, I activated my Aura and triggered the Dust. I willed it to form the glass I wanted so longingly. The cloud flashed as it took the shape of black, flat-soled slippers. Wiggling my toes, my feet fit comfortably inside the Dust constructs.

Perfect.

“Thanks for the idea,” I said to Obsidian, scratching the feathers on top of his head. I replaced the stopper and hid the vial once more. I stood up hesitantly, expecting my new shoes to shatter. To my surprise, they held my weight without a single crack. A minute of pacing proved their unexpected resilience, for which I was thankful.

One last picture from the side confirmed that the slippers would save me from her wrath. It was then that I noticed how late it was. I left the window open a crack for Obsidian, bid him farewell, and hastened to the front of the mansion. A lustrous limo was resting in the driveway, Deino and Enyo already inside. As I hurried to the door, I caught the shape of his back, killing my pace to a slow shuffle.

I couldn’t see his front, but I knew that his tie would be creaseless between the immaculate ‘V’ of his suit. Pants without a single wrinkle, hair freshly combed, shoes so spotless that they shone, my father was the living embodiment of pristine. Not a hair out of place, no buttons were undone, everything exactly where it should be.

“A put-together man…”

I shook away my mother’s voice as I neared. He didn’t acknowledge that he heard me approach, so I walked past him. A hand shot out, capturing my shoulder. I knew something like this would happen; nevertheless, I couldn’t suppress that terrible feeling that made my skin numb.

As the hand spun me around, I caught a blur of green eyes amongst a stone face. It was a habit so deeply engraved into my brain that the moment I saw his face, my eyes lost focus. I looked past him, sight dutifully evading him so that his features were never clear. When I recall this moment, the clouds in the sky and the colors of the leaves will be perfectly vivid while his face would remain foggy.

“Do you remember what I told you?” He said without that warmth from many years ago.

“Of course, father,” I replied.

“Repeat them to me,” He ordered.

“Do not draw attention to myself; I should be seen not heard. Do not speak unless spoken to; my thoughts and opinions should not be spoken. Don’t break or tamper with anything. Keep my distance from my sisters, mother, and yourself. Don’t touch the food in case I’d make a mess.”

“And?” His fingers dug into my shoulder.

“Behave.”

“Good,” He dug deeper, the pain flaring. “And if you don’t?”

My eyes still unseeing, I looked around him and said, “Then the punishment will be my fault.”

My father released my shoulder. “We’ll meet your mother at the event. Don’t mess this up.”

I nodded, which made his arm raise. Before I could rectify my mistake, he struck me across my face. “You speak to me. Your voice isn’t broken, so use it when I speak to you.”

“My apologies, father.”

Without another word, he walked towards the car. The pain was already fading, but its roots dug deeper when I heard him again.

“How are you, sweethearts? Are you ready for the party?”

Deino's shrill voice squealed, “Yes we are, Papa! We can’t wait!”

My father chuckled. My cheek burned. “The four of us will have so much fun! I know it’s a little stuffy, but we’ll make a night of it. I promise. I love you two.”

“We love you, Papa!”

I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t stop the memories of being rocked to sleep while my father read me fairy tales from years ago rising to my thoughts. I couldn’t stop that ice from charring my heart, breaking it into pieces.

I couldn’t do anything.