The eruption of voices and shouts fill the room, as the ocean would roar against the sands of the shore. Cheers echo throughout the auditorium directed toward the twirling girl in the center of the stage. With blond curls bouncing off her shoulders and lavender tulle fluttering with her movement, Kylie demands all attention. It has been years since Margo has sat in the crowd watching her sister dance upon a stage, yet every twinge of jealousy has suddenly rushed back. Margo’s heart sinks as she watches her sister enjoy every moment. She shrinks down in her chair hoping to block out the sound of applause but finds herself sinking between the cracks of her seat until she grows so small she is nothing more than a weightless being shriveling into darkness.
Margo does not want to be taken from her sister; she loves her dearly. She is even proud that this moment belongs to her. She despises this feeling of jealousy. But it is too late. Margo has already escaped that room landing into a pool of darkness. In the distance a dark figure is slowly growing visible. The person is standing several yards away with their back to Margo. She steps forward and reaches out to touch the boy just as he turns to reveal himself.
She welcomes his familiar face. He smiles as Margo stretches her hand out for him, longing to uncover the thoughts behind those clear, blue eyes — has he missed her as well? But the closer Margo’s fingers come to his face, the further he drifts away.
She screams, hating this. The two people she needs, gone. Taken from her. Gone.
Her voice drones on until her throat burns, and suddenly a light forms around her. The flight through the brightness is quicker than she remembers this time, melting into a spread of beautiful colors, more beautiful than imaginable. The world around her is too perfect, too vivid.
Margo notices something cold is in her hand. Clenched in her fist, she finds a magical feather encased in ice. That moment she knows she must have fallen into something even stranger: a land engrossed in power.
And smiling cruelly at the top of a tower is a woman with haunting grey eyes.
Margo’s eyes snap open and her body shoots upright. The ledge over the bed meets her head, a blinding pain splits her forehead in two, and she’s showered with Nick’s sketches. Without a care, she pushes them to the ground along with the others and lies back down, her head throbbing. Surely the downpour of tears should have stopped by now. She allowed herself one night to be weak, one night to give into the crying. But now as sunlight beams through the grainy glass of the window, Margo still has to fight to keep her eyes dry.
They threw a lot at her last night, and she deserves a moment of vulnerability; though, it is not in her character. There is much for her to consider.
Stepping only on the gaps of wood peeking through the scattered artwork like flagstones, she cracks the door, surprised to see that Janie is already sitting with Nick on the honey-stained bench and sipping drinks from steaming mugs. She turns her head in Margo’s direction with her radiant smile already in place and gestures for her to join them.
But Margo passes through the living room and ducks into the bathroom before speaking a word to either of them. The bathroom is small, more of an outhouse than anything, but to her surprise has a working faucet. She immediately crumples over the sink and splashes cold water on her face. Holding perfectly still, Margo tries to relax her muscles letting the water drip back into the bowl.
At least now she understands why everyone reacted the way they did when they first saw her scars — or marks, as they call them. They are overwhelmed with excitement, hopeful for a better future. Or they may have been afraid of being associated with Margo. After hearing this queen executes anyone bearing a New Mark, Margo decides she wouldn’t want to be caught with herself either.
The natural fibers of the towel scratch her face as she pats it dry. She catches her reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink expecting to look much older than she had the prior day, but strangely she finds the same minuscule sixteen-year-old girl. Still, she feels as if she has gained ten years. The lives of all of Jamyria depend on her. Margo forces this to sink in; surely that cannot be accurate….
The swirling pool of water in the sink is tinted pink. Margo gasps hoping not to find anymore of the strange cuts, but the source comes from her hair and the memory of lying in the cat’s blood yesterday comes rushing back. She gives her hair a thorough rinse and winces when her fingers run over her first cut after entering. Her scalp is still sore from the gash she received from falling after landing in the snow. It is still raw, unlike the markings that have completely healed. She towel dries her hair around the tender spot as best she can.
Then, Margo sees them again: her marks. Tears are already spilling over, breaking her one night rule. Angling herself in the mirror, she is able to see the third mark running down her neck. Three more rows of tiny symbols are etched along the back of her neck, the middle extending slightly further down than the outer two creating a point. This group is slightly different than the ones on her arms, more rounded and swirly.
Margo suddenly realizes that it looks like she has tattoos. Ah, my mom is gonna kill me! Maybe if I hold my arms like this, Margo thinks pulling her elbows into her sides, maybe no one would notice them. She practices waving to her reflection, careful to only move her forearms, but the similarities she has with a tyrannosaurus rex are uncanny.
She lets her arms fall limp opting to settle for the yelling from her mom — Margo’s stomach churns at the thought — if she is to ever get out of here. She’d take a hundred yellings and a year’s worth of grounding if it means she could leave this place. Or even just to know that one day she can return home. But Nick made it very clear that that is never going to happen. Unless, of course, Margo is the one to find the way.
She is faced with two choices now.
One, she can sit back and tell them she simply won’t do it. That would be the easiest thing to do. She’ll try to make life as meaningful as possible in this world until someone else comes along who can do the job she is too afraid to do. This plan’s only flaw is that, according to what Nick said, it will be another fifty years until that chance comes. Janie had mentioned ‘temporary immortality’ meaning when Margo gets out she will be the same age and can continue life at home where she left off. The downside is that her mom will have aged well into her eighties by then. If she is still alive…
The second option is to just suck up her fears and find the way out. What scares her the most about this path is that she has absolutely no idea what it entails. She doesn’t know what’s expected of her, but if this really is her purpose, it should all fall into place...theoretically.
And if she fails? She suddenly is reminded of when Janie had knocked on Nick’s door yesterday, and he shouted at the door. Do the people of the town still hold a grudge against him? Margo already knows the answer to that. But would failure for her result in a lifetime of ridicule? Or would it mean death?
There is a small part of her that subconsciously knew what her choice would be from the beginning. No matter how high the negatives are stacked against her, nothing could ever stop her from trying to return home.
After one last glance at the new girl staring back in the mirror, she heads back into the living room.