The twins had carried on as if their parents were still there, Sara in the attic and Nina in the cellar. Further reflecting their individual habits instilled at an impressionable age, Nina felt obligated to cook every meal and Sara rarely crossed the hearth. Family meals and family prayers were something their parents had toted about in public, but Sara was rarely allowed to join them.

 

Though it was unnatural and uncomfortable for them both, they started forcing themselves to cook and dine together every day.

​

“You’ll have to let me know what it’s missing,” Nina always said as she offered Sara a taste of what she was preparing. She spoke with desperation in her voice when she cooked, as if someone was judging her performance.

Sara never bothered to taste it. “Oh, I’m sure it’s perfect just like you.” 

It was all part of a diligently practiced dance of avoiding what they wanted to say to one another; Nina started draping herself in old jewelry and decorating the house with unfamiliar antiques after their parents disappeared, and Sara knew not to bother asking for an honest explanation. One evening, she disguised what would otherwise be a familiar taste in Nina’s tea. When she finally faded, Sara snuck down to the cellar.

 

​

A horrible smell permeated through the space.

 

The lantern shaking in her hand revealed a canopy bed and a glass nightstand beside it with notes scattered everywhere. All along the walls were ages of paintings, sculptures, and novels. 

Amongst the elegant scene, she noticed a gray mound piled up in the corner.

As she drew closer to let the streaks from the lantern skim over it, she realized that it was a pile of toys covered in a thick dust. Touching them left her fingertips gray. White fragmented pieces that reminded her of broken chalk were mixed among the pile. As she sifted through, the putrid stench became overwhelming and seemed to be coming from the toys.

​

​

Nina laid unconscious as Sara raced into the night down a steep hill. She threw her arms around wildly and clenched her fists. For a moment, all she could see was the thick smoke of her breath clouding over the gold street lanterns, and all she could hear was the angry drum in her heart.

 

​

Only one shop was open, a warm light flooding from the windows. As she drew closer, a beveled vision from her dreams materialized. Bookshelves towered up to the deceivingly high ceilings, brilliantly cluttered with poetry books, journals, and novels with pages dipped in gold. At the center was a reflective antique writing desk looking out on a roaring mantle. Initially, the sight of the mantle rattled her nerves, but the longer she stood before the otherwise dreamlike sight, the more she took comfort in the familiarity of the fire. 

 

The door was much heavier than it looked as she shoved her way in, a chorus of bells clanged clumsily above her head and faint bubbling cauldrons filled the silence that followed. Lavender incense tickled her nose. Brilliant crystal pyramids sparkled amongst antiques collected over centuries, and posed around them were stone and wax sculptures assembled into scenes so lifelike they appeared to move.

​

A stout figure covered with swampy features jumped out of one of the scenes and hurried towards her.

“Browse to your heart’s content. Please don’t touch anything.”

His hair was wild and hanging so long over the eyes that his snaky fingers would draw them like drapes whenever he wanted to emphasize a point. “I will know.”

“What is this place?”

“It depends. Illusions of success, escapes from pain. We do a lot for our customers.” He grinned, revealing teeth tiny yet pointed and cluttered in rows like a shark. “What brings you in tonight? Or this morning, depending on how you look at it.” He laughed and an uproar echoed against the ceiling, as if there were suddenly dozens more grouped around them.

“Busy, are we?” 

“The usual. What about my question?”

She straightened her shoulders and cleared the pine cone burrowing in the back of her throat. “What escapes do you offer?”

He started walking away from her.

The space was labyrinthine by design and she was reluctant to proceed for fear of getting lost.

He waved for her to follow and ran, nearly dissipating out of sight. 

​

She scurried past immense and dynamic displays to meet his pace; a lively ballroom party looking out on the illusion of a town cascaded abruptly into the next scene, an isolated ghost ship drifting aimlessly on the open sea.

“Do stay close!” He called with an echo. “I don’t want to lose you and have you unable to find your way out. I once found a dead man in an aisle-way," he said, pointing far in the distance. "He was lost for so many days, he starved! Unpleasant for all, so stay close.”