Chapter Text
The halls were lonely and quiet at this hour.
Benny padded across the aging hardwood planks in thick socks, careful not to disturb the still silence. The Roseburn Estate was older than time itself, and it took a knowing mind to avoid every creak and aching hinge. Not many knew about the studio in the east wing, and even fewer cared to remember. But Benny did. She knew. She cared.
At the end of the forgotten hall, there was an interruption of the fine ornate details of the estate. Red wine wallpaper with faint silhouettes of roses, hand carved baseboards and crown molding in real mahogany, grand oil paintings of landscapes she would never see elsewhere—and in the middle of it all was an ordinary door. Not even the moonlight filtered through stained glass made eyes fall a bit softer on the tattered wood. It was only Benny that didn't mind the sorry sight.
The padlock was an illusion, taking only a slight tug to break free. She closed the door behind her before making her descent. There was no escaping the age of the stairs, but the noise was too muffled to disturb, so it was okay. The land the estate settled on was staggered, allowing for a long stretch of windows to cover the entire back wall with a haunting view of the forest. She had never been able to see past a few trees.
Most of what she adored lived beneath white sheets that served as a promise, an intention to one day leave. At times, a white dress felt no different.
It was damp and cold and most likely had an unpleasant scent. Benny's nose had gone blind to it, however. None of the dust or neglect bothered her. She moved through the space as she had so many years ago, as if the studio was still alive and known and cherished. To sit on a wobbly stool and stare endlessly at one particular corner of the room was only natural. To dip her brush into a messy mixture of hues was only natural. To steal what she saw before her, to hide it away on canvas, was only natural.
Until the earth turned and introduced the sun to the land, Benny painted and painted and painted.
"Oh, come on. Please?" she asked the tube of cadmium red, or rather, the remnants of it. When it didn't surrender what was left of itself, Benny huffed and put her pallet down. "Fine."
There was only a wooden chest, no bigger than a shoebox, she had taken as her own. In truth, it was her instructor who had given it to her all those years ago. He had crafted it himself with his own two hands, carved out every detail and sanded down every rough edge. Two swans mirrored each other on the lid, meeting in the middle with their heads pressed together. Ignoring whatever nonsense that stirred in her stomach, Benny opened the box.
There were a few stale brushes, beat up tubes of colors she wasn't looking for, and an excessive amount of linseed oil. The shadows had started to shift, but Benny still stared at the same seven paints, rereading their labels for the dozenth time. It was as if she needed the reality of it to hurt, to continuously ask and to continuously be denied, just for her to finally give up. Close the box. Walk away.
Benny only had so many days left. Eventually, the lock on the door would work. And eventually, everything it guarded would fade away, rendering it useless. Still, she sat at her stool, and instead of using the cool half of her palette to capture time, she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. All she had to do was act like it was a choice to not use warmth in what she made, it would have been no different.
I hate this.
The next three breaths Benny took were deep, and she closed her eyes to all that bothered her. Bitterness was ugly and petty. It was childish to complain and stomp her feet every single time something didn't go her way. She was no longer a little girl, and it was tiring to pretend otherwise. When the feeling fled from her body, there was nothing in front of her. She put nothing away, washed nothing from her hands, and certainly thought nothing of it.
There was something that was technically a closet under the stairs. Benny used to shut the door behind her every time she stripped out of her old sweatpants and into her somewhat new skirt, but she had not cared to do that for three years now. Black shoes, black tights, red skirt, white shirt, and a black bow at the end of her braid. Her heels snapped with every step down the halls, but by then, they had joined the chorus of a dozen others.
Many of the girls filled their afternoons with a dwindling number of talents to practice and perfect. Benny had long since outgrown all of them and their instructors' patience for her. She spent most of her day outside in the gardens. Marissa, one of the groundskeepers, had welcomed Benny's presence this past summer. She was a hardworking mother of three, generous in her smiles, and patient in her guidance. It was uncommon for them to talk, but neither minded.
Marissa didn't work on the weekends, so it was just Benny that needlessly watered the garden beds. It was nearly September, and nothing here truly needed the amount of fussing that she did to keep busy.
The Roseburn Estate was a relic of the past. A burnt red brick Victorian, hidden away in a maze of trees. At the bottom of the hill was the academy, that was where everything most impressive was. As for the estate, Benny walked around an almost modest garden. The water fountain was the centerpiece, and the cobblestone surrounding it served as the winding paths for the graduates to travel through. Many didn't bother, though she could place no blame on them for it. It was uncommon to spend longer than a year at the estate. No sense in growing used to a place they would soon rid themselves of.
It would be difficult to explain the blue stain on her hand, almost as difficult as removing it. Winsor & Newton created water soluble oils, and Benny was begrudgingly seeing the appeal all too late.
"Come on!" her roommate nagged from outside the bathroom.
This was the end of Hailey's third summer as a Roseburn graduate, and her patience was thinning by the hour. It was supposed to have been quite easy for her to have received a proposal by now. She had everything going for her—silky blonde hair, rich hazel eyes, smooth and clear skin, and invaluable hands once they were placed upon a piano. Benny understood her frustrations more than anyone else, though she had grown too tired to show it.
The dining room was eerily quiet, save for only the faint clinks of silver on porcelain. Every meal was formal, and their tardiness was impossible to ignore. She hoped they would anyway.
Both girls sat at their respective seats across from each other at the table. There was only one, and it was unreasonably long. It was not the largest or most grand piece she had ever seen—there would always be something bigger, better, brighter—but this was the third commissioned mahogany in the last three years. It was understandable to a degree; each graduating class seemed to double every year. Perhaps it was her own upbringing, as none of the other girls gave it a second thought.
“How kind of you to join us, Ms. Peterson.”
Benny's chest tightened hearing that voice, the one that was just as sharp as it was soft. Utensils were set aside, and a heavy silence suffocated everyone in the room. With her hands in her lap, Benny raised her head and met the eyes of the one addressing her. Headmistress Wiseman was the furthest away, sitting at the head of the table, but her expression needed no details to convey her thoughts.
She was a breathing example of what every young woman should strive to be. Every minute detail and mannerism had been finely tuned over decades. Her appearance, her movements, even her voice was delicate and controlled. Silver hair was curled into a meticulously neat bun, thin lips were painted cherry red, a white silk blouse was free of any stain or imperfection. Nothing new, but her smile was brief, and her eyes were cold.
“I was beginning to worry,” Headmistress Wiseman quietly added, tilting her head ever so slightly. “Have you been getting enough rest?”
“Yes, ma’am. I apolog—”
The woman reached for her glass, letting her know she had started to speak unnecessarily. Twenty-three heads lowered as the heat in Benny’s cheeks rose.
“Good,” she said, and took a slight sip from her drink. After setting it down properly where it should go, her hand returned under the table. “Regretfully, the kitchen has already closed. Though I do suspect you don’t mind, do you, darling?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good.”
And without effort or doubt, the world moved on. Benny did her best to follow, though that weight had crept back onto her shoulders. But she would sit patiently through the next three courses, and she would ignore the plate they set down in front of Hailey. Benny had already unraveled the white cloth napkin and settled it in her lap, though now there was no need. Still, she kept a tight grip on the fabric as she mindlessly stared at the empty glass in front of her.
There were certain actions that were unacceptable, and not caring enough to show up on time was one of them. And the headmistress was right, Benny didn't mind at all. She would sit silently with grace and humility and do as she was told, just as she was born to.
I’m thirsty.
There was nothing to acknowledge between them, so Benny and her roommate settled into bed without a stray thought or a simple good night.
Quite cruelly, the missing paint had slipped from her mind, right up until Benny was staring down at an incomplete pallet. The round plate was placed upon the stool, and her mind ran circles around it. There was something irreplicable about that burning red hue. It was too bright, too pure to settle for something less.
A year. It had taken a year to get this far, and the empty corner of the canvas laughed at her. Small as it was, eyes still caught on it, making the state of this piece obvious.
The sun had denied her.
Why?
Benny lifted her head, though it could not be described as high, and scanned the room. Everything had been pushed against the walls. All the easels and cabinets and chairs and even a few canvases bigger than her. They had placed a white sheet over it, as if it had already passed on. But it wasn't gone, was it? Only the permission to acknowledge it had left.
Her body moved before her brain, otherwise she never would have tugged at those blankets of stiff fabric, grabbed them, tossed them onto the floor like they didn't mean anything at all.
Most of it was ignored in her frantic search. Dry and faded memories were kicked up and pulled into her lungs just as much as the dust was. Racks of previous projects, remnants of ideas distorted and dying. Shelves stocked full with everything stale and expired. Even the second sink was where she had washed away the mistake of a loose grip on a lino cutter.
None of it was enough.
Benny collapsed onto a lumpy pile of white sheets, and she ignored the way it dug into her back. It was quite pathetic, the quick limits she hit on an empty stomach. As the room filled with light, there was nothing for her to continue working on anyway, she had missed her window.
She could have pulled out her sketchbook or even just cleaned up, but she didn't. Instead, she stared absently at the ceiling. Her mind idly translated shadows and highlights into shapes, comparing their positions to one another for her to replicate on paper. Though even that she did not do.
"Ow…" Benny groaned when she sat up and rubbed her head as her blood scolded her for the sudden movement. It seemed unfair for even her own body to be cross with her, but that was nothing new.
Her easel, canvas, and stool would be left where they were, needing to keep the exact angle she had maintained for the past year. Everything else was stashed away in that little box of hers.
More sunlight than usual poured into the closet, and her eyes caught on a last chance. Benny sunk to her knees and sat back on her heels. The clear plastic bin stared at her just as much as she had it. Tugging it closer, it roughly scraped against the unfinished wooden shelf. Benny cringed and somewhat lifted it. The deep weight was promising.
Her hands had only minor tremors as she dug through the bin. Every color she wasn't looking for was tossed a bit carelessly onto the floor until there was only one left.
Maybe it wasn't cadmium, and maybe it wasn't as bright as she had hoped for, but it was there. It was real. And it had been here the whole time. In fact, there were dozens of pigments in small tubes, each just over an ounce, that were nestled inside. There were a few staples she had long run out of—yellow ochre, payne’s gray—and she had been needlessly mixing them herself, by herself, just for herself. If her instructor were still here, he would have led her to the right place weeks before she started rationing.
But Benny was the only heartbeat left, and even hers was weak. Did it really matter? Could it matter? Most likely not. There was nothing, no one—
Click!
Benny stopped breathing, leaving only her blood to panic. The creak of the door above her was slow and damning as it let someone inside, killing the secret she had clung to for too long.
Tears flooded thick and hot in her eyes, and they spilled down her cheeks with every aching step the stranger took. But when they reached the bottom, their footsteps were slow and light, the same kind heard in museums. And like a fool, she had left out absolutely everything she could have for them to explore.
Benny dared, shifting her body to see who would become her undoing. A pair of thin legs was what her eyes were drawn to, impossibly long and impossibly spread out. A girl was sitting on the stool, hunched over—no doubt to match Benny's height—and seemed to be comparing that awful painting to the scene it had been born from.
She wore blue jeans and a black t-shirt—attire Benny had long forgotten about. Her hair was black and short, and only the top half of it was tied back. It fell softly just enough to graze her shoulders, covering her neck completely.
It was a bit uncommon for prospective students to get a tour, let alone roam free wherever they pleased. There was no doubt she was young; she must have been the tallest freshman she had ever seen—or rather, observed from afar. The reality of that settled in and she drew back to wait it out.
A deep hum came from the girl’s throat a few minutes later, and Benny didn't even want to guess what conclusion she had come to. If the girl had eyes that worked, she would have been rather unimpressed. Though when Benny was that young, she too found much wonder in the mundane and ordinary.
There was a gentle suggestion that the girl was moving around, taking her time to look at everything.
Benny’s gaze drifted to the little collection of tubes she had just found. She was unsure what would become of it. Even the paint that laid loosely in her hands was an unknown. It seemed everything she had worked for didn't really matter in the end. Headmistress Wiseman would find out, get a working lock, and deal out a fitting correction to Benny's behavior. She shivered thinking about what that might look like. It would probably—
“Oh. There you are.”
What?
“Hey, lady.”
A smooth voice tugged on Benny’s body, and all that greeted her was a sweet smile. The figure crouched down, almost at her eye level, and took her in completely.
What is that?
The grin only grew.
“That wouldn't happen to be yours, would it?”
Is that a…?
An absolutely gorgeous set of green eyes left for just a moment to gesture at some trash or other across the room. The hand that was brought up to a sharp jaw was large and slender. There was no need to notice every vein protruding from soft skin. Warm and tan, like the sun had kissed them in blessing. Down their wrist, their forearm, and then Benny's sight settled on broad shoulders.
“Wait…” she exhaled from her chest, “are you a boy?”
And that was the very first time she heard it. His laugh. So breathy and easy to take in, brief and true. It made her cheeks run hot, but she felt light as air. Benny had to bite her tongue to keep herself from smiling. It felt like she did something right, like she was good.
“You know,” he began, voice low and slow as he leaned in, dipping his head into the same shadow she sat in. "You make me wanna do something really stupid."
Benny had not one single clue what that meant—at all—but she felt it everywhere she possibly could. The deepening of his voice burned her ears and spread down her neck, and something dangerous stirred in her stomach.
"Cute," he faintly whispered. Another smile left her hopeless as he stood, taking her attention with him. The siren hummed a little as his eyes wandered towards the stairs, and then back down to Benny who had her mouth hanging open like an idiot.
"A-are you going to…" She had wanted to ask a question, but she could barely hear herself, and not a second later did she forget why she said anything at all.
“You’ve been a real treat,” he quietly mused, maybe to himself. And then he shut the door, leaving her with just the faint glow from the gap by the floor.
What…?
Not that it mattered or made any real difference, but Benny had tucked the scarlet hue into her pocket. The box was left behind. The past was blanketed once more. And Benny sat outside in the gardens, wearing a white sundress. It felt like a costume. Like a cruel joke. But all the girls were wearing one.
The first of September was a Sunday, a supposedly new start. Benny knew better. Events like these were rare, and yet, she had attended nearly two dozen of them. Suitors of a specific kind would join them in the gardens, engaging in light courtship before making a one-sided decision. There had only been one outcome for her, however, and she did not see that magically changing.
Who would ask for a stained hand in marriage?
Benny had found another. A bit of yellow in the nail bed of her pinkie. Those were the hardest to wash away, but it was mostly a sign that she did not care and never tried hard enough. None of it was on purpose. She never meant to be like this. They saw it differently. There was a reason she sat on a bench by herself, passively listening to a few polite conversations.
You have to work for it, Benny. No one is going to come and find you all on their own.
Benny took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The memory of that voice was right. She could make conversation, keep a little eye contact, smile when she was supposed to. It was what she had been trying to do her entire life. When she rose to her feet, she left her view of the academy down below and turned around to face the world. The three circles of converse were a bit intimidating, but nothing would stop her now.
Before Benny took a step, a chorus of hushed murmurs filled the air. Heads turned towards the back entrance of the Roseburn estate. She could recognize Headmistress Wiseman’s impression with her eyes closed, but the one who stood beside her was fuzzy. Three conversations shrunk down as they approached, two dozen girls on one end of the garden, a vague crowd of older gentlemen on the other. And then it all clicked into place.
He's still here!?
The energetic chatter Benny had never heard from the girls before was almost devastating. If stale interactions with men twice her age was a challenge, what was the point in going over there? To that boy. That stupidly gorgeous boy. She quietly huffed in frustration.
Everyone knew what this was. The bachelors that courted Roseburn girls were running out of time, and he looked like he had more than Benny. It was a true wonder why he was here at all. Her cheeks flushed thinking about how he saw her painting. Unfinished and broken. Not to mention how he saw her in the same state, wearing sweatpants as she shed tears down her bare face.
This was humiliating.
Benny's mascara was far from waterproof; so, for the sake of her and everyone in attendance, she decided not to care. For a brief moment, she considered approaching the now-bored group of men. One of them subtly cringed when she looked their way.
At least I have hair...
There seemed to be a second ring of girls around him, full of whispers and poorly silenced giggles. It was a little silly to see him there, roughly a head taller than everyone else. Benny ached when she thought about it, how she would never be able to lose him in a crowd. If she lowered her gaze, though, it was like he was never there in the first place. For a few minutes, that was all she did, like dipping a toe in the water. Thinking on it, in turn, that boy would never be able to find her in a crowd. She shook her head out and moved on.
The conversation she overheard was as boring as ever.
"Do you like horseback riding?" one of the girls asked with a smile everyone could hear.
"I've never actually seen a horse."
Benny's head shot up, eyes too wide. And then she blushed so hard it crept down her neck. The boy had already been looking right in her direction—right at her. Grin as wide as ever, biting his lip for just a moment. It was only for a second, but she wished she never saw him in the direct sunlight. He wore black shades, pushed back to catch stray hairs. Something stupid in her wanted to wear them.
"Wait, seriously?" someone chimed in, just as baffled as Benny. She nearly sounded concerned.
"No." The boy lightly chuckled. "I'm just teasing."
Oh, no. I can't do this.
He had them playing with a dream. The girls continued to interview him, and it had become clear that they were well aware of the game. None of them would be receiving a proposal, and seeing someone so young would never happen again. They had decided to make the most of it, examining him like a new species discovered.
Benny walked away.
Headmistress Wiseman stared daggers into her back, she had felt them a hundred times before. They were ignored, and she found that bench again. Roseburn Academy was settled at the bottom of the hill. For four years, Benny had strained her neck, tilted her head to the sky and saw everything she wanted. Over time, it had become everything she needed.
Roseburn girls were given the right lessons, the right tools, the right ideas, so that they could fly. Half of everyone that enrolled would graduate. Half of everyone that graduated would receive a proposal within those first four months of summer.
A decade ago, Benny stepped foot on campus and never left.
No one said it, but they had created a new rule because of her. Roseburn girls had until they turned 25 to start their lives. By the new year, Benny's hand needed to be asked for and taken. And no, she had no backup plan or safety net or understanding parents with deep pockets. It was like those girls were there for fun.
Another deep breath.
Another reminder about bitterness.
The sky had grown a rich pink as the sun descended. Benny had always thought that was sweet. A pretty goodbye. It was blurry, and her leg was bouncing unreasonably, but she was still breathing. She would be fine.
A tear fell from her eye, and it was then that a faint smell entered her lungs. A cologne. Benny had missed it, breathing with only half her brain. But here it was. His warmth behind her was what she felt next. It was ridiculous, the way a stranger put her at ease.
It's not fair.
"I'm curious," the boy said quietly, a bit softly.
Benny shivered, sensing him dip his head down next to her, fitting perfectly in her neck.
"What do you think it would take to hear your name?"
The thought pressed against her skin, slowly sinking in as her heart stumbled. His voice was dizzying, deep and smooth, and he took his time in speaking.
"Benny," she admitted under her breath. Not that it really mattered.
"Penny?"
"Benny," she corrected firmly, only realizing her mistake when she found herself whipping her head over with a sharp glare. Blood pooled in her cheeks seeing the green in his eyes, so saturated and kind. They had widened in surprise, and he gave her an amused smile not a moment later.
Her head hung low as he lightly chuckled. A soft sigh left him when he straightened his back, clearly done with her now.
"Lovely to meet you, Benny."
The boy put an enchanting emphasis on her name, and she froze in place feeling a slight tug on her hair. He gently ran his fingers down the length of her braid and then walked away.
It was no surprise that when she finally worked up the courage to turn around, she was too late. He was gone. Still, everything in her had woken up, excited and panicked.
Was this it? Had Benny really done it? Maybe it took a decade. And maybe it took a few tears. But all the pain and grief and fear was necessary, there was a reason for it. It would be worth it all and more. Her mother was wrong, Headmistress Wiseman was wrong, her sister was wrong, the entire world was wrong!
Benny could be good and she was.
There was someone that wanted her.
Right?