The Stars Shine (but not brighter than you)
//↠ 02: Living?
“I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home where my thought's escapin'
Home where my music's playin'
Home where my love lies waitin' Silently for me”
13th October, 1986
6 years old
I knew we’d be arriving at a large house.
But I didn’t know the house would be this large. I had once seen the Rubels’ mansion in the newspaper, but the angle of the lifeless picture didn’t do the magnificent beauty of this mansion justice.
The car stopped just at the front porch of the main building, which itself was about 50 metres away from the main gate. I could see another small two-storied building a bit far away, and it felt strangely impersonal and bleak. I’m guessing that must be the Rubels’ dedicated office space.
Or maybe some super secret hideout for arms and bodies.
Don’t blame me; they’re rich. Who knows what rich people are doing behind the flashes of cameras? The newspaper sure doesn’t hold back when one such story does get passed from behind the covers to the hands of unforgiving writers. I’m sure the Rubels are no different than other rich people who’d do anything to keep their image pristine and picture perfect.
The brick road leading to the main building was slightly bumpy and was lined with bushes of mixed flowers. So far, I could recognize roses of different colours, marigolds, hydrangeas, dwarf brooms, lilacs, and lavendars. I also spotted a few sparrows roaming around the flowers. If it weren’t for the fast car, I’m sure I could’ve spotted some butterflies and bees too.
The entire area of the mansion itself was surrounded by black metal fences with sharp, pointy tops. Most of their body was covered in thick layers of evergreen vines, while some flowering creepers bloomed elegantly on top, giving a vibrant look. The line of fence immediately behind the mansion was almost as thick as a normal wall, and it was covered in white, red, and pink climbing roses—a stark contrast to the gloomy bisque paint of the mansion, accented by black doors, windows, and balustrades.
I had come here with a plan to stay cooped up in my room, but seeing this beautiful scenery, my heart is adamant on staying more time outdoors, preferably with a nice, compelling book. I knew that Rem would enjoy this too.
Mr Rubel was quick to push me through the doors, not letting me venture further. I dragged the suitcase through the large doors and was immediately met by two maids dutifully scrubbing the floor, which already seemed crystal clear. Seeing as the wheels of my suitcase had some mud on them, I didn't want to increase their workload and held it up an inch above the air instead. It wasn't very heavy, and it wasn't too big either.
I was immediately confused as to where I ought to go, as no one had bothered to inform me.
I was promptly “answered” with a not-so-soft tap on my shoulder with a familiar, fragrant foldable fan. I looked up, and as expected, saw Mrs Rubel’s permanently elegant facade staring right back at me with those glaring eyes armed by sharp eyeliner and thick mascara. She then pointed the fan to the right, and then up.
Okayyyy… uh, so I'm guessing to the right there's a staircase, and I'm supposed to go up?
When I turned to go to the right, neither of them stopped me, so I'm guessing that was the correct decision. It seems that living with the Rubels would pose no difference to the lifelong habit of needing to be more insightful than normal.
At least, one thing would be familiar during my stay here.
I was met with two long series of doors on both sides when I reached upstairs, and now Mrs Rubel’s fan wasn't here to guide me anymore. Luckily, though, there was another maid on this floor. She was cleaning the cobwebs off the balustrades and ceilings. There were so many of them tangled all around the place that it almost looked like nobody had been up here in so long, and abandoned it to remain at the mercy of time and ignorance.
Spotting me awkwardly standing at the entrance, she exclaimed, “Ahh! You're the new girl, aren't you? I’m Fillick. Go on, dear, pick any room from the right except the 3rd one; that's a library. And the ones on the left are reserved for guests.”
Glancing to the right, I realised the third was a pair of large double doors. Other than that, I counted eight rooms on each side.
So many rooms for non-existent people.
I wondered why the floor seemed so lifeless, except for the flies and mosquitoes still left behind. Whatever the reason was, I chose the room way at the back. It would give me some time to buckle up, should I be… up to something, if I heard someone approaching.
Quickly getting inside the room, I locked it, and the first thing I did after that was release Rem from his temporary confinement.
As soon as I opened up the bottle, he trickled out, nipping me scoldingly on my thumb before making exaggerated motions of coughing and yawning. As cute as Rem was, I did not appreciate the detailed, unfiltered view of his anatomical structure.
“You should be glad you aren't a venomous snake, Rem,” I muttered with a grimace before lightly tapping the top of his head with the pad of my index finger.
“If I were, the first one I'd bite would be you,” he hissed.
Oh well, I was never good at disciplining anyone or being assertive anyway.
He gave me one last scornful look with his slit eyes, which I figured was a joke, before moving onto the carpeted floor and disappearing under the bed, probably trying to find a safe place to nap for a while.
Ahh… I’d almost forgotten.
I had to find ways to completely hide a moving, growing, living, breathing, long tube somewhere not too dry. With how lazy a lifestyle the Rubels seem to be living, I’m sure workers would be more in my room than me.
For now though, I just strolled around the room, fully taking it in.
The room was as simple as “rich people simple” went. The four-poster canopy bed was pushed to the corner of the room, draped in gorgeous damask fabrics, layered in gradients of blue, and just beside it was a study table, well-lit by the window in front. There was a door where the bed ended, and I opened it to see it was the loo. It wasn’t that large, but it was still better considering that I didn’t have to line up for showers like at the orphanage. Tucked away at the furthest corner was a small bathtub, which I was pretty excited about, as it would be my first time. On the wall opposite the study table was a small, embedded shelf, barren of anything except dust and debris.
What an odd room. The shelf should’ve been beside the table instead of the cabinet.
Next to the study table was a cabinet, and on the wall next to it was the door to the small balcony overlooking the back garden with a small pond. The long-lived Wisteria tree beside it made me want to skip every work at hand and lie down there under the fragrant flowers.
No matter, no matter, hopefully I’ll be permitted to visit once in a while. I was looking forward to the library I saw the gates to earlier as well. I wondered what sorts of books would suit the Rubels' unique, and undoubtedly expensive tastes.
“Hey Rem, see that lovely pond over there?” I asked him, nodding towards the pond. He came out from the room, slithering tierdly on the ground before coiling around the long, fancy balustrades.
“Do you promise not to show yourself to others if I let you in there?”
He looked it over for a while, as if contemplating his answer. He then turned his head before slithering back into the room while saying, “Hmm…. It looks like it has nice frogs.”
Oh well. At least, that’s one problem solved.
For now, I let Rem settle under the darkness of the bed again. I double-checked the door again to make sure it really was locked, so that I could at least be prepared if someone were to come in; though, there’d be a slim chance that I’d actually be able to hide Rem if one were to peek under the bed. Still, not trying to let too many worries settle in on the first hour of arriving at my new home (home?), I went about with the tasks at hand.
I organised my pitiful amount of belongings in their respective places. And I was pleasantly giddy to finally shower with warm water and soap that wasn’t white and scentless. This one had a tinge of yellow and a citrusy smell, perhaps lemons.
Just as I’d gotten into comfortable clothes, Ms Fillick knocked on my door. “The Rubels are calling you for lunch, young miss.”
“I’ll be there, Ms Fillick!”
I left the room full of both hope and fear.
4th June, 1991
10 years old
I wish I could just shove this bloody arrow into that fancy chimney of theirs. I thought uselessly, knowing I’d never get the chance of doing so with this old man constantly being such a—
“Focus, young miss! You let that arrow hang any lower, and you’ll be bodging up your father’s perfect turf.”
Blame my mom for making me learn such words. She has no interest in properly parenting me anyway; all she really needs is a trophy daughter, and she’s got every worker in the world doing all the hard stuff for her.
I had my eyes fixated on the green apple on the haystack. We’d moved on from conventional targets just last week after I had to hit all bullseyes under the eagle eyes of my parents.
And after changing targets, it seemed as if we were back to square one, him ‘fixing’ my posture for thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes. Thirty bloody minutes I’ve been standing under the scorching sun, which, by the way, is not even that hot on any other day; hell, I can’t even see the full sun on most days! From the way it’s flaunting its heat right now, I feel like I’m in Florida, which I had the chance of visiting twice due to my father’s work.
However, as unusual as it was, a sudden surge of cold air flowed through, settling comfortably on my skin. I could still see Mr. Brent sweating, and occasionally wiping it off on the back of his hands… and then using that same hand to touch the apple which he was eating…
Wait, Runeva, halt! You’re missing the point. It’s hot, but you’re cold, and you’re dumb because you are standing still instead of shooting the arrow!
“No, no, do not wipe your nose on your sleeve; it’s unseemly. Shoulders back! Chin up!”
Rem would’ve had a field day if he were to watch me in this state.
Abruptly, the air had paused, which was quite implausible for such weather. My arrow was still tucked between my fingers, and still, the unmoving apple had fallen off the haystack, as if not knocked away by physical factors.
As if knocked away by rage and frustration.
Mr Brent sent me a look, which in turn made me look at the turf which I’d been digging into with the heels of my feet.
My father will be so mad when he hears about this from the gardener.
However, just as Mr. Brent had crouched down to pick up the apple, the bits of dark brown mud under my feet vanished, and the once bald area completely replenished itself full of small green grass.
I know for a fact that Mr Rubel doesn’t sound like that, like that evil. I’m sure he isn’t much of a saint either, and I just know he’s got small and large skeletons in his cupboard, but this voice I’d been hearing this past week sounds like his entire cupboard is made of bones, and finding clothes in it would be the actual shock.
I don’t know why I’m describing his voice like this, though. It’s not like I knew him personally. But something unknown inside me was very persuasive at making me feel like this voice didn’t belong to someone talking to me from the goodness of his heart. And I don’t even know where it came from.
More than that, I don’t even know whether what I was hearing was real.
Maybe the loneliness finally caught up to me, and I finally made some imaginary friend or, in this case, an imaginary dad.
I shook my head, trying to think nothing of it as Mr Brent muttered some nonsense under his breath regarding the heat and fixed the apple back into its place again.
“Young miss! Your language tutor is on the way. Let’s get you freshened up,” I heard one of the maids come to the field just as we were finishing up. This class was a bit more productive than our last one, albeit I went into the mansion a little disappointed. I could only land three of all the arrows shot into an apple. I was sure that word would get to my parents soon, and a scolding was due soon.
I went back into my room, frustrated.
Why was I so bad at everything I did?
My horse and I seemed to have a nice understanding about each other, but the moment it was time for me actually to ride it, I suddenly lost every bit of composure I had, and it was so bad that I just knew that even she felt sorry for me. I’d been stuck at that point in horse riding for a year. At this point, if I showed no improvement this year as well, my father would likely disown me, uncaring of his public image, if he would just tarnish it anyway with an incapable daughter.
Not to mention that it’s not too hard adopting someone else anyway.
These thoughts didn’t make my situation any better.
Harsh, forced breaths attacked my lungs, and I could feel my vision slowly blurring at the edges. There was a familiar weight at the corner of my eyes and a slight burn at the back of my nose.
No, no, no. IMMATURE ASS! Your teacher’s gonna be here any minute now; you absolutely cannot be a crybaby right now.
In a fit of rage, I hit the carpeted floor with the wooden bow as hard as I could, fully intending to at least get it broken if not bent.
Instead of that, though, it was the carpet that changed.
Before, it was an artistic Mediterranean carpet, mostly in a muted beige with red floral motifs, befitting the rich cultural taste of Mr Rubel.
However, now the thick, sturdy carpet had been replaced by a pure white one, with lots of… I don’t even know what that is. It’s, it’s soft and feathery, almost like cotton but not quite. It was almost too soft and fake to be that. Something in me told me that it even looked futuristic, almost.
Why was I seeing things again?
This exact scenario happened the last time I crashed out after a failed archery lesson. The smooth, silken blue sheets of my bed had suddenly turned into a whole span of abrasive, brown jute.
At least, I wasn’t exactly seeing things last time, because when a maid had come to fetch me, she had shockingly inquired where I’d found such trash, and where my actual bedsheets were. It meant that she’d seen that too.
I couldn’t answer; it was real then.
Ms Fillick had opened my door.
And both of us were staring at the soft span of white underneath my feet.
I don’t have an answer now either; it’s still real.
It was soft, yes, but it was no less capable than thorns when it came to digging underneath the soles of my feet.
“Young miss… are you okay? Where’d you get that carpet from?”
“Uh... great question! I think someone else… Uh- changed it! Yes! I’ll uh… I’ll be down in a few.”
The moon shone dimly through the clouds of the night. Most of the servants filtered out of the Rubels’ Mansion. Fillick fixed her satchel against her shoulder, cautiously looking around. She took the hand of her closest coworker, Iona, before pulling her harshly towards her.
Both of them exchanged knowing looks before separating from the group and going in the opposite direction.
They moved through the dark alleyways, gossiping.
“You won’t believe, Iona…,” Fillick talked animatedly, waving her hand around as if to emphasize her point.
“Why, what happened this time? Her bedsheets change colours? Again?” Iona asked lazily with the roll of her eyes, as if half-expecting what Fillick was about to say next.
“Worse!” exclaimed her friend. “It was her carpet this time. It was hard moving the bed around trying to get the carpet out, you know! Wonder how she put it in the first place.”
“Do you think it was a spirit, maybe? Her bedroom is possessed, I think.”
“Jesus Christ, don’t say that. You know I get scared easily,” replied Fillick while holding Iona. Iona, however, seeing the opportunity to tease her more, kidded, “Do you think she’s a witch?”
Seeing her flabbergasted expression, Iona continued again, though this time more seriously than before. “I mean, come on now, Fillick! How many ten-year-olds do you know who can pick up a bed? Besides, how in God’s name is she even getting everything and putting everything? She’s never been shopping, and have you ever managed to find the things she’s misplaced? Huh?”
Fillick didn’t have much of a chance to reply. Even she remembered the harsh reprimand they’d both gotten from the Rubels when they’d found out that one of the most expensive carpets in the house had gone missing. Mrs Rubel had also hastily concluded that one of the workers must’ve stolen it, though Mr Rubel tried not to feed himself into that impression for unknown reasons. The two maids didn’t know why such a stern man would leave something like that so quickly, but they didn’t have the heart to dare risk their jobs for questions that seemed better left unanswered.
Unbeknownst to them, the alleyway they were walking on started becoming less and less illuminated, which they hadn’t noticed until just now. It seemed as though the electricity to those specific few lights was deliberately cut off one by one.
They’d realised once they were unable to move any further, for they didn’t see much under the scarce moonlight. Afraid to move much further, they stood there under the only illuminated street light they could find. From within the night, what surprised them was a voice.
“Fantastic stories, ladies!” A deep, resounding voice with a teasing lilt spoke out, seemingly out of nowhere, making the women gasp, both clutching each other’s hands.
“Fear not! I’m sure I couldn’t be worse than vomit-flavoured candy,” he spoke again, this time coming into the light. His long beard shone a similar colour to that of the moon, and his cloak was borderline whimsical and, the women would have to admit, quite fancy too. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and the length of his head full of hair rivalled that of the women’s.
“So where from do you fetch such fascinating stories?”
“What’s that got to do with you, old man?” Iona questioned, feigning courage.
“Yes! Are you some kind of wizard who, I don’t know, collects stories?” Fillick tried to help her friend, though any observant person would realise the edge to her voice bordered fear.
“Ahh… hmm… You could say that,” he replied oddly merrily.
“The Rubels’ mansion, if you must know. You better fetch that weird lady on the second floor too, along with your stories, I mean,” Iona provided, who didn’t think that an odd man like him could possibly break into such a secure mansion.
“Thank you, thank you. That’s much appreciated.”
Wellllllllllllllll. Now it seems our headmaster knows where weird stuff happens. And he hopes to find a weird person too. So, has his decade-long search for them finally come to an end?
Also, before anyone questions how insightful or observant she is at that age, and like how she’s able to do even half the stuff we weren’t able to at that age, I’ve got three things to tell you. 1) She’s a Ravenclaw. 2) She’s literally Tom’s daughter; what did you expect? Obviously she’s observant. 3) It’s the 1980s, man. People already were uncaring of generational trauma and pressured their children. And her parents are rich, being able to afford tutors and not able to afford public defamation…. So yeah.
If y'all haven’t realised yet, not only do I suck at writing, I especially suck at writing from the first person’s POV. Like, I absolutely despise writing it and avoid it at my school too! My teacher had advised me to practice more…. But uh… I mean–, we get four options on what we need to write, and I just end up choosing the one that doesn’t require first-person POV lmao. I originally intended to keep this story largely in third-person POV, but uhh… then I realised literally nobody I know in real life knows I’m on Wattpad/Tumblr soooooooooooooooooooooo who cares? YOLO.
Btw, I am aware I got major pacing issues 😭😭.
