The Crickhowell School for the Muses Read Online Free

mess.
    “Now…” She took Awen’s chin in her hand, examining her face. “White powder, of course…hmm, very pretty eyes, yes. Ah, this one is easy—already pretty! They haven’t all been so, recently,” she added in a lower voice. With that she turned to Rosaline, who was leaning against the wall opposite Hannah’s desk.
    “Stupid, though,” Rosaline muttered. “Stupid girl, she can’t even walk down the stairs without tripping over herself.”
    Hannah dismissed this with a click of her tongue and turned back to her black-haired project sitting silently on the stool. She eyed Awen once more, walking a circle around her, then glided over to her disorganized desk. From the reflection in the mirror, Awen could see her pull out a large comb, a silver pair of scissors, a jar of white powder, and a thin glass vial. She slipped all but the comb into her pockets.
    Awen watched in the mirror as Hannah combed through her straggled mess of dark hair. The tangles were so entrenched that the movement of the comb pulled her head sideways. She had to squeeze her fingernails into her palms and squint her eyes to keep from tearing up. Then, Hannah pulled out the scissors and began to clip off chunks of hair. Awen let her eyes close most of the way as Hannah worked.
    The sound of clipping scissors eventually stopped, and Awen opened her eyes, assuming Hannah was done. Before she could look at herself in the mirror, Hannah’s hands were at the side of her head, pulling on her hair with the force of a rider reining a wild horse. Awen felt the skin on her forehead pull upward. Her hair was yanked tighter, twisted around on itself.
    “Ah, beautiful!” Hannah exclaimed, jumping back, and praising her work from all angles.
    Awen gazed at her own reflection in the mirror. Her hair had been twisted into a bun so tight, it looked like her eyebrows were raised.
    “Now just a little makeup, and we will be done! Oh, brush!” she exclaimed, skipping back to her desk for the tool.
    While Hannah rummaged in her desk, humming to herself, Awen peered out the small window, through its reflection in the mirror. She heard slowly approaching voices coming from outside. The words were hard to make out—something about a window, an accident and, most startlingly, the word child …and the word dead . Two women walked by the window without looking in. And then she saw it. A man carried a dark-haired girl halfway wrapped in a blanket. Awen could see her face: drained of color, expressionless, blue lips, blue eyes and a big gash across the top of her forehead. Awen’s eyes widened, and a sick feeling waved across her stomach.
    The other women in the room gave no response. Awen wondered if they had not heard, or if maybe the event meant nothing to them.
    Hannah, still singing to herself, returned to Awen with brush in hand and dug the jar from her pocket. She lightly applied the white powder over every inch of Awen’s face, seemingly oblivious to her wide-eyed stare. “Tilt your head,” Hannah said, pushing back on Awen’s forehead. Awen heard the clink of glass, and suddenly a drop of liquid was falling into each of her eyes.
    Her face contorted—the liquid burned, and she squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing at them, blinking them furiously.…
    Hannah laughed. “Don’t worry, the searing sensation will subside.”
    A shot of fear burst through Awen’s chest, as she wondered if she was being blinded. She opened an eye, slowly: her vision was blurred, but the burning had begun to dissipate. She opened her other eye.
    “Extract of belladonna.” Hannah waved the glass bottle in front of Awen’s face. “Always makes for beautiful eyes.” She paused for a moment, gazing into the mirror.
    Awen craned her neck forward to get a better look at her reflection. Her face was a shocking pale white, and her eyes…they looked bigger. The black of her pupil overtook them, so that the green was just a bright corona around the edges.
    “Yes!” Hannah