Chapter 6: Lanterns and Loss

Derek Sloan was nothing like Caleb Foster. Caleb was the governor’s son, the future benevolent leader. What he said about me was also a reflection of his own life, manipulated by others. But Derek was a free-spirited swordsman, his identity romantic enough to dazzle a girl who’d only glimpsed the world of wandering heroes in storybooks. With just a few words, Derek painted a vision of romance and adventure before Lillian, making her yearn for it.

He’d show up in town wearing thrift store jeans and a smile, guitar slung over his shoulder, eyes clear as the Savannah River after a storm. Derek talked about life on the road, about campfires and freedom, and it made even the air around him seem wilder. Lillian had never met someone who refused to be tamed.

On the Fourth of July, Lillian met Derek in secret and was punished at home by her father. Again, wooden rulers broke, but her spirit remained. When the city was most lively, the Foster mansion was silent. Derek released a hundred paper lanterns by the back wall—the closest spot to Lillian. In the glow, he climbed the wall and carried the red-eyed Lillian up to the roof to gaze at the dazzling scene below.

That night, I watched the lanterns drifting above the live oaks, glowing against the navy sky. Lillian’s silhouette perched on the roof, wild hair catching the wind. You could almost forget the world’s rules in that moment—almost.

On Main Street, amidst the crowds, Lillian was separated during the summer parade and cornered by thugs. The script of a hero rescuing a maiden played out in real life: Derek swooped in like a savior. From then on, her heart secretly belonged to him—she longed to roam the world by his side.

The summer parade was all floats and marching bands, the air sticky with barbecue smoke and sugar, and the heat made everyone’s patience run thin. When the chaos started, folks looked away, pretending not to notice—until Derek charged in, fists flying. Lillian clung to his arm, her world suddenly filled with new possibilities.

——

Lillian was intoxicated by her first youthful love. She forgot that the little maid whose hands she had cut off, who once begged her for mercy, had said:

“I have a fiancé training in martial arts upstate. He’s truly remarkable. When he’s finished, he’ll come to the Foster mansion to marry me. Then I, a humble maid, will also become a beautiful bride.”

The words haunted the kitchen walls, echoing in the hush that followed the maid’s absence. I wondered if Lillian ever remembered the promises made in the dark corners of our home.

——

But that little maid, after losing her hands, still died that very night.

The staff lit a candle by the back door. Someone slipped out to leave a small bouquet by the riverbank, where the maid’s mother would find it in the morning. The house moved on, as always, but I remembered.

Her laughter echoed off the marble, but I knew the sound would haunt me long after the blood was scrubbed away.