The Girl in the Wych Elm (XIV)

 

XIV. Dreams of Immortality Viewed Through a Dark Lens (I)

Author's Note: Before you begin reading, I want everyone to know that chapter 14 will be split into three separate parts because of the length. It's over 30 pages in Microsoft Word. It's kind of ironic. Lucia has been the only character that I've struggled with as far as her depth and role in the story. Yet, she ended up being the only character (so far) with the longest chapter and most depth. I apologize for the long release. It's been a struggle finding the motivation to write the last few months. 

During a cultural anthropology seminar she attended during her lowerclassman years, Lucia was lectured on cultures who shunned the use of cameras and mirrors. They believed objects as such possessed the unholy ability to steal a part of their soul or even their likeness. Their superstitions were regarded as primitive thinking by the teenaged Lucia and hadn’t changed in the two decades since then. Lucia coldly pitied the ignorant beliefs some people naively held onto. “It’s nothing more than outdated, paranoid nonsense.” She re-confined her luscious curls back into the ponytail holder, chuckling and ridiculing the absurd superstition. “Mirrors stealing a part of the soul?” She chortled. “Stupid. Maybe the person looking in the mirror can’t face the truth in their reflection.” The mirror was covered with a drape; a habit Lucia did after every use. “Send them in now, Mirabel.” 

The project management team, which consisted of nine members, crowded into Lucia’s church office. The limited space had everyone shoulder to shoulder. Lucia, on the other hand, was comfortable behind her desk. Lead project manager, Zalmon, had called an emergent meeting with Lucia to discuss an issue that arose regarding the construction of Our Lady of Light Academy. “I deeply apologize for the last-minute intrusion, Miss Lightwood.” Zalmon’s kerchief was soaked from his forehead sweat. Stains from his armpits showed through his starch white shirt. I really hope our partnership remains intact after this. Lucia and clan were longtime clients of his and he feared the backlash from his oversight. Even worse, Zalmon couldn’t have chosen a more inconvenient day to bring bad news to Lucia’s desk. The sixth anniversary of Lucia’s father’s death. Every year on that day, his former congregation piled into Our Lady of Light Church where they wept and wailed, lit candles, sang hymns and offered prayers in remembrance of the former head priest who departed the world too soon. Unfortunately, the meeting couldn’t be rescheduled or pushed back due to the rigid deadline established by Lucia. 

The way in which her late father was venerated in the eyes of the congregation disgusted Lucia beyond words. The woman’s face twisted and contorted as she listened to the loud, passionate hymns that drifted through the vents. Her office was right above the sanctuary two floors up. The acid in Lucia’s stomach churned with the harmony of the congregation’s devotion to Elder Lucius. She rubbed her sternum feeling the onset of a reflux attack. There just weren’t enough hateful words in her vocabulary strong enough to describe her sentiments. Those fruitless prayers and hymns won’t reach his soul where he’s at. She nearly stomped her foot but remembered her father wouldn’t hear it where he was. If only those poor, ignorant fools knew the real Elder Lucius like I do. Like I did. Her neck popped. The loud sound made some of Zalmon’s team shudder.

The longer Lucia reflected on the dark memories of her father, the more she wondered how the congregation would have reacted or responded if she revealed the truth of her father’s sinister nature to them. A deep, heavy sigh escaped her mouth. She massaged her temples. The answer was obvious. No one would have believed her allegations. It would have been a waste. All of it. The energy. The words. The time. Communities always protected the abusers and shunned the abused. Her father’s devotees, specifically the people who had known him longer than she had been alive, would have rebuked Lucia in defense of Elder Lucius, their friend. Better for them to continue living in their blissful ignorance than be burned at the stake like a witch. 

Zalmon lightly tapped the edge of Lucia’s desk for her attention when he received no response. “Did you hear me, Miss Lightwood?” The moment the prayers and hymns reached Lucia’s ears, she checked out of the conversation. Thirty minutes had passed since they convened. Lucia apologized for her rudeness over zoning out and Zalmon was asked to repeat his statement. He cleared his throat. “You see, we ran into a…hiccup as we were about to break ground on construction.” Zalmon’s lips pursed. A gigantic map of the proposed location was pulled out and unfolded across Lucia’s desk. Specific areas of the map were circled in different colored markers. The red circles meant there were issues that needed addressing before moving forward. “We discovered that this section of the property doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to someone else.” The total square footage of Lucia’s academy was supposed to be 174k sq ft. Without that section of land, it was only at 154k sq ft.

Lucia combed over the map, her nose wrinkled up in irritation. She hated being inconvenienced. An attempt at rectifying the issue was made, however. The owner of that section of land was offered a substantial amount of money; they refused and wouldn’t budge on the matter. Hmm! If I were Alexander or Solomon or even Ishmael, this wouldn’t be an issue right now. Her light pink nails scraped the underside of the wooden desk. I’ll deal with this little hiccup like they would. If they wouldn’t budge, then neither would Lucia. She would get what she wanted in the end. “Mirabel, come here for a moment, please.” Lucia called her office assistant through the desk intercom.  

Mirabel, a woman around Lucia’s age with a heart-shaped face, hard eyes, and paper-thin hair, poked her head around the door. “Yes, Miss Lightwood? How may I help you?” Mirabel’s hard eyes made her appearance deceptive at first look. While she looked cold and unapproachable, she wasn’t. Mirabel, listening attentively, nodded her head intermittently throughout the conversation. “No problem. I’ll make sure that hiccup is cleared by end of day.” 

A triumphant smile stretched across Lucia’s face. Her eyes returned to Zalmon. Problem rectified. “Thank you, Mirabel.” 

Mirabel closed the door. A second later she reappeared. “My apologies for interrupting, Miss Lightwood, but I have two messages waiting for you. They came through shortly after your meeting started but I…didn’t want to interrupt. The messages are from Mayor Hightower and Judge Hightower respectively.” She then asked if Lucia wanted to hear them at that moment or later once her meeting concluded. Lucia gave her the go ahead. She immediately regretted her decision after she heard the messages. “‘May the cherished memories of Elder Lucius bring you comfort during this time of sorrow on the anniversary of his death. Wych Elm hasn’t been the same without the grace of Elder Lucius’ light, nor will it ever be.’” 

She chewed her bottom lip from aggravation. The taste of copper filled her mouth. The urge to toss her entire office upside overcame Lucia. Cute. She clicked her tongue. Insufferable bastards as always, you damn Hightowers. The seemingly innocent messages weren’t genuine condolences. They were harmful taunts intended to degrade Lucia, reminding her of who she was: a daughter stuck in the shadow of her dead father. Elder Lucius. Alexander. Solomon. All three cut from the same vile cloth. In Lucia’s eyes, there were little differences between the three. Some men are equipped for only two things: sexual pleasure or sabotaging dreams. Safe to say the first point never applied to Elder Lucius. No one crushed a dream harder than my father. He excelled best at that. 

“Hey, Zalmon. Do you think we should try…” The words of the man beside Zalmon brought Lucia out of her thoughts. Her focus shifted from Zalmon to the man. Unbeknownst to him, Lucia’s interest was held hostage by his presence. The man was, by no means, unattractive, average at best. The type of appearance that could be overlooked if he had a good personality. Regardless, Lucia found him cute. 

She pointed at the man, interrupting his and Zalmon’s conversation. “You. What’s your name?” Lucia’s imposing expression softened along with her energy. Her mahogany eyes became warmer and welcoming. 

The alarmed man’s eyes widened. He held tightly onto his laptop as sweat formed on his palms. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. His heart pounded like a drum inside his chest. Had he…? Had he done something wrong that warranted addressing? The team was told speaking directly to Lucia wasn’t advised. Zalmon would be their mouthpiece. Conflicted and crippled by anxiety, the stumped man looked over at Zalmon for guidance. The welcoming smile did little easing his troubles. His response to Lucia remained delayed. 

Zalmon scowled at his subordinate hard. “Bennett…” He called the stunned man’s name through teeth clenched tighter than a budged door. “Answer Miss Lightwood.” His frightened eyes glared at Bennett with silent words that screamed, don’t fuck this up for the rest of us. 

Bennett swallowed a huge gulp. His elevated anxiety always made him stammer his words. “I’m-I’m sorry about that, Miss Lightwood… I was caught off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to speak to any of us. Bennett is my name but-but you already know that now…” 

Lucia reached across her desk with an open hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I apologize for making you so nervous just now.” 

Bennett handed his laptop off to the woman beside him, wiped his sweaty hands on his slacks, and shook Lucia’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well…Miss Lightwood.” Bennett struggled making eye contact with Lucia, to her displeasure. “I’ll do my part to make sure your academy’s design and completion exceeds your expectations.” Bennett was one of two assistant project managers brought on to assist Zalmon since the completion timeline was tight. 

The more Lucia studied Bennett, the more out of place he seemed among the team. To her, he seemed like someone who would indulge more in the humanities such as, history, philosophy, or anthropology. Whose hobbies consisted of playing Catan over drinks with friends or reading books on unusual topics like entomology. Bennett’s dorkiness reminded Lucia of how Donovan was when they were teenagers. She thought about introducing them, believing they would get along (so long as Donovan’s homicidal urges didn’t flare up). The man’s similarity to Donovan drove Lucia’s sexual attraction of Bennett. She had harbored feelings towards Donovan for years (and still did) but understood his heart belonged to Roxanne Morgenstern and always would. On top of that, Elder Lucius would have sooner forced Lucia into marriage with a Hightower than allowed her to marry an Aschermann, a family he regarded as impure people. Lucia begrudgingly accepted that her place in Donovan’s life was cemented as his close friend, not his love interest. 

Tell me, Bennett. What are you good for? Sexual pleasure or the other? I really want to know. Correction: Lucia was dying to know. Her thoughts about Bennett dragged her mind deep into the gutter, eager to know how he performed in the bedroom. You’re probably the vanilla type. A man whose level of intimacy involved passionate kissing and cuddling over penetrative sex. Lucia pursed her lips to the side. The possibility disappointed her. She didn’t like men who were vanilla in bed. Lucia wondered, if by chance, that side of Bennett could be changed. Her sexual desires pulled her deeper under the waves like a swarm of disembodied arms cocooning around her. Lucia’s body burned up with arousal as her fantasy about Bennett continued. Thighs clenched tighter attempting to stop the wetness from further soaking her panties. Lucia answered her body’s demand. She would take Bennett to bed. 

Lucia! Still the same repulsive girl I see. The X-rated daydream reached an abrupt end. You’re a filthy, impure child…just like your brothers! That repulsed, jarring statement were her father’s words. Goosebumps appeared suddenly all over Lucia’s body. Her teeth chattered and ached as the temperature plummeted. No one else, however, noticed or felt the change but Lucia. She was the only person in the room shivering. Elder Lucius’ ghostly presence suffocated Lucia from all sides, like heavy cement walls threatening to squish her. She gasped for air suddenly. Her windpipe tightened like a constricting Anaconda around its meal. Lucia hadn’t experienced that level of anxiety in six years. She hadn’t felt that vulnerable in so long. Eventually, Lucia snapped out of her psychological trance. She weighed the terrifying experience, wondering if it had truly been her father’s ghost haunting her or the lingering remnants of the years of abuse she suffered at his hands. 

That disturbing experience ruined Lucia’s sexual infatuation towards Bennett. Desire became disgust when she laid eyes on the man again. Lucia had a change of mind. Maybe Bennett wasn’t as innocent as he appeared behind those eyes of his. Maybe Bennett was no different than Elder Lucius, Solomon, or Alexander. The truth remained unknown. Bennett was later removed from the project team on her directive without any reason. 

The rosary in Lucia’s palm finally sliced into her skin, unable to resist the weight of her rage any longer. Bloody droplets trickled onto the light hardwood floor. “Damn…” She swore under her breath. The rosary meant for Isabelle was ruined. Rather than cleaning the blood from the beads, Lucia disposed of the rosary in the trash bin. 

 

Maids and butlers, their lips compressed and brows deeply knitted, scurried back and forth down the hallways in every direction. They disappeared in and out of doorways and around corners. The overlapping aromas of fresh flowers, perfumes, and Sancocho simmering on low polluted the mansion’s air. The mixture of various chaotic odors ignited Lucia’s sinusitis. Clearing her scratchy throat only seemed to irritate it more. When congestion settled in, she could no longer smell the aromas.  “Urgh…” She vocalized, miserable. Lucia switched to mouth breathing for some relief. 

Socorro, a long-time maid sponsored by the Lightwood family, presented nasal spray and an inhaler to her mistress. She always kept them in her smock’s pockets for moments as such.  “Welcome back, Miss Lightwood.” Lucia thanked her maid, took the nasal spray and administered two spritz in each nostril. Socorro passed her a kerchief. The maid squatted down and placed house slippers at Lucia’s feet. Her old knees popped loudly under the weight of her body. Lucia’s outside shoes were then confiscated for washing. The chaotic bustle Lucia walked into was the pre-preparation for The Inheritance, a Lightwood celebration typically held every generation. The previous one was skipped due to poor candidates. While Lucia’s relatives and household were in high spirits, hers were low. She never held the morbid tradition in high regard compared to her jubilant family. 

“Oh, my goodness, Ciano! Come here! Come here!” The boisterous crowd swarmed upon the timid lad, the chosen candidate. They invaded his space like a provoked swarm of deadly Murder Hornets. “Ciano? What’s wrong? You’re looking sickly right now.” The man checked Ciano for a fever with the back of his hand. He had undergone many cosmetic procedures to his face over the years that left him looking ghastly. The unnatural crystal blue contacts he wore didn’t help his appearance either. The man had a face that rivaled the reputation of the Boogeyman’s. Lucia pitied her cousin for being subjected to such a monstrosity. “You are Lucilius now. Keep your head raised high.” The man almost levitated from the amount of excitement brewing inside him. 

“I’m happy we caught you when we did. We know you’re busy preparing, but we had to let you know how incredibly proud of you we are. No male has received The Inheritance in thirty years!” A woman, mid-thirties, with dark hair that cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulder down to her waist, squealed like a teenaged girl. She bent over and squeezed his cheeks like he was a newborn babe. Ciano didn’t have a reaction. His brown eyes watched everyone with a robotic stare. “You will transcend unto greatness, honey.” More family members chimed in, offering their positive words of support to Ciano whose ears had longed tuned them out. 

 

From the adjacent parlor room in which blinds had been drawn to keep the room cooler, Lucia observed the scene of Ciano with their relatives. She saw what the crowd didn’t or perhaps ignored. His eyes remained fixed on the marble floor. His shoulders were drooped and his legs were turned inward from restlessness. The burden of Ciano’s encroaching responsibilities and his new position within the Lightwood clan overwhelmed him. He was withdrawn, visibly, and disconnected from the world around. No one cared, sadly. They were all hyper fixated on The Inheritance. Had they noticed, they would have seen that Ciano wanted no parts in it. The poor youth soldiered forward through the discomfort. His voice silenced. His wants dismissed. 

Immortality. An innocent fascination that evolved into a morbid, all-consuming obsession for the Lightwood family. They became distracted with achieving immortality to the point it crippled their social standing and reputation among their counterparts of the High Families. In the end, that didn’t matter. Membership with the High Families was a means to their end and had always been so. Immortality was priceless. More valuable than gold, power, and influence combined. And the Lightwoods desired it. So, they created their own warped version of immortality using The Inheritance, a ritual of inculcation. Memorias Patris. A gigantic tome said to contain over a thousand pages of the “memories” of her family’s forefather, Lucilius Lightwood and his successors. Once received, Ciano’s given name was retired, and he would assume the name of Lucilius Lightwood (VII). However, to Lucia, The Inheritance was ritualistic brainwashing disguised as something honorable. The only purpose it served was reinforcing the poisonous, conservative ideologies and practices of the Lightwood’s patriarchal hierarchy. The continued endorsement of The Inheritance only worsened Lucia’s already tumultuous relationship with her family. 

“Ah! You’re home again already? My sweet Lucia.” The matriarch recoiled hearing her name spoken in the grating voice of her mother’s sister, Ciana. Her aunt was a gorgeous woman in her middle years. She shared the same features as her sister and niece, except her skin was on the lighter side. The woman’s personality was absolutely appalling though. Ciana treated everyone around her (Ciano her son included) awful. She believed she was better than everyone else, even the matriarch Lucia. There were moments were Alexander and Solomon seemed like somewhat likeable people compared to Ciana. Between her mother Lucilla and Ciana, Lucia was torn between who she loathed more than the other. Ciana, jerking Ciano by his arm, glided across the foyer to the shaded parlor where her niece reclined. “You know, I-” Her rosy-pink tinted lips curled in disgust over Socorro’s presence. “Go away.” The hostile command sliced through the air. 

Socorro shrank back. “My apologies, Miss Ciana.” She replied, wringing her apron between her weathered hands as she looked away. House staff weren’t allowed to look Ciana in her face. 

Before Socorro could hurry off, Lucia called her back. “Stay here a moment, Socorro.” Lucia’s calm eyes clashed with Ciana’s icy glare. Niece and aunt looked upon the other contemptuously. Their fierce hostility disrupted the temperature of the shaded parlor room. Socorro was overcome with nervous sweats caught between the women. She thought about speaking up. There was little need to defend her. Socorro wasn’t special. Well, she didn’t think she was special. The woman was just a maid trying to buy her daughter passage to the country. Socorro was a background character in Lucia’s world that had no importance in her story. But fear bullied Socorro into silence. Would she face Lucia’s ire if she spoke out of turn? Socorro decided it was best keeping quiet with her head down. “Don’t let your son’s privilege inflate that big head of yours any further.” Lucia’s eyes slowly narrowed.

The cruel aunt sucked in a sharp breath. “Understand this, Lucia. I couldn’t care less if you’re the matriarch. I’m still your aunt regardless. I am your elder no matter your position or title.” She replied, batting her long lashes at her niece. 

Lucia rose from the sofa. She approached Ciana until the space between them was thin. “You’re certainly not wrong about that.” About Ciana being Lucia’s elder, that was. “But you’re also a woman whose only accomplishment in this life will be reduced to being the mother of Lucilius Lightwood VII. No one-and I mean no one will remember you or your name when you drop dead. But they’ll remember Ciano’s name.” Lucia pressed her nose lightly against Ciana’s. “The next generation will honor Ciano, not the woman who gave birth to him. They will memorialize Ciano while youend up as another name lost to time.” There was weight behind Lucia’s retort. The crowd that swarmed upon Ciano moments earlier acknowledged him, not Ciana. They sang praises to Ciano, not her. Not one person thought about asking Ciana her feelings or how she was doing. Ironically enough, Ciana, was just a background character in the story of Ciano’s journey towards reaching immortality. “I hope you weren’t expecting me there because I won’t be present for your son’s little ceremony.” She did wish Ciano well on the next chapter of his life. 

Lucia’s absence from The Inheritance ceremony had little to do with hers, Ciano’s, and his mother’s relationship with one another. Ciana aside, there was no bad blood between her and Ciano specifically. Granted there was little cousin love between them due to their sixteen-year age gap. Lucia wanted no association with or proximity to The Inheritance. She happily embraced the admonishments her family hurled at her. “It’s rather unbecoming of the family head to skip out,” they whispered when she walked past them. Lucia couldn’t understand why it mattered. Women were not allowed The Inheritance and never would. She became the matriarch, a position historically held by men. So, why couldn’t the rule for The Inheritance be changed as well? 

Immortality is like a butterfly. It’s delicate, too precious to be handled by emotional beings. Women would not be able to shoulder the burden of its responsibility. The reasoning was absurd like the man whose mouth it came from. Lucia, downtrodden, laughed at the outstanding irony behind tears thinking about Alexander, Solomon, and her father. Men whose emotional volatility far exceeded the average woman’s temperament. But even more infuriating were the submissive attitudes of her female relatives who saw no issue with the problematic rule. Women, like Ciana, were content with having the bragging rights that came with their sons, brothers, or nephews being chosen for The Inheritance. Lucia viewed them as poor, simple-minded creatures brainwashed by ignorance and sexism that kept them obediently shackled. 

“You can go now, Socorro. Thank you for your service as always.” She dismissed Socorro with a pat on the shoulder. Ciana’s pink-tinted lips became washed out from the red of her rising anger. Lucia delighted over her aunt’s vexation. She stoked the fire further by dismissing Ciana and addressing her cousin. “Many congratulations to you, by the way, Ciano.” She feigned a happy smile. Enjoy your little game of make-believe. As Lucia turned to leave, Ciana grabbed her sleeve. Their conversation wasn’t done. 

“You’ve blossomed into such an unlikable woman just. Like. My. Sister.” The corner of Ciana’s mouth twitched from anger. Lucia, aggravated, snatched her arm free. Ciana in turn yanked Lucia’s hair free of the holder. 

“Don’t touch my hair!” Lucia shrieked at Ciana, slapping her hand away. “Give that back!” She bared her teeth. Lucia tried snatching it back, but her aunt was faster. 

“I grew up with two sisters, niece.” Ciana taunted Lucia with her hair tie. She dangled it in the air like a bobber in front of a fish. “The only time we weren’t at each other’s throats was when we were sleeping.” Ciana told Lucia she wished her niece had been born a male so that life would have been easier on her.  

The degrading statement earned a guffaw from Lucia. “And despite the odds of my gender being stacked against me… I still became the matriarch. I’m sorry… The first matriarch of this family. The first woman to lead our little church.” She boasted with a smug expression. Lucia turned her back to Ciana. Her black priest’s robe glided with her movement. “You know I’ve always wondered about something?” Lucia said, walking away. She crossed her arms and pondered. “You award a man or boy The Inheritance. How do you know if they’ll handle the psychological and emotional weight of such an overwhelming responsibility well? How would one predict that?” Lucia pouted, though she was being facetious. Ciana didn’t have an answer. 

But the victory over her irritating aunt didn’t quell the festering agony Lucia endured for years underneath her smile and outward demeanor. Why couldn’t her father have chosen a male relative instead of her? What was his reasoning? What was his goal with making her the family head? The question tormented Lucia like a waking nightmare for six years. It pestered her like an unhealed wound. It gnawed at her psyche like feral animal with an insatiable hunger. Regardless of what others thought or said, Lucia never believed her elevated position to family head was a reward or an apology for how Elder Lucius abused her over the years leading up to his death. She wondered, if perhaps, her promotion was a final crude lesson from her father. You will never be enough no matter your position or circumstance. 

Ciana tossed Lucia her hair tie without a word. She eyed her aunt skeptically as she once more pulled her hair into a ponytail. Without warning, Ciana caressed Lucia’s face with her thumbs.  “You know… You remind me of her in every way.” She reminisced as she gazed into Lucia’s startled eyes. “Lucy, our other sister. It’s like-it’s like she never even left…” The resurging anger had Ciana trembling as she thought about their unsettling resemblance. 

Lucy was estranged from her sisters and overall, the Lightwood family. She abandoned Wych Elm decades before Lucia and her brothers came along. In Lucy’s absence, the Wheels of Life continued turning. She became a faint memory in the minds of the people who vaguely remembered her face. No one, besides Elder Lucius, mentioned her name in conversation. The rare few who did, compared Lucia to her. They possessed the same feisty temperament and sharp-witted tongues. Their progressive mindsets clashed with the sexist practices and ideologies of their family’s belief system. Lucy saw it for what it truly was: corrosive and dangerous. She refused to bend. To submit. 

Over time, Lucia’s similarities to Lucy became an inside joke among the few Lightwoods that missed her. “They should have given you Lucy’s name instead of your grandmother’s name.” Lucia heard more times than she could count on her fingers. Comical as it was, Lucia’s existence was the byproduct of Lucy’s absence because Elder Lucius was set on marrying her initially, not Lucilla.

Lucia was repeatedly subjected to her father’s love for her aunt during his drunken episodes. “She was a vibrant bird who would not be subdued by an iron cage,” was how Elder Lucius described Lucy before he bawled himself to sleep. Genuine as his love for Lucy was, at the end of the day, Elder Lucius was still a product of his environment and its indoctrination. Steadfast obedient to the expectations placed upon his shoulders. Lucy knew no amount of love could have saved her from the inevitable fate all Lightwood women suffered. Elder Lucius would have broken her down like all the other men eventually did to their wives. Her sense of self devoured by the duties of her role, the expectations of her family, and the shadow of her husband. The only way out of that awful existence was leaving everything behind. 

In the aftermath of heated arguments with her parents, Lucia disappeared into the garden to be alone with her thoughts. Every time she looked up at the night sky, she wondered if Lucy too was gazing at the moon along with her. Where was Lucy? What was she doing with her life? Did she regret leaving? How had life changed for her after leaving Wych Elm? Was she even still alive out there? Many times, Lucia harped on those same questions until she worked up a headache. Lucy never returned to Wych Elm, not even once, nor reached out to her sisters. So, the answer was up in the air over what became of her. 

 

Nadia waited with her eyes closed and covered at Lucian’s instruction until he gave her the okay. “Go ahead and open your eyes now, Miss Nadia.” The table Lucian stood beside was draped with an extra-large shroud. She surmised the object under the cover was one of the many sculptures he diligently worked on the last two months. But the secret was for Lucia’s eyes first. She had taken exceptional care of him over the decades and he wanted to show his younger sister how much she meant to him. 

“If Lucia’s gift is anything like the one you gave me a few months back, then I’m certain she’ll love it.” Nadia said, placing comforting hands on his shoulders. She had spent her mid-teens to mid-twenties working as Lucian’s caretaker and companion. Those two duties were the scope of her responsibilities. 

In the beginning when she started, Nadia didn’t think much of her position until she uncovered the truth behind why she was actually hired. Lucian’s parents weren’t going to raise him. They wanted nothing to do with him. Born with a genetic disability, Lucian’s existence was shunned by his parents and his family alike. Defects, physical and mental, were looked upon unfavorably. The young woman, at twenty-six, never anticipated being a long-term caregiver. While her job was a relatively easy one that paid handsomely, Nadia had dreams of her own she wanted to accomplish. Her job wasn’t supposed to be permanent, just a stepping-stone to something else. The Lightwood family were a cruel and superficial group of people she could no longer tolerate. Nadia wanted out, desperately. Unfortunately, poor Nadia found herself a prisoner torn between staying with Lucian, whom she adored, and leaving her position behind. She knew Lucian would be devastated without her and that thought kept her cemented to the Lightwood estate. 

“Yeah… I really hope my sister likes it.” Lucian started biting his nails over his rising anxiety. Nadia spent years breaking him of that nasty habit but clearly failed. She grabbed Lucian’s wrist and reprimanded him. 

“Don’t bite your nails.” Nadia addressed him in a gentle but stern tone. “The last thing we need is another skin infection.” Lucian obeyed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as a deterrent. Nadia continued reassuring him that Lucia would love his gift and not to worry about it too much. Her positive words expelled all remaining doubts from his mind. “Big or small, no matter what you do for Lucia, it will always be great enough in her eyes.” Nadia instructed Lucian to take slow, deep breaths and collect himself. Once he felt calm again, they left to find Lucia. 

 

“You know… You remind me of her in every way.” She reminisced as she gazed into Lucia’s startled eyes. “Lucy, our other sister. It’s like-it’s like she never even left…” The resurging anger had Ciana trembling as she thought about their unsettling resemblance. 

As Lucia came into his view, Lucian’s pace quickened. He hurried down the stairs, missed a step in the process, and went tumbling wildly down the rest of the way. The intense moment between Lucia and Ciana was interrupted. “Lucian!?” Lucia gasped. Her heart started racing when she saw her brother’s body crumpled over at the base of the stairs. 

“I told him to be careful, Miss Lightwood.” Nadia said as she rushed down the stairs to check on Lucian. He was all right. No head injury or bruises were suffered. Lucian would, however, be sore for a while.

Lucia cradled her brother while simultaneously scolding him for his carelessness. “Lucian, you really need to be more careful on these stairs. Nadia and I have told you this several times. Thank God you’re all right.” She felt awful about yelling at Lucian. He was only excited to see her. But the thought of head trauma or a potential brain bleed worried her more than those feelings. 

Lucian, on the other hand, brushed off the scolding and jumped right to the point. “Are you busy right now, Lucia? There’s something I need to show you upstairs in my suite.” He pulled away from her and returned to his feet, offering Lucia his hand. “I know you’re probably super busy today, but it won’t take long-Oh! Hi, Ciano!” His eyes became brighter with excitement when he spied the youth standing with his mother in the background. Lucian waved to him. “Congratulations! They said you were chosen for The Inheritance. That’s great!” He gave Ciano a thumb’s up. “I know you’re busy getting ready, but if you’re free later, come by and have tea with me again. I have new board games we can play.” Ciana was appalled by what she heard. Why was Lucian so casual with her son? Her mouth, agape, froze in horror over the thought of her son being involved with someone she perceived as impure. Ciana wouldn’t have that. No, she couldn’t have that. Both hers and Ciano’s reputations were in jeopardy. If the Elders knew about their association, Ciana feared they would revoke The Inheritance for him. She immediately broke out in cold sweats over that fear.  

Lucia gripped and pulled at the sides of her robe. Seeing Ciana’s disgusted eyes directed at Lucian boiled her blood. She abhorred that look. Anywhere Lucian wandered around the estate, that same expression appeared on the various faces of her relatives. Every member of their family looked down on Lucian, whispering obscenities when he walked by. Their judgmental eyes and mouths drove Lucia insane. There was nothing wrong with her brother. He wasn’t some defective item that needed kept out of their view. Lucian was a Lightwood too! More Lightwood than any of them in her eyes. 

Ciana yanked her son by his collar violently. She shrieked right in his face, spraying him with spit in the process. “You might have lost your mind, son but rest assured, I will help you find it again.” Her stiletto shaped nails seeped into Ciano’s skin when she manhandled his jaw. The pretentious, high-pitched voice Ciana used reverted back to her natural deep and smokey voice. They teased and bullied her growing up because her real voice wasn’t feminine enough and no man would marry her if she sounded like that. “Ciano Lightwood, you’ve disappointed me greatly.” His poor neck snapped sharply to the side when his mother smacked him. “We don’t associate with people like Lucian. He’s impure. That’s why he was born that way.” Ciana continued shrieking in the traumatized boy’s face. Her ableist tirade against Lucian continued. “Nothing about him at all is right. The same goes for that colorful brother of his too.” Lucian’s disability and Younger Lucius’ homosexuality barred them from The Inheritance. Hence, why the previous one never happened. 

Per said laws of The Inheritance, the selected man had to be pure, untainted by physical and mental handicaps. Homosexuality wasn’t acceptable either. How could a man continue his bloodline without a woman to bear his seed? 

Ciana’s vulgar words had dwindled away the little patience Lucia had left for her. She eyed the heavy vase to her right on the foyer table. Images of Lucia bludgeoning Ciana while standing over her corpse covered in blood flashed before her. She inched slowly towards the table, her hands sweating and itching to silence her aunt permanently. Killing Ciana’s insufferable ass would have probably made her a saint in the eyes of her relatives. Lucia could not think of one person who would have missed her. 

“No!” Ciano shoved his mother off him. Lucia paused and observed. “Stop saying those awful, awful things about Lucian! None of its true! It’s not true!” Ciano stamped his foot. He wouldn’t listen anymore to those terrible claims his mother spewed about Lucian. Ciano, his chest puffed out, proclaimed Lucian was his friend. Lucia was disappointed seeing her aunt still standing on her feet. She had hoped the shocking statement would have caused her to drop dead. “Lucian’s not what you think of him. He’s not what anyone in this house believes him to be. He’s-he’s a great person.” Ciano sniveled before Ciana. He put an abrupt stop to his mother’s hateful campaign. Ciano would accept the abuse, as he always had, but none of it towards Lucian. He loudly rebuked their family’s hostile treatment of the man. He condemned them for shunning and degrading Lucian all those years. “Lucian is wonderful. He’s so delightful to be around and talk to and-and… He doesn’t deserve the hatred you spew about him!” Ciano told his mother that if she got to know Lucian like he did, it would change her outlook about him. “And to be honest, I would rather be around Lucian instead of you, or dad, or anyone else!” Lucia, quiet, applauded Ciano for finding the courage to challenge Ciana. 

What brought Lucian and Ciano together was their identical upbringing. The main difference between them was that Lucian had siblings who loved him while Ciano was an only child. His early years were lonely and melancholic. Ciano was always miserable. His father didn’t care for his family; he only married Ciana out of familial expectations. As the boy grew and matured, his father began distancing himself more from them. Ciana was favored more by her parents than her sisters were because of her lighter complexion. That favoritism created an arrogant, self-centered woman whose dismissed behaviors fostered resentment among her sisters. Her controlling and abusive nature poisoned her son’s sense of self-worth. In one another, Ciano and Lucian found light in a grim world that had been continuously cruel to them. Kindness. Happiness. Respect. Concepts that were once unfamiliar to them. Ciano could not let go of that light even if it meant further subjection to his mother’s cruelty. 

Sadly, Ciano’s heartfelt words and his moment of vulnerability mattered little in the eyes of his closed-minded mother. Ciana wailed on her son. Each assault struck harder than the last. His skin turned red and welted up. “You will stay away from him.” Ciana reiterated. She reminded Ciano her lack of tolerance for disobedience. The next time Ciana had to discipline him, it would be far worse than mere heavy-handed slaps. 

The shameless display of abuse disturbed Lucian, Lucia, and Nadia. Lucian specifically developed indigestion because the scene disgusted him so much. Corporal punishment around the Lightwood estate wasn’t a rarity. Those who stumbled upon the discipline minded their business and kept moving, turning off their ears to desperate pleas and cries. Lucian refused turning a blind eye like everyone else did. That was enough. He stepped in. “No. Don’t-” He slapped Lucia’s hand away and snapped viciously. 

“Stop treating me like I’m a child, Lucia.” She had never witnessed that level of anger directed at her from Lucian. The stare in his eyes made her shiver. “Let me stand up for myself.” He said, stomping away from her.

Ciana hissed when Lucian drew too close to her. She demanded he keep his distance. Ciana eyed Lucian like she was looking at a large, rabid dog. “Don’t come near me!” She pulled Ciano with her as she stepped backwards into the parlor. 

Lucian stopped progressing forward. He glanced over his shoulder at his worried sister and equally worried caretaker. “They don’t bother me anymore: the judgmental faces, the nasty looks and hostility. They haven’t bothered me in a long time, in all honestly.” The endless reminders that he was different bothered Lucian the most and still did. He wished, just once, he could move about the estate without overt sentiments directed at him. Lucian then walked towards the hanging mirror. He gazed into his reflection, looking upon himself with a satisfied smile. Ciana found the turn of behavior odd. “I… I really don’t care what you all think about me. No matter what you say, think, or believe, I am what I am: human.” His eyes moved to Ciana’s disdainful reflection behind him. “You know, if you look hard enough, you can always find or see the beauty inside the ugly. But you can also find the ugly inside the beauty too.” Ciana turned pink with embarrassment. Those gentle words cut deeper than any knife or sharp-witted remark could. The corners of Ciano’s mouth twitched as he fought back against a smile. 

“We’re leaving.” Ciana gritted through her teeth. They were so tightly clenched her back molars started grinding against each other. “And you Ciano will stay away from Lucian.” She reiterated to her son. 

The boy objected which had everyone shocked. “I won’t. I’m not staying away from him.” He freed his arm from his mother’s tight grip. 

Ciano’s defiance agitated the fire burning inside his mother. “No? Who are you to tell me no?” She attempted to hit Ciano again, but he blocked her assault. Following that afternoon, Ciana never laid another hand on her son. 

Ciano fought his mother. He screamed at her over not wanting to be struck anymore. “Get. Off!” Ciana was shoved backwards, flipped over the sofa, and cracked her head on the corner of the table when she landed.  

“Christ…” softly escaped Lucia’s mouth. She hustled to Ciana’s side. “Ciana…” She shook her gently. “Ciana? C-can you hear my voice? Ciana? Ciana talk to me.” Lucia’s heart pounded. Panicked eyes glanced between Ciano, who stood unfazed by his actions, and Ciana who laid unresponsive. Lucia felt moderate relief when she checked Ciana’s carotid pulse. “Nadia! Go get help, please!”

“Yes. I’m going!” The clacks of her kitten heels faded down the hallway. 

Lucia looked back at Ciano and asked him to fetch towels for his mother’s head wound. The youth replied with a firm, “No.” She gawked. 

“Ciano… Go get me towels. Right now.” The second request was a command. He sneered down at Lucia. 

“Why should I when Nadia’s gone to get help already?” He replied, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. Lucia was in disbelief. She could have pulled rank as the matriarch, but Ciano would have laughed her off. Though her cousin had yet been decreed Lucilius Lightwood, he was technically ranked higher in the family than Lucia was. Ciano didn’t have to obey her if he didn’t want to. 

Lucian supported his sister against Ciano’s disrespect. “Lucia’s right, Ciano. You should help your mother. I can go with you-”

“Do you mind if I come by later? I’ll make Isabelle bake us some Meringues for our tea.” Ciano had completely absolved himself from the current situation. Lucia wanted to curse him. 

Lucian’s brows deepened. His friendship with Ciano came into question. He replied it wasn’t the appropriate time for such a discussion. They could talk about it later. Ciano, in response, threw a tantrum as staff burst into the parlor and surrounded his mother. Lucia gave them space. She observed Ciana’s First-Aid while still listening in on Lucian’s conversation with Ciano.

“Your mother is in bad shape right now…” Lucian grabbed the youth by his shoulders. 

Ciano blew a raspberry, still maintaining his unbothered demeanor. “Why do you care when she said those awful remarks about you earlier?” Ciano’s ears turned red. The veins in both his neck and forehead pulsed. He accused Lucian of turning on him. The violent urge Lucia saw brewing inside her cousin made her stomach uneasy. Lucian didn’t want to argue and excused himself. He and Ciano could discuss their get-together another day. Lucian took his sister’s hand and headed for the stairs, leaving Ciano dumbfounded where he stood. Nadia followed close behind.

After everything that transpired, it nearly destroyed Lucia when she admitted that Ciana had what was coming to her. She was and had been a God-awful mother to Ciano since the moment he took his first breath. When it came to judging her cousin’s apathy, Lucia was conflicted to a degree. She had suffered at her parents’ hands the same way Ciano had suffered at his mother’s hands. But Lucia saw that malicious glint of pleasure in her cousin’s eyes after Ciana cracked her head open. The corruption of innocence in a real time. Lucia feared, in time, Ciano would be viewed through the same lens as her father and the men of Hightower.