HeartLines

“Darian, where did you go?” The young girl maneuvered her wheelchair through the 
aisles of the library room, irritation staining her pale features. The spring sun danced across the 
floor, cut into beams of light through the slats of oak bookshelves. The girl squinted as sun hit 
her eyes, about to call once again when a silhouette stepped out from behind the shelf, greeting 
her with a friendly salute.
“Right here, Madeline.” The nearly-nineteen-year-old greeted her, eyes crinkling in a 
smile as he reshelved a novel.
“I am tired of reading.” Madeline announced with all the authority of a nine-year-old. 
“Where are the friends who are coming today? Papa said they would be here by twelve, and it is 
nearly one.” She glared at the grandfather clock settled against the far wall declaring the time 
was indeed a quarter to one, as if accusing it of lying to her. Darian’s fumble with the book he 
was holding went unnoticed as he scrambled for a reply.
“Ah, there was a minor setback, I’m afraid.” He cleared his throat, leaning against the 
shelf in an attempt to feign nonchalance.
“What do you mean, minor setback?” Madeline’s attention snapped towards him, 
expressing the full force of a lonely child’s displeasure. This experience was something Darian 
had become accustomed to during his three years of working with the head's daughter, despite 
his repeated efforts to brighten her mood.
“The friends seem to have been... busy today.” He cleared his throat and offered an 
apologetic smile, knowing full well it wouldn’t be accepted. “Your Papa says that he has 
something better planned.” The upbeat reassurance was offset by the scuffing of shoes as he 
shifted his weight uncomfortably. This was not missed by Madeline, who wheeled her chair 
sharply to turn her back on him and return to the front of the library.
“Everyone is always busy! No one ever comes to play with me anymore.” Despondent, 
she refused to acknowledge the boy trailing after her.
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“And what am I, a stuffed toy?” He peered over her shoulder with a bright grin, as if the 
momentary unease from earlier was simply a fluke.
“You don’t count, you are supposed to play with me. It’s your job.” Madeline scrunched 
her nose, stopping sharply in front of the large oak doors to look up at him. Her caretaker let out 
a sigh, straightening up and running a hand through sandy hair in search for a reply. He knew 
what was to come, yet uncertainty had made its home in his gut. If all went well, neither of them 
would have to worry about what plans Madeline’s “Papa” had for her future. Even so, they were 
going to be cutting it fairly close. As he finally began to speak, a brisk knock cut him off, the 
voice of a Brother coming from the other side.
“Miss Bellace, The Father requests your presence in the Lavender Room.” At this, 
Madeline’s frown deepened into a glare, almost accusatory of Darian.
“Why would Papa call me to the Lavender Room? That is only for Cousins.” She 
demanded. Darian raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply, instead inclining his head towards the door 
in invitation. Showtime. Receiving only a huff in reply, he stepped forward to take the handles of 
Madeline’s chair and lead it out of the library only to be swatted away indignantly.
“I can do it myself, thank you!” She snapped. He obliged, holding the door open for her 
as she wheeled herself out.
The child and her caretaker made their way through the halls, only stopping for Darian to 
hook her chair into the lift at the staircase, then unhook it once at the bottom. The pair arrived at 
the doors to the Lavender Room, greeted by two Brothers who bowed their heads when they 
opened the doors for them.
The Lavender Room had been named after its decor. Sisters and Brothers added fresh 
lavender in the flower pots daily, sustaining the thick scent which hung in the air. The walls were 
painted the same shade as the flower, the trim of the walls accented in white. Everything was 
meticulously arranged, the polished wooden table perfectly centered, the eight chairs perfectly 
even all the way around. Even the few Nieces and Nephews who stood by the walls were 
alternating in a perfect pattern, specially trained to remain as still as statues. The overbearing 
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emphasis on perfection hung heavy, a guillotine in waiting over the pair’s head. For while the 
room was as pristine as a meeting room for Aunts and Uncles, the carefully crafted presentation 
only highlighted the darker undertones of its use. At each seating place, excluding the head of the 
table, a simple pair of iron cuffs were attached to the flat wooden surface. The headboards of the 
chairs were stained a dark, flaky red color, the sole surfaces that had not been diligently cleaned. 
A reminder of what it meant to fail. This room was meant for the Cousins. Those who made 
mistakes they could not repair. Mistakes necessary to clean from the Family’s tree. Yet 
Madeline, a Daughter who had never caused a blemish to the Family name, was now being 
called to this room, all for a demonstration of her recently discovered talent.
The Father sat at the head of the table, waiting patiently as Madeline entered, Darian 
silently trailing in after her.
“Hello, Papa.” Madeline greeted the Father, who nodded in reply.
“Hello, Madeline. Please, take your place.” He gestured to his right and Madeline 
wheeled herself to his side, Darian taking his rightful place behind her own right shoulder. 
Madeline looked up to the Father, all traces of irritation vanished. Instead, her face resembled 
that of a porcelain doll, entirely blank except for her eyes, both admiration and fear dancing 
within them. Although outwardly Darian kept calm, he teetered on the brink of terror, witnessing 
how easily the Father could have such an effect on the young girl. Not long now, and that will no 
longer be a worry. The reminder sat in his mind, reassuring.
“Do you know why I have called you here today?” The Father intoned. Madeline shook 
her head.
“No, Papa.” 
Darian cut back a sharp inhale as the Father gestured for the doors to be open, a Brother 
and Sister— no, Cousins now — escorted in. Their faces were bruised, eyes on the floor as their 
Godparents led them to their seats. Madeline’s porcelain face twisted into confusion as she 
looked between the Father and Cousins. 
“I... Do not understand.” She spoke hesitantly, a tone Darian had prayed he would never 
have to hear. The Father sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder almost affectionately.
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“Your Competence is quite strong now, is it not?” He asked. Madeline’s eyes widened, 
hands tightening her grip on her chair as if she wanted to protest.
“I- Papa, I do not believe I can-”
“You do not believe it? My dear Madeline, do you not recall the policy regarding 
belief?”
“‘If there is a remote possibility that an event should take place, one must believe in such 
a possibility.’” The young girl recited, expression shuttering back to her imitation of a porcelain 
doll. The Father nodded, satisfied.
“You know, then, what must be done.” He replied. Madeline nodded stiffly; eyes trained 
blankly forward. Darian flicked his gaze to the clock above the door, heart making its way to his 
throat. The Father turned his attention to the Cousins now seated at the table, hands firmly placed 
inside the cuffs. Their Godparents took their place by the doors silently, watching with little 
interest. “My children, you have failed us in a grave manner. You recognize the mistake you 
have made and are willing to accept the consequences. Thus, we shall proceed—”
The Father’s address was cut off by the lights going out, the underlying buzz of 
electricity that remains present in the awareness of the subconscious succumbing to an uneasy 
silence. The room fell silent as everyone waited for the backup generator to kick in.
It did not