Ozara
Brooke Kyle
Anah awoke before dawn again. She had grown accustomed to keeping early hours. It
was useful to be awake before anyone else in the house, when darkness allowed her to pursue her
plans without interruption.
She dressed quickly, and grabbed a rough sack from the back of her closet she had
packed and hidden there days ago. She stopped to give Sejza—still asleep by the fire—a pat on
the head before silently escaping her bedroom. Marfa had been more vigilant since catching
Anah reading from the forbidden books in the library. For several nights the governess had slept
in the hallway, just outside Anah’s bedroom, but last night the old, uncomfortable chair had
become disagreeable enough for Marfa to retire her watch and return to her own bedroom. Anah
had heard Marfa’s futile argument with the chair, followed by her final resignation of defeat, and
took this turn of events as a sign to move forward with her plans to make contact with the other
wor ld.
Anah made her now-routine journey past Marfa’s bedroom, and the doorways of several
empty rooms, before reaching the top of the staircase. She descended the stairs slowly, stopping
on each one to ensure her steps were light. Once downstairs, she stood in the foyer and held her
breath a moment, listening for any movement. The house was still with a cold, and barren
silence. The journey to the back door from the staircase was long, and it required passage
through a hallway lined with the living quarters of the sluga—the household servants—so Anah
chose the closer, but bolder pathway out of the house. Wrapping one gloved hand around the
handle of the front door latch, Anah closed her eyes and prayed as she slowly pushed the lever
down until she heard the slight ‘click’ of the lock announce the arrival of her temporary freedom.
She slipped through the open door as quickly as she could, and gently pressed it closed
behind her. As the frigid, morning air stung her cheeks she wrapped her face in a cloth, leaving
only her eyes exposed. Tiny beads of ice formed on the tips of her eyelashes. She embraced
herself for a moment before carefully traversing the steps down to the garden. There was very
little light to illuminate her path. The moon was waning, and Anah’s grandmother, Rani, had
ordered the streetlamps around their house taken out long ago. The old woman claimed the
ambient light disturbed her sleep, even through heavy curtains.
The journey to the lake was blessedly short. Venedict, the proprietor of the coffeehouse,
was just opening his shop for the day. He smiled and waved to Anah, and she quickened her pace
toward him. Venedict was one of the few people in town Anah felt she could count on to not
report back to Rani at having seen the girl out of the house at such an early hour. The lake of
Ozera was a fundamental medium in the practice of storytelling, and the man considered it his
sworn duty to keep the activities of those who visited the lake in confidence.
Anah entered the coffeehouse, and unraveled the scarf from her face.
“I thought that was you,” said Venedict, “It’s a little hard to tell with the scarf, and
without Sejza. Where is your lovely dog?”
“At home,” Anah replied, “I needed to come alone today.”
“Oh, I see. Can I get you anything?”
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