Lorelei

The whispers were the worst part. They started the moment I left my room, a soft, insidious hissing that trailed me like a poison fog.

Two maids by a towering vase of lilies would be leaning close, their words a rapid, excited patter, until they saw me. Then, silence. Their eyes would drop, their mouths snapping shut as if on a string.

I’d walk past, my chin held high in a pathetic mimicry of dignity, and the moment I was three steps away, the whispering would start again, a ...