The Queen of Snow looks panicked. Looks at Seth, who says nothing. He’s still looking at the ocean dripping from my eyes, getting his own sustenance.
“An amuse-bouche,” the Queen of Snow declares. “Only an amuse-bouche to get things started. The true Feast is just beginning. And for this next course, the next two courses, rather—the pièce de résistance, so to speak—we owe so much to our most honored and esteemed guest.” And here she touches Seth’s shoulder. But he takes one look at her hand there on his shoulder and she lifts it immediately.
“He is responsible for tonight’s main menu. Both the hors d’oeuvres and the entrée, n’est-ce pas?” And she laughs, but Seth does not laugh. The veiled ones make sounds of interest.
“Allow me to recount the story,” the Queen of Snow begins, standing at the helm of the table. “We had a most surprising Catch of late, one of our most intriguing Roses to join the Depths. Not even a Perfect Candidate, if you can believe. A paying Vessel who walked willingly through our front doors in the light of day.” Lake’s blood spatter gleams on her white face.
“And yet, when we did the extractions, what we found was quite unexpected.” She looks at me in the dark. “Quite an extraordinary story, quite a Rose we found hidden inside that Vessel.” She smiles, licks some of Lake’s blood spray from the corner of her mouth. “Of the intergenerational variety, no less. Repressed as we like it best. And chock-full of our very favorites.” And here she winks at me—does she wink at me? “Délicieux.”
The veiled ones make sounds of delight. “Chock-full. Repressed. Of the intergenerational variety. How succulent.”
“Why we have always insisted on casting the widest of nets,” the Queen of Snow jokes, winking at the Statues of Cold, who laugh a little, gripping their nets tight. Laughter too from the veiled ones.
“C’est ?a.”
“Tout à fait.”
“But unfortunately this Vessel,” she sighs, “expired prior to the last Harvest. Wandered away from us as they sometimes are wont to do. Fell upon some rocks. Rendering its delectable Rose quite uncatchable, quite lost to the Depths, ever elusive to our nets and hands. Malheureusement.” She makes a fake sad face at me. “As you well know, a Rose can only be caught by its own Vessel.”
The veiled ones make sad sounds. “Ah oui. Too true. This travesty, this wastefulness occurs at times. And it really shouldn’t.”
“Stricter security has since been put in place, bien s?r,” offers the Queen of Snow.
“Good, good.”
“What we like to hear.”
“But how lucky”—and now the Queen of Snow smiles—“how formidable for us that this prize Vessel had a daughter Vessel. And this daughter Vessel came to visit our little Maison most recently. Found its own way here. And it had a most delectable Rose too, did it not? A Rose that our most esteemed guest planted with his own hands.”
She turns to Seth, who’s staring at me.
“When we first glimpsed his signature, his mark upon its brow, you can imagine our great excitement. Hence our invitation to have him join us tonight. And he came most willingly, didn’t you?”
Seth says nothing. Still staring at me.
“It grew into quite a flower.” The Queen of Snow smiles. “Which we did manage to pluck. A Perfect Candidate, obviously, given its lineage. Repressed and full of our favorites, too. Positively brimming with them, just like its mother. Perhaps more than its mother. It has now joined the Depths. And it is our belief that this daughter Vessel should be able to catch both the mother and daughter Roses for us this evening. Ce soir! Two birds, one stone. Or rather two Roses, one Vessel. Or rather two fish, one net. Should make for a most unforgettable Feast. Inoubliable.”
“Inoubliable,” murmur the veiled ones delightedly. “A most happy turn of events.” They applaud lightly.
A mother and daughter Rose, I think. “Well that is an interesting story. Very intéressante, isn’t it, Lake? But what is this about the Roses being repressed? Full of our favorites, they said. What are the favorites, I wonder. What makes them so délicieux?”
But Lake isn’t here anymore. She must have left or something? Which is a shame since we seem finally just about to eat. Feeling a little nervous now, can’t say why exactly. Maybe it’s the thorns around my waist. Also when I think the question What? What are we about to eat?
“A very interesting story,” I say to the very white woman beside me, to cover the nerves. “About two Roses and one Vessel, the mother and daughter. Did you happen to hear?” But she, like all the moonbright ones, is still looking deep into her mirror tray with her old eyes. Smiling at her sin.
Two Statues of Cold are now walking toward me.
The flowers around my waist unfasten like a belt and go wriggling back into the wall when the Statues approach. Their faces are so extraordinarily beautiful up close that I can do nothing but stare. My breath is gone from my throat. My heart has stopped. I can only look upon these faces, smoother and more moonbright than mine or Lake’s could ever dream of being. Than any face could ever dream of being. Everything I look at for the rest of my life will pale in comparison to these faces. Their eyes have universes in them, complete with forests and mountains and seas and starry skies and beyond, to the outer black. On either side of me, they lean in close. I smell what I know is heaven, stardust. The cold burning of the outer black.
“You have been Selected, Daughter,” they say with their perfect shining lips. They have the voices of angels. I hear their words like a chorus not only in my ears but deep in my heart, making it Brighten.
“I have been Selected?”
“You,” says one with their angel voice. Making me shiver.
“You,” says the other.
“Oh my god,” I whisper. “I.”
They take my arms, one takes one and one the other, and it is the most perfect touch, the softest caress. The touch of these hands knows everything I have ever wanted. It’s promising it to me as they lead me now, gently, slowly, to the water garden they call the Depths, full of red jellies or Roses floating. The most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen in my life, I realize, now that I’m really here. Now that I’m seeing it up close, standing right by the glass pool, my arms in their hands on either side of me. Under the moon still full and beaming its silver light down on us from the sky above.
“How beautiful,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it?” says one.
“Here,” says the other. She releases one of my hands from the tray I’m gripping, and tips into my palm a handful of rose petals.
“Drop those into the water. Go ahead, Daughter.”
I drop the red petals into the open throat of the tank, where they fall upon the blue-green water. For a moment we watch them float prettily on its very still surface.
“It’s pretty,” I say, turning to the Statues of Cold. But they won’t turn their faces to me. They’re still watching the water, waiting. For what?
I feel the waiting behind me too. A table of veiled ones waiting. The Queen of Snow waiting. Seth waiting. The waiting like a held breath. And then it happens. A red jelly swims up to the surface. Begins to nibble on the petals. It is a giant jelly. My jelly. The one Lake mocked, calling it my prince, my fairy godfish. The one that followed me along the corridor of water. How ugly it is, Lake said. But Lake was wrong. I would tell her, wherever she is. It is not ugly. It’s not beautiful like the Statues of Cold either. What is it?
Mine is the word that comes.
“Mine,” I say to the Statues, who just stare at the water. They still look like they are waiting.
And then a second, slightly smaller jelly swims up and begins to nibble the petals too. It swims right up beside the bigger jelly, the two now side by side. The big and the little. Like they know each other well. Maybe the big one is the parent of the little one. The mother and the daughter? That is sweet.
Behind me, I hear applause from the veiled ones at the table. “Excellent. Very good. Ah, a triumph.”
And then a Statue is touching my hand. Handing me her big net. “To catch both your Roses with, Daughter,” she says.