Wretched

Wretched.

The mirror slipped from my grasp, shattering into a hundred fragments on the floor. I didn’t notice the colors the glass casted on the tower walls, or the tiny pin-pricks of pain on my feet.

Wretched.

”N-No..” the word slipped out. I stumbled back, away from the shards of glass, away from the truth. But how? It was impossible-

“Lyre!” Sunday’s voice came from my left, and a second later he’s placing a steadying hand on my arm. It was only when he did so that I realized how much I’d been shaking.

”No, s-stay away from me!” I jerked back from his grasp, stepping on more of the glass shards in the process. I could feel the blood seeping from the gashes, but I didn’t care. Instead, my life was flashing before my eyes in rapidfire; every smile, every memory, every moment with my parents. The times they’d assured me that I was Worthy, that my birth parents had been Worthy too. I’d believed them, and fought to make sure everyone else had as well. I’d refused to believe the naysayers and the gossip. Being Worthy had been my salvation, my lifeline.

But the mirror had told a different story.

Wretched.. it had rasped. You’re nothing but a Wretched, miserable girl. Just like your parents.

In a society like Vita’s, it was my damnation.

Wretched or Worthy.. you were either one or the other. Decided, from birth, by the Watchers. It was unquestionable.

”Lyre, talk to me.” Sunday’s desperate plea broke through the fog in my mind and I glanced up at him. His handsome face held worry, but in his eyes shone understanding. He knew what I’d seen in the Mirror.

I couldn’t look at him.

”I.. this can’t..” my voice sounded strangled and I swallowed before trying again. “I can’t be Wretched! I can’t be like-“

”-Me?” A sharp note rang in his tone.

I flinched, blinking a few times before realizing my error. “N-no,” I tried to correct myself. “You.. you’re-“

”-Different?” Sunday interjected once more. He folded his arms, giving me a hard stare.

I hung my head in shame. The truth was, I still hated the Wretched, didn’t I? I still believed all the things the Council had told us: that the Wretched were dirty, despicable people. That they had no good in them, and never would.

They were irredeemable. Austricized.

And these were the main reasons why I couldn’t be Wretched. I just couldn’t.

Sunday still stood before me, awaiting an answer. I met his sky blue eyes with my own, feeling torn.

Sunday wasn’t despicable. He wasn’t irredeemable.

But he was still a Wretch.

What did that mean?

I shook my head. “Something must be wrong.” I was lying to the both of us, and he knew it. “The Mirror had to have been a fake, or perhaps it’s lost its power, or..” my voice trailed off and I clenched my fists.

Sunday spoke for me. “You’re Wretched, Lyre. The Mirror doesn’t lie.” His expression was grim.

There were a few moments of silence while I thought of my response. The sun had nearly made its journey across the sky, bathing the room in hues of gold and red. The shadows had grown long, dancing across the floor and planes of our faces.

For every bit of light, there was always a shadow.

Worthy and Wretched.

“My parents wouldn’t lie to me,” I insisted, feeling angry. “They can’t lie. They’re both Worthy!”

”You really believe that?” Sunday gave me an incredulous look.

My stare was pure fire, but words left me.

That was the big question: did I truly believe that those of Worth couldn’t lie?

Flashes of memories raced through my vision once more, only this time they were from our journey over the past couple of days. We’d seen and heard of many things, both good and bad. Both from Wretches and those of Worth.

My resolve began to splinter. Had everything been a lie? How could everything be a lie?

”I told you before, Lyre,” Sunday said, seeming to understand my thoughts. “The Council isn’t as sinless as it seems.”

I slowly sunk to the floor, the mirror shards like a net around me. “How?” My question came out breathless.

The whole point of this ‘quest’ had been to prove my innocence; to prove my Worth. I’d been determined to show everyone that I was deserving of their acceptance, despite my dubious origins. I wasn’t different from them.

I had my answers.. but now there were far more questions.

A bitter chuckle escaped me. “Maybe you were right,” I said. “Maybe my parents did name me ‘Lyre’ for its double meaning.” I took a shaky breath. “I could qualify as a ‘liar’ now. Happy?”

Sunday seemed to sense my pain, and lowered himself to sit beside me. “If it helps,” he began almost hesitantly, “I don’t care that you’re Wretched.”

I turned to look at him, my eyes filled with unshed tears. “Of course you’d say that,” I whispered. “You’re a Wretch.”

He nodded unashamedly. “I won’t deny it. I’ve said.. and done things that I regret. By the Council’s definition, I’m as Wretched as can be.” He paused before meeting my gaze again. “But what do you think? Do the Council’s admonitions match up to what you’ve seen yourself?”

He didn’t give me enough time to respond. “And even then, you being Wretched. Do you think you match up to the Watchers’ definition?”

I bit my lip. “Well.. no,” I admitted, “but who am I to question the Watchers? They see all.”

Sunday raised an eyebrow: Really?

If I’d asked questions like this a week ago, I’d be guilty of heresy and treason. I’d have even scolded myself for such unbelief. But now, everything seemed baseless. The ‘truth’ seemed shaded and out of reach.

What even was truth?

I glared at Sunday. “You act like this is so easy because you were raised among the Wretched.” He didn’t refute my statement. “But you don’t know what it’s like on the Splendor side of Vita.”

I turned my gaze to the tower walls, noting the beams of light twirling from the shards of glass. “Yes, we’re Worthy and privileged. But we work for it, everyday.” I closed my eyes as more memories resurfaced. “We do good, abide by the Codes, and try to live up to our labels of Worth. We’re taught these virtues as babes, and are expected to take them into adulthood. We work for paradise and acceptance, and when said acceptance is questioned..”

It was only then that I realized I was holding back more tears. I blinked rapidly, working to keep them at bay before continuing. “.. Of course we work even harder. We study the Codes even more. We strive to match the Watchers’ definition of Worth. We assure ourselves and our beliefs.

Sunday stiffened. “But why? Why worry so much about acceptance?” His gaze held bewilderment. “Does the acceptance of strangers matter so much to you?”

Yes. Yes, it did. It had.

He wasn’t the child of Council members.

He hadn’t walked through life hearing the constant whispers.

There goes that girl again.. the one who was adopted.

She’s not like us, is she?

No one knows exactly where she came from. Her parents insist she’s Worthy by birth, but who knows..

She’s.. different.

Sure, my parents’ act of adopting me could be seen as Worth-filled. But that hadn’t automatically made me Worthy. It hadn’t silenced the gossip, or stopped the cold-shoulders I received.

Then there was Sunday. He hadn’t trusted me when I’d first chased him down, obviously. But I knew now that he didn’t see me like they did. In fact..

I looked up into his eyes and found my confirmation. If anything, it seemed I’d caught him off-guard; a faint flush colored his features. But his eyes.. they shone with genuine concern and determination and..

..Something softer—warmer—that I didn’t want to name. Not yet.

Was it enough to be accepted by him, and him only? Or..

Was it enough to simply accept myself?

It was a scary question, and one I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer. Doing so would mean calling into question everything I’d been taught my entire life. Everything that I’d believed, and defended even to Sunday’s face.

The thing was, if I didn’t believe the Council and the Watchers, who did I believe? Sunday? Yes, he was clever and kind and—unfortunately—gorgeous, but he was still a trickster and a liar. Not only that, but he’d alluded to other things he’d done before. At this thought, my gaze strayed to the strange tattoo on the inside of his wrist.

No. Not an option.

Should I then choose to believe myself?

What did I believe?

”Lyre.” Sunday’s voice broke through my thoughts, somewhat anchoring me.

I glanced up to find him gripping my hand and gave him a quizzical look. “What is it?”

He pulled me to my feet, and I fought to ignore the stings of pain. “We need to get moving. The Council’s still on our tail, and if they find out that the Mirror was shattered, things are going to get a lot worse.”

I blanched. “Right. Sorry.”

Sunday paused and gave me one last intent look. “You okay?”

Yes. No. Never. Maybe.

I forced a weak smile. “We’ll see.”

The Wretch gave my hand one last squeeze before stepping toward the tower window.

I studied him for a second before turning to gaze at the shattered mess around me. It seemed like a fitting manifestation of my story.

I’d entered as the Worthy daughter of Councillors.

Now, I was leaving as the offspring of a Wretched man and woman.