Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
This is where we find even more rooms. So many more, I get the feeling that this dorm could hold several times the number of girls who just moved in. There are dining rooms, and seating rooms, and sewing rooms, and even a couple of kitchens.
Lucindy looks at me, bewildered. “What is all this?”
“I’m not sure,” I tell her.
“It’s like they had hundreds of us down here in the old days, not just seventy-five. Why would they need hundreds of Little Sisters?”
“Why, indeed.” I say this, but it comes out barely above a whisper because I’m distracted by another stairwell. I point at it. “There. Let’s go up now.”
Upstairs we can hear the other girls on the second level. Quite clearly, actually, because all the upper-story nook balconies are open to the canal room. But there are no doorways or hallways that connect this hidden second floor with the rest of the second floor.
Nor are there any bedrooms up here.
In fact, it’s just a small open area. Completely empty except for a single door built into the far wall.
Lucindy stops at the top of the stairs, frowning as she plants her hands on her hips. “Well, this was a letdown.” Then she turns and walks back down, calling out over her shoulder, “Are you coming? I want to check the wardrobes. Do you think we have new clothes yet?”
“Be right there,” I call after her. Because I’m curious about the door. Everything in this place is so pretty, but this door is kind of ugly. Gray, and metal, and… well, that’s pretty much it.
Strange. But whatever. I pull on the handle, but the door is locked. Part of me is relieved because it’s the first day and I don’t want to think about this weird space or this weird door. I just want to relish the fact that I live in this spectacular dorm. I want to go to the gala tonight, and dance, and laugh, and eat sweet things, and pretend like the god isn’t the devil I know him to be. I want to be like all the up-city people who think that all this luxury is free.
Just one night. That’s all I want. A few hours to appreciate the fact that after six years of classes, and lectures, and spark practice—I’ve made it.
I made it past the first Choosing. And sure, there was special treatment involved. I mean, I am destined to be here. But still, I put in the work. I deserve one night to shine, and be special, and be celebrated for the fruits of my labor.
So I go back down and rejoin my friends, putting the weirdness of the space and the mysterious door out of my mind.
Instead, I start poking through drawers (which contain nightclothes, and other comfort garments) and opening armoires (empty, because all our gala dresses are made specially for each event) and peeking into cupboards—which, depending on the space they’re in, contain snacks and other small kitchen items or personal hygiene things.
When all that is done, I walk over to the sitting area right along the edge of our portion of the stone canal and flop back into the overstuffed and extraordinarily soft cushions as my gaze wanders. I watch other girls chat excitedly as they make themselves at home in their new Little Sister nooks.
The dorm is even more spectacular than I could’ve ever imagined. Just the color scheme alone is something I could look at all day. Except for the five of us, all the other Little Sisters are from up-city, so they’re used to the trademark sun-bleached blue and soothing neutral tones. And, of course, I’ve seen my share of this up-city décor as well. I have been coming up here for classes since I pledged myself to the god when I was twelve.
But I am, and forever will be, from down-city where homes don’t really have a décor. Furnishings are handmade out of scraps, mostly. There are some heirlooms, of course. Nice things a family has cherished over the generations, like a dining table or a glass-shaded lamp. But matching pillows and rugs? Sheer, billowing curtains that could be made into dozens of dresses? Quaint, round-paned windows in the walls and ceilings meant to direct sunlight into very specific areas of grand rooms?
No. Down-city is downtrodden. But we make do and we are happy with what we have.
And I’m not saying that the up-city girls are selfish, or wasteful, or entitled. I think, after all the years of social classes, all the years of learning polite manners and how to properly thank the god for your place in his world, that we’ve all come together at a certain level. They, the up-city girls, humbled themselves along the way, while us down-city girls accept the idea that there’s more to life than what we were born with.