Does it really count as a whisper if I can hear them from across the room? I can feel their glances prick my skin.

“Poor, fragile little Odessa.”

The words stroke my ear. I know my stoic expressions unnerve them. They think I’m breaking on the inside, or maybe that I’m just holding the floodgates back.

Neither are true. I just need to be alone. The servants always have their eyes on me. Pity, pity, and more pity. I hate pity. I grew up in the manor without my parents. My father went down in war, and my mother in childbirth. I had an older brother once. If I think hard enough I can remember his eyes.

But one day he just left. My nursemaid told me it was for a noble cause. Something about taking up the sword my father laid down, but it’s been fifteen years. No one knows if he is alive or dead. To be honest it can stay that way for all I care. He was all I had left in the world, but he couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye. So to me, he died that day too.

The little lonely lady. That’s what the maids would call me. I was always quiet in emotions and speech. I didn’t have much to say, and I sure didn’t have much to feel.

At least that’s what I thought. My old nursemaid managed the manor until I came of age. She perfered to hire her kind of people, meaning that young children or mothers with children my age were far and few.

But there was one.

His name was Malick. He worked in the stables and lived in the servant’s quarters. I was eleven when we were first introduced. From that day on I visted the horses a lot more often. Sometimes I would help with his chores so that we could play down by the brook. The best days of my youth were spent in that manner. I didn’t love him right away, no matter what he may claim, but over time I loved him best of all.

He understood what it meant to be lonely. He didn’t have anyone else, and without the job at the manor, Malick would have been destatute. He made me want to talk to him, but he never listened. It was much more than listening. He understood what I said and felt it even deeper than I felt it myself. Our souls were so deeply connected that the universe itself could see that together we were complete.

I would have married him. He would have asked. We would have been happy. But life does enjoy her tragic twists.

The doctor said it was quick and painless. Malick was thrown from his horse, and his head struck a stone when he fell. That was on the eve of my twentieth birthday. He had been on his way back from town with a gift for me. It was a small music box which played the sweetest little tune I had ever heard. And inside the box was a dainty diamond ring.

But I am not broken. I am saddned but not destoyed. The fact that this surprises anyone proves that they never understood. Malick is me. His soul never left from mine. They are forever interwoven, and sometimes when I’m alone he visits.

In my room away from the servants’ prying eyes, I gently pull the music box from out of my pocket. I wind the delicate handle, and the music twinkles throughout the room. Then there he is. There he always is.

Malick offers me his hand, and we dance. Sometimes I quesiton if this is real, or if maybe I really am insane, but Malick always whispers in my hear.

“Odessa, my love, I will haunt you for all eternity.”

By the time the music stops, he is always gone. I can still feel him close by, but he is just out of sight. I always sigh and whisper back, “Until tomorrow, Malick. I’ll save you your dance.”

And he never disappoints to appear when the music starts playing it’s tragic little tune.