Suitable Skin
by Asenath Grey
part 1
When I took that girl out of the river, her flesh felt piscine in its smoothness and coolness. Her body, with its vitality sapped by the water and the effort, flopped in my arms. For a moment, she didn’t seem very different from the fish Cassandra caught for our sustenance: just as vulnerable, just as animal. I felt almost fond of her at that moment, despite the trouble she put me through; I was wet through with river water.
Then she opened her eyes and started sobbing, and she looked nothing but human once more. I almost threw her out of my arms in disgust. Instead, I took her to the house. It was large, a manor, as the locals would call it, the house that I shared with my three sisters. We did not keep company, and it was unpleasant to take the girl in, but I was mindful of the consequences if I abandoned her by the river, chilled through and wet.
Straining, I dragged her back. Cassandra was the first to look upon the girl. She was at the doorway, intently counting the patterns across the floor. She only looked at me and said nothing. She never said much, but I could always see the meaning behind the human eyes. Without a comment, she grabbed the girl’s ankles and helped me lift more comfortably. Together, we took her to one of the spare bedrooms.
The straining and commotion brought Cecilia. She snuck into the room, watching us. “What is this? What have you brought, Clotilda?” she said, craning her neck to see. “A village girl, here?”
“I found her half-drowned in the river,” I said with difficulty. “If her family had searched for her and found her body on our grounds, what do you think they’d have done?” I was huffing and puffing with the effort of lifting, and Cassandra was in even worse shape. My body was middle-aged, by local standards, and hers was almost ancient.
“Well, Camilla will need to know,” she said, emphasizing my first sister’s name. I glared at her; she grinned rather spitefully. In a different time, I would have struck her, but now she was younger and stronger. She could easily break my fragile bones if she wished.
Cecilia left, shouting Camilla’s name, and Cassandra and I arranged the girl on the bed as well as we could, lighting a fire and bringing towels to dry her. I was straining to contain my disgust. “Perhaps she will be grateful,” Cassandra whispered.
I had little knowledge of the locals, and it was reluctantly gained. But they were a fearful lot, more likely to hate than love. I doubted Cassandra’s hope, and I already regretted saving that one. Why had I chosen today of all days to walk outside?
Soon I heard heavy footsteps approaching; I took a breath to steel myself as Camilla entered the room. She took one look at the figure in the bed, then her human eyes moved to me. “Explain,” she said simply.
I repeated what I’d said to Cecilia and even suggested what Cassandra had, earlier. Camilla didn’t look so very angry, and that was a good sign. “But perhaps you should not be here right now,” I suggested.
Camilla raised her eyebrows at the idea of my telling her where she should be and when. “Why?”
“Your body,” I said. “The girl might be affected.” Camilla was, after all, the male of the family. Of all of us, with her consciousness being chthonic unlike our own celestial. Her mind was westward when ours was southerly; she had first pick of which body to take. She had chosen the single male in understanding of its elevated position with the locals. But she did not always enjoy it. And I was aware that males had strange effects on the females here. Who knows what might happen if the girl woke up in her weakened state and saw Camilla in the room?
“Nonsense, Clotilda,” she said carelessly. “You need to read more. There is no danger. Should we not try to rouse her, see what she says?”
So we set about the girl with pinches and voices in her ear and even a slap by my own hand, which pleased me. In the end she awoke, startled. By then she’d already begun to warm. “Oh...oh, God help me,” she said. “Where am I? Where is my mother?”
“We found you by the river,” Camilla said, in her tenderest voice. She was usually the one communicating with the locals, and rightfully, as she was the most skillful at it. Cassandra was too quiet, Cecilia too malicious, and I too disgusted to allow for any fruitful interactions. “You were unconscious, so we brought you here. Would you like to go back to your mother now?”
The girl looked much too dazzled by Camilla to my liking. She sat up but made a pained noise as she did so, then sank back into the covers. “I... oh, perhaps in a few days? I am feeling so very weak,” she breathed.
In the end the girl wrote a note for her mother, which Cassandra was tasked to deliver later. She asked for some nourishment, and I volunteered to bring her some broth, for I was glad to leave the room. She sickened me.
Camilla stayed and spoke to her and when, in the end, the girl slept, Camilla was able to slip away. She told us the girl’s name. I did not enjoy its sound upon the human mouth, so I let myself forget it. I remember her last name was Morris.
The girl did not leave the next day, or the day after that. She never ventured beyond her bedroom, which we kept warm by a constant fire, and Camilla would often visit her. Sometimes I heard floating snippets of conversation as I went by the room, and sometimes even laughter.
* * *
Our daily routine, before Morris came, was very dreary. We each prepared the barest minimum of sustenance needed for the bodies, and the rest was spent as we wished. I enjoyed closing my eyes and remembering our home. Our real home, so far away now, perhaps lost to us forever after our exile. It was Camilla’s responsibility and, as her sisters, we shouldered it with her.
Camilla read quite a bit. Cassandra enjoyed going outside, hunting for small animals, fungi and plants she might bring back for our food. There was a wood behind our manor, and Cassandra was deft with snares and traps. She brought back wood, too. Her body was old, but the ache of her daily exertions revitalised her.
I could barely venture outside, into the unfamiliar sickly sun and thick air. It was suited for the carcass I wore, yes, but my soul remembered, and it rebelled.
Cecilia mostly wrote. What, I did not know and never asked. I glanced at her scribblings once. The symbols were familiar, our language, but the words were gibberish. Perhaps it was a code, or mad ramblings; I would not be surprised by either.
Little changed with Morris’s arrival, except we had to prepare an extra meal for her. I was indignant on Cassandra’s behalf, but she said nothing.
One day I resolved to speak some sense to Camilla, and I visited her in her room at night. She was sitting comfortably on a chair, reading. And she was smiling, a rare occurrence usually, but not as rare lately. “I feel we haven’t seen each other in some time,” she said.
I sat myself on the chair opposite her. “You spend a lot of time with the girl, and you know how much these locals disgust me.” I shuddered. There had been mirrors in the common rooms when we arrived, and I covered them all with dark cloth. I did not want to look even at my own reflection; inhabiting this body was enough. I could feel the muscles, slick and bloodied, sliding back and forth over the bones every time I made the tiniest movement. My eyeballs sloshed wet inside their cavities whenever I looked. But closing my eyes was almost worse; millions of tiny critters feasted upon every inch of my skin, millions more inside my gut, my nose, my mouth. I could barely face another’s monstrousness when I was so aware of my own.
“You are making it difficult for yourself,” she chided. “You should get used to this. The news from home isn’t as good as I’d hoped. We might have to stay here much longer than I thought.”
The body had its own reactions of grief, too; a heavy feeling in the chest cavity. The eyes, disgustingly, became even wetter. “I had thought perhaps cousin would have considered a pardon by now.” I left an accusation unspoken; it would not matter. It was Camilla’s own fault we were exiled, and I made my displeasure clear in my time.
“Him!” Camilla laughed. “We’ll have more luck waiting for his successor.” She looked at me. “Is that why you visit my chambers? Or have you considered my breeding plan?”
I shuddered again in disgust. “No. It is the girl. We should be sending her on her way, I think.”
“And why is that?”
“She should be at her home by now. Her family must be concerned. I wouldn’t want them to come up here with questions.” The locals could be annoyingly demanding.
“You needn’t worry about that,” my sister said. “She is keeping them aware, with notes and messages. If they come around, I know what to tell them. But even so, I enjoy her company.”
I almost stood. “I...I don’t understand. She... What is there to enjoy of her?”
“She is a pretty one. And pleasant too. She provokes reactions to the body sometimes.”
My sister was going native amongst the animals. This time I did not hold back. “I think,” I said carefully, “that you forget yourself, much like you did when you got us into this predicament.” I gestured around us, at the home, the bodies, the reduced circumstances. “Remember who you are. This flesh is your garment, it is not you.”
“I know that.” Camilla smiled sweetly. “Did you know that the locals change their garments daily?”
“What are you saying to me?” I wanted to leave the body at once. I wanted to go home, even though I wasn’t welcome there anymore. Anything would be better than here, where everything rebelled against me. Even my own sister.
“Nothing. I am merely pondering.” She took my hand roughly, knowing how I hated that. “Clotilda, you must adapt. You must change. Why not make a life here? With what we know, who we are, we could become queens amongst them.”
I yanked my hand out of hers and stood up. “You have forgotten yourself, but I have not. Very well. Amuse yourself with that little animal, if you want. When the rest of them come shouting for your blood, do not ask me to share your punishment again!”
I left her there, her jaw slack with shock. That night not even my memories could soothe me.
* * *
Morris, fed with the nourishment we went hungry for and with Camilla’s fascination, grew bold. She eventually left her room during the day, exploring the rest of the house. Anything that might be of particular interest was locked away. Still, she seemed quite taken by the dowdy interior of the ruin.
I could hear her praising the faded carpets and the moth-eaten curtains and the intricate carvings on the ceilings. Her praises would fall to deaf ears; Camilla cared little about the decor. If anything, she resented the poverty we lived in, we who had been raised in the lap of luxury.
Once, she was brave enough to come and speak to me as I sat in the parlour, looking out the stained glass window. One panel was coloured a vivid yellow; if I looked through it and let myself reminisce, I could almost imagine the sky of home. Bright golden skies and deep black mountain peaks, populated by aerial, bell-shaped animals whose bodies our people often inhabited. If I could keep that blissful image in my mind for some time, perhaps I’d dream of it.
“Mrs Castaigne?” It was Morris’ voice, shrill and unpleasant. I jolted. Somehow she had snuck up on me.
“Yes.” I wanted to order her away from my presence, but I had to maintain my act. Still, I could not bring myself to look at her directly.
“Your son told me how it was you that found me,” she simpered. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life and for the hospitality.”
So Camilla had at least given me credit for the rescue though, given the results, I could hardly rejoice in her generosity. “It was nothing, child. But I do hope your parents are not worried.” I coughed, looking at the floor. “You’ve been with us almost a week now.”
“Oh, it’s only my mother, and she’s quite alright with it. She says I’ve been quite a handful since my father passed, you know, from the Spanish flu...” Her legs were fidgeting nervously. “She said if you’re happy to have me, it might do me good. And your son did say how much he enjoys my company. I told him, you need to be around a young person that’s not your sister.” She giggled. “Not that I think you’re old, or your housekeeper is.”
I could hardly believe that Camilla had been such a fool as to encourage the girl in this manner but, lately, Camilla had been full of surprises. In my anger, I forgot my disgust. I lifted my eyes from the floor to look at her. She was a miserable little thing: pale and slight, she lacked colour. Like a bleached fish. My thoughts were angry:
The little fool thinks I’m old. I can take my mask off if you like, child. I can slice the repulsive thing all off, the skin and the flesh and the bones underneath, I can rip it off if you want to see me. I can show you who I really am. Perhaps you would prefer that?
I had done that once before. I remembered the gibbering, the smell of voided bowels. I might savour the girl’s reactions for a few moments, but the cleaning up afterwards would be dreadful.
“Of course not,” I said slowly.
“I suppose my point is, I feel like you’re my own second mother now,” she said. Impossibly, she fidgeted even more, and when I had nothing to say to that, either, she skittered away.
The encounter left me not only disgusted, but puzzled. I confronted Camilla later that day, seeking an explanation. “I believe she is sexually interested in the son,” she said easily.
“Sexually! You cannot be thinking—”
“No, I will not.” Camilla frowned at my presumption. “She seems so... eager for it, it would be foolish! And yet she holds back, I can sense it. Clearly she wants something from me, though I cannot fathom what.”
I had read quite a few books by then, and it became clear to me. “She is looking to marry you.” I used the word in the local language, since we had no equivalent in our own. “They do that here, the locals; some sort of legally recognised sexual union between males and females only. She is seeking to curry favour from me because I am part of your family.” In that at least, the locals were more similar to us than I’d assumed previously. The thought of such a commonality repulsed me.
“I doubt that,” Camilla said. The frown deepened. “She spoke to me of the circumstances the day you found her. She threw herself in the river. Some boy, a neighbour. He promised her such a union and then recanted. She was quite distraught over that. A wound so deep will not quickly heal.”
“This is exactly why she wants you now,” I said. “She must think you will be reliable where the boy failed to be. Let me cast her out, and we can forget about this.” I wanted Morris away from us; her desire would make trouble for us, as desires always did.
“Oh, not again, Clotilda,” she snarled and walked away from me. I was left watching the retreating body, powerless in my frustration.
* * *
Copyright © 2023 by Asenath Grey
