Story Playlist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QPCwqppZsA&list=PL8258BE81A97522E5&index=11
A Lesson of Rings
Stones bear no mind to pain,
They need not heed to the sufferings of man.
The day wears on, bleak and sinister as the last twelve years I've been here, but there's an ominous energy prickling at the air. However, it's not the kind of foreboding that claws at your stomach with a nervous panic. It's more of a dooming anticipation. I can see it in nearly everyone's face. It makes me wonder, makes me think; but thinking is not always a good thing.
The tray in my hand stills my pondering, reminding me I am still a prisoner to this place. The hallway is empty save for myself and the muffled sounds of my soft footsteps on the stone floors. I freeze mid-stride at the sound of voices. Though they are quiet, I subtly make out her voice. A shiver touches my skin as the temperature seems to drop suddenly from warm to cold in a matter of seconds. The voices stop and the Queen's voice echoes out from the room at the end of the hall.
"Come in." She says, smooth but dark.
My throat feels thick but I force my legs to move closer, closer, closer. As I step through the doorway to the War room, the coldness turns icy and the shock of it takes my breath away. Moving forward, I keep my eyes on the ground, but I see Lukas is standing across from the Queen, staring out the window. Signs of frustration show in his tense shoulders, and deep thought lurks behind his blue eyes.
Nervously, I set the tray on the map covered table and pour tea into the Queen's shiny gold cup. As I bring her her cup, my foot catches on an uneven stone in the floor, and to my horror, the cup falls out of my hand, spilling tea on her charcoal grey gown and on the map in her hands.
An invisible hand slaps me hard across the face. Lifting my fingers to my face, they come away stained with red.
"Twenty Lashes. Lukas, you will watch to make sure her punishment is acted out." She says. Not a hint of emotion laces her words. "Now get out of my sight."
Seven. Eight. Nine, I count. The razor edges of the whip slash against my bare back, droplets of vermilion painting a portrait of a tortured girl on the cold floor. It's not my first time being in this room, and I know it will not be my last. My fingers are slick with blood, and I bite back my screams with every lash, tears stinging my eyes and staining my face. How much longer before I'm allowed to die? I wonder. Did my sister have to suffer this very way? Did she die this way? I do not know the answers to these questions, all I know is that I haven't seen my sister in eleven years and that she must be dead, but I hold onto the dying hope that maybe she's alive somewhere, hidden away or free.
I try not to think about the man striking me with the whip, a man who years ago was only a boy obeying the orders of his mother, or the man standing in the shadow, having to watch my torture being dragged on.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Crack... crack... crack. My body convulses with each stab, each new wound, every added scar. As it comes down for the fifteenth time, the ring on my left hand slips off my finger and onto the hay and blood crusted floors. A spontaneous flash of white shocks my eyes and the tips of my fingers and toes start tingling. It travels up my spine to the backs of my eyes and disappears as quickly as it came. My eyes clear but there's a faint silver tint to my vision, and a wave of dizziness hits me. Looking around in a panic, my eyes land on a guard standing by the entrance way. I see his eyes widen with a look of intense shock and fear as blood swells from his chest, a gaping hole where his heart should be. Becoming disoriented, I feel myself falling, my head hitting against the grimey stones. The last thing I remember is Lukas running towards me with concern, and the devilish smirk of a twisted and malicious murderer.
I’m standing in a field of wheat, watching as Elara walks towards me, her flaxen blonde hair in a braid, her eyes bright as emeralds. I feel myself smile and it feels liberating. Then her eyes widen with a bitter sadness and she falls to her knees, scarlet draping her once white dress. A knife is in her side, a knife belonging to a honey haired young man with eyes like the inky blackness of death and a smile verging on malignant and venomous. I reach for my sister's clammy hand but my skin burns. Fire. Fire everywhere, eating everything with its piercing, unforgiving jaws.
I snap awake, a cold sweat chilling my skin and reminding me of the fresh wounds on my back. I breath in a few deep breaths to calm myself before I take in my surroundings. I'm lying on a soft four poster bed, there is sparse furniture spread about the room save a brass wash tub, sink, a table and a single chair. Confusion takes hold of me while pieces of what happened slowly fill the gaps in my memory.
I stand, first unsteady, then balanced. Looking around, my gaze gravitates towards the only window in the room. For once in what seems like an eternity, the sun shows through the clouds, giving rejuvenating light to everything below it. I race to the window, hands pressing against the cool glass. My heart sinks to see that there are steel bars locking me inside, but I try to keep my spirits up by savoring the warmth.
After a few quiet minutes pass, the sound of the door's creaky hinges touches my ears and I spin around to see a member of the kitchen staff with a tray of food.
Walking gingerly to her I ask, "Sarah, what's going on? Why am I here?"
She doesn't reply. She keeps her brown eyes locked on the floor and mechanically sets the tray down on the table and swiftly leaves the room with the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Furrowing my brows, I take a peek at the food on the tray. A few slices of turkey with lumpy mash and a green apple. My stomach rumbles and while I know I should eat, I just can't bring myself to, so I drag the chair over to the window and sit down. I imagine the bars melting away along with the window, allowing me an opportunity to escape. To taste the sweet Autumn air; but dreams are dreams, and not all dreams come true.
I don't know how much time passes. I might have been sitting here for hours, days, minutes, seconds, but at some point the door opens again and I listen to the sound of rustling fabric. Turning my head slowly, I meet the gentle eyes of Lukas. He stands at the edge of the bed, where a neatly folded black tunic and black pants await. A few awkward minutes pass before he clears his throat and speaks.
"You should eat."
I keep my silence.
"Please, eat." He requests.
I look at him curiously.
"I'm not here to harm you, I swear."
My voice comes out rough and soft and unfamiliar. "Why?"
"Why what?" He asks.
"Why should you care if I eat or not, if I live or die? What does it matter to you? You don't know me. You don't know, and yet you speak kindly, with concern. Why is that?"
He's quiet for a long moment, contemplative. "Why should I not care or hold concern?"
"What did I do turn her head so much that she would actually treat me with a bed and food? What have I done to gain her interest? I have nothing left to be taken." I feel hollow, like a tired ghost of a person forced to keep living to serve and get tortured. I just want to die.
"You killed a man just by looking at him."
ns 15.158.61.48da2
