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Look like the innocent flower,
but be the serpent underneath it.
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Abella, daughter of the High Lord of Spring is called the life of spring in her court. She is beloved by her people, and cherished by her family. She grew up silently lear...
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A strange feeling woke the sleeping princess from her slumber. The feeling had wrapped itself around her and threatened to strangle her with an overwhelming fear. She felt as though she was dripping in a think liquid and it was slowing her mind and movements. Her eyes were scanning the room, when she heard a voice softer than a whisper fill up the entirety of the room.
"Abella, Abella What a pretty little flower Something is lurking in the leaves and it signs with power Can you feel my preying eyes? From somewhere in the trees?"
In a flash she fought the feeling off and rose from her bed, eyes were wide with fear. She grabbed the dagger she kept by her bedside and glanced around her room searching for an intruder.
"Abella Abella What a pretty little flower Did you know that violets are blue? Your blood is red. The window was open And now I'm in your head."
She jumped from her bed and ran towards the door. It had never been like her to cower in fear, but this presence had caused an overwhelming feeling of dread, and she feared if she didn't get out now, she never would.
"Abella, Abella What a pretty little flower You have been hidden high up in your tower Don't you know that it is the end of your days I must pick you from the garden and watch as you wither and decay."
Her hands fumbled at the door handle and tears fell across her cheeks as the dark feeling took ahold of her again and this time entered through her mouth and filled her entire being. In seconds she was lying on the floor, before disappearing into nothingness.
***
I awoke to a guard kicking me in the ribs. The action should have caused me pain should have toppled me over in anguish, but I no longer felt anything. I hadn't for a while now. I'm not sure when the numbness set in, if it was when I could no longer tell where the cuts, bruises and welts began and where my skin ended. Possibly I no longer had smooth, untarnished skin. Maybe all of my bones were broken, and my skin was one large cut that continuously oozed blood.
Or it could have been when I stopped etching scratches into the wall for every day that I spent in the prison. I had filled up a large majority a wall in my cell with scratches.
One day a guard who was chattier than the rest had asked me how many days I had counted. '452' I replied. He laughed, a sound that I no longer made, and told me I was off by 137. I stopped counting after that, and I had no idea how many days had passed since then. I blamed my cell for my disorientation. It was a hollow cube made from grey concrete, one way in, no windows. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, or if it was even night or day.
Possibly I became numb when I stopped fighting for my freedom. I had tried constantly in the beginning; I killed the guards that stood watch at night and ran up the stairs of the dungeon. I was running for what felt like days, but I never found an escape, never found a door that would lead me to freedom. But I didn't stop, my feet were bleeding with blisters and my legs trembled with soreness, but I didn't stop. Not until the unknown man found me.
