Game Of Survival •in editing•

10 Void of Daggers

The little girl leads me by the ends of my dress through the halls of the mansion. I realise that she refuses to answer questions and touch my hand when I offer. Instead we walk side by side. She shows me her drawings; on the walls, in the hidden alcoves where the maids (or I bet Rider) cannot erase her portraits of flowers and rivers and people. The house is silent, the guards have resumed their night shifts, some are replaced by new men who are awake during the late hours. She guides me to a room; a simple white door with a name plastered in every color: Blue.

"Is...is this your name?" I ask quietly, the same tone I used the first day I saw her. This time she does not run, instead she nods and closes the door behind us. Toys and paints, fake swords and princess dresses. A room made for a child. A room made for good dreams and happy memories. She sits near a poorly built house with wooden dolls inside of it. She doesn't seem to care one is missing an arm, or the other is missing an eye. She smiles, and my heart warms immensely. I wonder if this is what it would've felt like to have a little sister, to grow up having a little child in the house no matter how annoying or persistent. I sit next to her, curiosity a flame in my body.

"How old are you, Blue?"

She takes her finger and draws two circles, repeatedly. I realise quickly that this is her way of communication; she answers through code and it is your choice to observe and decode. "Eight years old. How long have you been here?" A shrug of her tiny shoulders as she hands me her doll. I know she isn't from this Kingdom. People of Lyth have tones of brown and chestnut. Eyes as round as marbles. Hers are almond shaped; piercing, dangerous even for a little girl. No, her skin is pale, eyes a depth of emotion I'm afraid to dive into. "You're not from here are you?" A shake of her head confirms my answer. She hands me another doll.

She stops for a moment, looks at me but hesitantly, as if not looking at me at all. She points to me. My heart. The embodiment of who I am. "You want to know my name?" A curt nod.

I smile and think of the nicknames Kat has given me throughout the years. I lean forward carefully, she mimics my actions. "I can't tell you my name, but I'll give you a special name to call me." Her eyes light up with that, expectant. "You can call me sunny."

She stares at my cheeks, my dress, my hair. Not my eyes, never my eyes. She searches for something and when she finds it, she does not hand it to me but she drops it near my feet. A sunflower; dying and pale without warmth or hydration. A sunflower without the sun. I smile regardless, because it's one of the best things a stranger has ever given to me. Kat was never one to buy gifts, she never knew what to get me. She learned throughout the years though, birthday gifts consisted of foods and oversized clothes and hunting weapons. Not that I didn't like hunting, but flowers were better.

She resumes playing like the conversation didn't happen and I can't help but want to hold her, a familial protective aura surrounding my heart.  Why is she here? What is a child doing in a General's home? I haven't seen the other Generals or what surrounds them in their daily lives but I'm pretty sure they'd have more guards and less children. What is the Red General trying to do?

An hour passes quickly, I can tell from the way the room lights with hues of vibrant orange and pink. Then I hear it. A melodious calm overtakes the room, like a living aura guiding me towards its origin. "Do you hear that?" I ask Blue. She simply nods. She must be used to hearing it then. I hand her the dolls and exit the room, promising her to be back soon.

I follow the tune down two corridors, the stream of sound growing brighter, the echoes; louder. A violin. It sounds different from the ones used during the festivals. It is crisp and new and calming in a way I've never heard. The song wraps around my heart and squeezes, painting images before my eyes. They blur into one, a flash of memories I've buried so deep I'd forgotten they'd existed. The notes come to a decrescendo, erasing the pictures before me. Beyond the images lay a silver entwined brown door. It's cracked open, and a figure blurs behind it. I step in, no longer caring for my actions.