Euthanasia

Chapter Ten- A Thirst for Vengeance

After weeks of waiting, the day finally came. The journey would be long but ending the pointless war would be worth all of it. Everything was planned and prepared. The only thing left to do was put it into action. The lavender flowers from the purple willow began to drip from their coppery branches as the cold breeze made them dance and flutter to the ground. Seeing those flowers float down to the ground, was how I knew the hot summer was coming to an end. Depending on how long we were gone, our return could be met with an audacious autumn, one that could be easily transformed into a brutal winter.

Pushing aside my worries about the upcoming weather, I knelt down and plucked a purple flower from its place on the frosted ground, one that had recently fallen from the tree and still had its vibrant color. I twirled the stem between my fingertips and carried it with me, inside as I admired the curvy petals. I nodded thoughtfully at the guards who graciously opened the large glass double doors and continued down the brisk hallway, making way for my room.

I found George easily, in our room, sketching something using a raven's feather and a jar of squid's ink. He dipped the nib of the feather elegantly into the round glass jar, taking care not to spill it all over his creation. He bit his bottom lip in concentration, tapping the fluffy top of the feather against his chin. He then scribbled something onto the paper and lifted the pen, examining his work. I didn't want to interrupt him, but we had to leave soon anyway.

Stepping into the room, I walked to stand behind him. The smell of ink was strong, a bitter wooden scent filled my nose and salty letters overtook the sweet fragrance of the flower. I dropped the fragile petals onto the table beside his drawing. He glanced over at it, then turned to look up at me, with surprised, but happy eyes. He smiled and picked it up, placing it gently by his nose.

"Are we leaving soon?" He asked softly, rising from the wooden chair to stand beside the vanity opposite the table. I nodded, letting him know everything was ready for him, and watched as he placed the flower down, under the mirror hanging above the table and drawers. The comfortable silence in the room was loud, but peaceful. There was nowhere I would rather be than there, with George, watching him tenderly handle the flower I had given him only moments before.

Looking around the room I noticed all the places we could decorate the empty, dark places with bright flowers. Vases and jars could hold so much life, if only I let them. Maybe, when everything was over, George would help me pick out all his favorite flowers, and together we would watch them grow. I smiled at the thought and George smiled at me.

"The flower is beautiful by the way. Again, I found myself simper as he pulled the nearby open window, shut, preparing to leave. The sudden shutter of the window closing stopped the crisp air from drifting inside, leaving behind the natural chill of the palace behind.

"You're welcome then," I said sheepishly. He placed the wooden cork back atop the glassy ink jar and tucked his work away, under a stack of other miscellaneous papers, placed recklessly over the table. Organization was not something that came naturally for either of us, so the mess was familiar, but something I had been meaning to deal with for a while.

I didn't acknowledge the fact that he hid the paper rather than carelessly shove it away for later. I would later learn that he wasn't drawing anything at all. It was a letter he would eventually send sneakily, without my knowledge, before our departure. Though, I never found out what it said exactly or who it was to. I only knew that it was a response to the letter that my spies had given me the night George killed the hostage. I didn't learn what that letter said either, only that it was intercepted and hidden by George who found it before I could ever read it.

So much time later, I only supposed that he thought he was doing what was best and because of my memory loss, I had forgotten all about the letter given to me. Without questioning why he hid his paper under all the rest, I remained oblivious to his upcoming scheming.