Peasantry

Chapter 3

booplesnoot mothertoot

 Halfway through my supper, it hits me. That wasn't a dream. That was a memory. A memory in which I called my fanciest clothing 'simple shifts' and I prance around like a fairy, calling things superstitious and other ridiculous things that a younger me might have said.

I'm a 24 year old woman. Why am I panicking? Why am I panicking about something that I had done sometime in the past 19 years of forgotten memories. The last five years were oddly vivid, as if my brain was trying to compensate for the lack of... well... anything.

I pushed it away and swallowed my dry bread and cheese.

Once I finished my supper, I sipped on strawberry tea with a little bit of honey and sat on my rocking chair, reading the paper I had dropped on the floor this morning. The king, apparently, was dead by a new, incurable disease. On the next page, a painting of the king's family, once so obscure and hidden by loving hands, took up half the page. On the side, another drawing of a young girl, perhaps 15, her face captured mid-laugh. My eyes are locked on the photo, tracing their gaze across the somehow familiar face. The newspaper only showed her mid-chest and up, but I knew what the whole photo looked like. I knew what the whole landscape looked like. I knew that place.

I just couldn't picture it. I shut my eyes, concentrating on the steadfast image in my head that had dissolved the second I needed it, the details trickling away like water dripping out of cupped hands.

Water.

There had been water.

A small pond, clear and crisp, a hand slicing through the still water. Next to the pond, clumps of wildflowers stood, bright and colorful. A small bench, cracked marble, ivy climbing up its short legs. There was a small, delicate table, thin, almost unnoticeable rings of tea from cracked porcelain cups spilling over the intricate china. A white lace taffeta dress, just washed and almost blinding in its brightness. A soft smile, teeth as shiny and white as the dress. Dark brown hair pulled into painful perfection. The pinch of pins and weight of jewellery as I smiled brightly for the artist. Hour after hour, the sun bearing down on my face, contrasting to the crisp spring wind.

A face, smiling down as I...

As I what? Just as soon as I remembered, as I was transported back, I was thrust out. It seemed the memory did not want me in it. It did not want me to intrude upon its perfect symphony of forced smiles and chalky laughter. It wanted me to know that it was happy, it was calm, it was perfect, and nothing would ever go wrong with that family.

I knew it wasn't true, so I stared sadly at the grainy sketch and put the paper to the side. I couldn't focus on this now. Not now. Perhaps later. Perhaps not.

I got off my chair and walked to my small bed, peeling the soft white sheets off the creaky mattress. I settled in, hoping and praying to any gods that could hear me that my dreams would change for once. Before I heard an answer, I drifted off to sleep, my brain fuddled and foggy with memories of a life that wasn't mine.

I awoke in a dark room. As my eyes traced the familiar paintings on the walls, I realized that this was the same room as the dream where I tore my dress to pieces. I sat up, feeling the shiver of my silk sheets as they slid off of me and pooled near my crossed legs. I was in an equally silken gown, one that was smooth and clear, and showed no evidence of my past sleep. I glanced around, finally making eye contact with another person on another bed.
What?
I stumbled back, grabbing for a sheet. The other girl did too. She was in a framed door, large and metallic, that... oh. It was a mirror. I cursed myself for my stupidity. Climbing off the bed, I walked towards the giant mirror and stood on the little stool in front of it. My eyes shone like sparkling topaz, both bright amber with flecks of gold. I was beautiful, delicate porcelain skin, a smattering of freckles on my pale face, soft pink lips that were just full enough to make an adorable pout. I was perfect.

At least, the body I was in was. It didn't make sense to me that my dirty red hair, one green eye, tan skin, and thin mouth came from this angel. Her hair was copper, cascading down her back. The last few strands trailed down to her hips. As I looked in the mirror, I could see a closet in the background.

In the closet was a white lace taffeta dress. The dress from my dreams. The dress from that memory, the one where unhappiness was veiled behind a thin line of material wealth. I sighed and turned around, talking towards the closet with the steps of a sneaking child. I picked a royal blue- wait. I had sworn upon myself that I wouldn't put myself through this torture. I had sworn that I wouldn't.

Suddenly, my dream changed. I was no longer a rich, fancy princess. I was standing in a field, with grasses that reached my hips. I turned to find the smiling face of a blonde man with dark green eyes. His skin was tan, but I could tell that in the winter months, his skin would be as pale and fair as mine. My face twisted into a frown. I felt myself walking away, forcing myself away from his injured, helpless eyes. I wake up again. What is it with me and my dreams?

I hear the horns that announce the crowning of a new King or Queen. I blink slowly, exhale and look outside. There is an empty throne, two footmen, and a glimmering gold tiara in the middle of my street.

A new Queen, then?

But the throne was empty, and it remained so for as long as I looked. Soon, the guards began looking towards my door. My door? Why my door? They must have the wrong one. But one came towards my door anyway. Tearing myself away from my window, I bolted towards the door, flattening the wisps of hair that fell out of my bun as I smoothed my apron. Time passed for what seemed like years, and finally three sharp raps against my wooden door soothed my prying ears. I fumbled with a lock, feeling my face heat up even as I stood alone. I opened the door to find the two guards with a rope and tie. What?

"I- What's going on?" one of the guards regarded me with a closed off gaze.

"We have orders to put you under arrest, madam. I'm sure you'll be fine." He drawled, a clear emotion scrawled across his face. I nodded, and let them lead me out onto a cart next to the throne. Upon seeing me look at it for a bit too long, the guard explained, "It's for another day. We need preparations." I nodded mutely and climbed into the carriage. The guard closed the curtains on the little window and whistled to the footman. A sharp crack echoes around the silent street, and we begin bouncing down the cobblestone path. Uncomfortably smushed in between the two, fear gives way to exhaustion and I manage to doze off into a stiff sleep-like trance. Soon, the cart stops bruising my buttocks, and I hear the door open, blasting me in the face with freezing cold air. I step out of the cart, still flanked by the two guards, and am led inside the palace through a little side door. Entering the large chamber that followed, I am met with the same foresty eyes, now riddled with anger, accompanied by the coat that the king's Advisor wore.

"Hello, Annelise. My name is Elliot. Do you remember me?"

Twice, someone who I do not know has called me Annelise.

I have not thought to tell them that my name is Kaiden.

bye besties