Drakameer

"The Servant Girl"

Chapter 3
"The Servant Girl"
(The Castle Of Trimezpia)

Dawn excused it's impression wired perfectly to the new days sun. It's altered smile amending the colors of peace and tranquility in a mirrored distance. Jaci's presence amidst the flowers endorsed a somewhat quickening of brightness. Her inapt flavor of illuminating a room was a gift from above. She posessed a certain cunning, a guiltless imposing that spoke of goodness and
Clarity. The clamoring events of the day brought forth a rivalry of sorts. Upon her heart bleeding to the notion of the addiction she had now ensued. Her one pleasure amidst her task of servanthood. The garden lit up in the glory of a radiant performamce. flowers were her own magical kingdom. Her own release of sorrow in defined sadness awaiting. After her chores she would sit in the fields and lay in there quaint softness. The buzzing of bees and insects amused her as a child would be amused. She simply loved the flowers. Her husband had once lavished her almost daily with there beautiful neighboring of mixing colors. His smile bending to a kiss upon her painted lips. It was in this basking, this premature joy that she learned the likes of heartache. Upon the battle field he had died. He had been snuffed out of the cultured regime of his soldier stance in a permanent judgment. His armor smashed and sword broken. His flesh divided. cracked and torn flowing from eyes that glimpsed but seconds of the thought of her eternal love.

Jaci continued in the pain.

The small regrets surfacing upon the likeness of her own inward suffering.

Love is a knife blade unaware of its chosen. It has no discrimination. No recoiling to the thought that someone's life would be taken. With that life the lives of others. Infused in an outright abandon. A totality of shaken grief and splintered sadness that never heals.

Jaci was now a simple servant girl.

A cook that toiled over gravy and onions and things that masked her adhoring torment. The guards knew her as the preparer of wonderful delights. In this she smiled and took comfort. Her meals were a variety of taste and flair. Potatoes danced richly in a stew composed of oregano, parsley, and other special secrets that delighted the mens stomachs. She was so well known and cherished for her meals that she was not locked or accustomed to be confined to the castle. She simply earned the respect of the men. After bloodshed and loss, decimation, and debauchery they sat down to a home cooked meal. A serving of red wine, braised lamb, and buttered corn did nicely for there hungry tired souls. Potatoes were peeled and tables were cleaned with a smile. She was an absolute joy to behold. An angel in there dark nights of previous suffering. Because of this she had full acess to the castle. Secretly she would prowl the corridors at night. In this fancy she discovered the armor. The room was guarded by guards that loved her cooking. She was never confined or toiled to the depths of a serene cautiousness. She had no need to be. Her inward tasking lead her to always enter into the room by a secret journey amidst her day. Her dusting and cleaning brought her to a state of an acquiesce unity with the building. In the retrivel of bed linens and dirty laundry she stumbled quietly upon an abandoned corridor. It's long curtains braced the breadth of an open expanse dismally leading to an ulterior doorway. Upon the door in an unknown language was written:

"WEARER OF THE TRUTH OF LIGHT. THE DEPTH OF THE ROOT OF GOD.

In its mirikness just one armored suit stood alone in the distance. The ancient prophecy foretold of its creation. The angels of heaven penned the blue prints from the very hand of divinity. Its crystallized beauty etched of ever lasting life and apparent death hinging on the power of its infernal harvesting. Its design was prepared for the purpose of the chosen one.

No one else could wear or get near it.

Whoever posessed the key to its dormant shell, the accolade of its seated condition of readiness, would imply the might of God against the enemy. The force shined grace of an unlimited power. It stood upward. Massive in its seven foot stature.

Jaci would visit...

Like a child gulfed on the edge of an alluring innocence she gazed. Its beauty was uncanny. The mysterious cultivation of its immense building was beyond impressive. Whoever posessed the key to its power was truly blessed. Jaci's thoughts dispersed rapidly on the matter.

"Well... im just a peasant girl. Who would ever even dream that I could hold the key to something so incredible."

Jaci bowed her head in a silent branding of deep respect, slowly returning to the dank solemness of the dusty hallway. A series of tasks called to her within the preluding song of the creatures in the darkness. Tomorrow was another day. To cook and clean and dream...

of fields of flower filled beauty.

long for her
beneathe the warmth of a new days sun...