In the blurs and reverberations of shock still carving its way through her bones, Delilah failed to track where she was led - only occasionally glancing up when they turned a corner.
They were all men.
One after another. Male guards that had attacked and male guards that now tried to take her somewhere she did not know.
Their accents were too thick or their words too hurried to decipher what they said, and her ears still stung from the rip of her screaming voice to attempt to listen. Delilah knew she needed to get away, yet, each step caused her to tremble. Something dripped down her calf as they marched on, sticking to the cotton inside her dress.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Her thoughts echoed. Her hoarse throat and bunged-up nose forced in air. Every breath that made it in was sobering. Revitalizing her lungs. And soon her heart stopped pulsing so violently and her chest ached a little less. However, that image would not go. Charlotte was so scared...The knife so...
Refocus.
Delilah needed to look where they were going. Three right turns and about to make another. They were walking in circles. Identical hallway after identical hallway to those unfamiliar.
Though to Delilah, this was just the East Wing. The simplest in the whole manor. Getting out would be easy. Getting free - there were three men surrounding her, and one ahead. The ginger. His face was red and scrunching. Shoulders taunt as he glowered at his subordinates. His words were too fast. Too jumbled. "Where...same...painting...buffoon." Thick venom laced his voice, displaying the problem to her loud and clear. They were lost.
If only she had the will to smile, she would.
YOU ARE READING
A Bullet Or Two
FantasyWhat would you do if everything you were destined to have was taken away? Delilah Franklyn, the dutiful step-daughter to the Baron of Farhilm, was raised to take his role. Moulded to lead the prosperous East Quarter. Yet when responsibility falls in...
