ricochet || an original story

stella

Upon arriving at the dining hall, Verona and I separate. I take my seat near the royal chef, royal gardener, and all the other royal assistants. I scan the table. Only three people are missing from it. The royal spy, the king's personal assistant, and the king himself. We can't start dinner if the king isn't here. I try to keep my eyes on his chair as I wait, but my eyes wander and I notice the prince staring me up and down. And only then I realize I'm still in my blood-stained dress. My hands are still covered in blood. Dried blood. I smell like death and despair. Damn it.

Roughly 15 minutes pass by before the king and his assistant take their places at the head of the table and at the king's right hand. The king clears his throat, shutting everyone up in an instant. "The royal spy, Rowan Taylor, will not be joining us for meals or leaving the palace for 48 hours. They are otherwise occupied." He says matter-of-factly

Fearful glances are exchanged by all of the workers. I wince, knowing exactly what the king means. I bet the same announcement was made when I was tortured and starved in the dungeon for three days when I refused to kill a little girl. That was three years ago. I haven't intentionally messed up since.

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An unbearably awkward and silent two and a half hours passes by before we're allowed to return to our quarters.

I walk to my room with Glenn Norwood and his husband, Michael Gravesfield, trailing a few feet behind me. They're whispering about the royal spy and I desperately want to join in. I've hardly even spoken to the spy, but I feel bad for them. I know how awful the king's punishments are. What could they have done to deserve that, though?

"Oye, cabrona!" Glenn calls out. I have no idea what he's saying, but I feel like he's talking to me. I turn around, walking backwards now. "Aren't you la chica aterradora?" he asks me.

I blink. "I don't speak Italian."

Glenn rolls his eyes as Michael laughs. "No, no, it's Spanish."

"Go on," I prompt.

Michael grins. "Glenn's asking if you're that girl that scared the scariness out of Norman Oliver."

"Who?"

"The dungeon guy. The ugly dude with the bad breath who tortures people? You know him." Michael explains.

I shrug and force a laugh. "He got intimidated and didn't torture me much," I say, chills being sent up my spine at the memory. "I didn't 'scare the scariness' out of him." As uncomfortable as I feel, I try my best not to show it. I never did like Glenn or Michael. They were married yet identical in every way. Same wavy salt and pepper hair, same brown eyes, same dark freckles, same mole on their cheek, mirror dimples, and the same facial shape and features. Their only difference was skin tone. Michael was pale, like a glass of milk, and Glenn had darker, tanned skin. It was creepy. How could one fall in love with their almost-identical doppelganger?

Glenn begins exclaiming things to his husband in Spanish, Michael laughing and agreeing also in Spanish. I may not know more than English, but I can greet, agree, and disagree with people in sixteen different languages, Spanish included.

I walk off, exceedingly uncomfortable, and finally enter my room. I close my eyes and take in the peace and quiet.

"Hi!" says a voice in front of me.

I yelp, opening my eyes and instinctively grabbing my dagger from my boot as my body tenses. I realize who's there and relax, my shoulders dropping. I set my dagger on the entry table. "Alyona, I told you not to come in here when I'm not in here. Do you want me to tell Yegor you haven't been listening to his second favorite girl?"

The little girl on my bed giggles and gets down and runs up to me, her wavy blonde hair falling into her eyes as she does so. "I've got you!" she exclaims, still wildly giggling. I smile and fake fall to the ground as ungracefully as possible. She falls to her knees, fakes holding a knife with her hands, and pretends to stab me at least dozen times. Her blue-green eyes light up with joy. As much as I want to laugh alongside her, it hurts too much after the day I've had. A pang of guilt hits me in the chest like an arrow to the heart.

I frown. "Hey, Ally, can we play tomorrow? I'm a little tired right now."

She nods hastily and stands up. "Okay, Stella!" she runs out of the room. I get up and watch her leave to ensure she makes it to her father's room. Her white, yellow-laced nightdress causes her to trip and I laugh as she shouts, "I'M OKAY!" despite not knowing anyone's listening to her. When Alyona finally makes it to her father's room I shut the door. I guess the privelage of being the royal chef's daughter is getting to run around the castle whenever you please.

I go to my bed and lay down, exhausted. I may have slept half the day but that didn't stop me from wanting to fall into a comforting sleep in the comfort of my warm, cozy bed. And that's exactly what I do.

But the sleep isn't exactly comforting.

Howling wind pushes me forward, towards a rundown cottage with shattered windows and wilted flowers to welcome people to it. The place seems familiar, but I can't place it. A creaking sound echoes through the street as the wind pushes me into the home and slam the door shut behind me. I turn to open it, but it won't budge.

I turn back around and my heart drops to my stomach. A little girl with black hair in a raggedy, dirty blue dress smiles at me. "You're back!" she exclaims with an ear-to-ear grin. "And you have good food! Are you gonna teach me how to cook, Stella?"

I glance at a the mirror hanging in the living room of the cottage. I'm younger, much younger. And I have a freshly dead chicken in my hands. "No, no, we need to get out." I say in a panic. I know how this ends. I have to save her. I have to make things right. I drag the little girl towards the door, but it still won't open.

"Why are we leaving in such a hurry? I have friends over." The little girl says, pulling away from me.

I blink and suddenly at least fifteen children appear next to the little girl. I recognize a few faces. Alex Townsend, Dikartaka Wivershins, Brooklyn Kennedy, , Azalea Baros. I take a sharp inhale. These are all kids I've killed. I shake my head.

"Yeah! Stay with us, Mrs. Thornton!" Alex says excitedly, wrapping his arms around my leg, tripping me. I fall on the floor, defenseless.

Dikartaka grins and takes this opportunity to grab a shard of glass from the floor and jab it into my heart.

I gasp, my eyes wide.

"You deserve this, you slimy bitch!" Brooklyn screams at me, stomping on my face.

The kids all start jeering and laughing at me.

I don't speak. I can't speak.

"Dinner's going in!" a voice shouts from across the cottage. I watch as a little girl puts a raw chicken in a dry pot and sets the chicken on fire.

"NO, DON'T--" I'm cut off by my own pain and terror. The world around me becomes a blur of warm colors dancing around, taunting me more and more with each passing second.

"You did this! You did this to us!" the kids all chant in unison, their voices and faces becoming more and more distorted as the fire burns them to nothing.

In the end, all that's left is me and the burnt remains of my home. With nothing left to do, I fall to my knees and sob.

I wake with a start and glance out the window. The moon is still high in the sky. I've barely even slept. I turn to my other side and cover up with my blanket, hoping, praying that I'll get a restful sleep if I'm able to even sleep again tonight.

And thank the gods that my sleep comes fast. I don't have to think about that horrid dream anymore. Instead, I'm able to sleep a peaceful, dreamless sleep.