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"Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive." Charlotte Bronte
"What is wrong with you?" Delmont says with gritted teeth as he drags me by the arm in the street. I wince at his grip, trying to set my arm free without much success.
"Let go of me you asshole!" I exclaim still struggling against him. Many in the crowd look at us with confusion marked on their faces. However, no one seems to intervene and instead chooses to turn around and keep on walking.
Delmont pulls me to the castle without uttering a single word. Only my protests and the shuffling of our feet on the grass up the hill can be heard. As we reach the principal entry of the palace, the two guards situated on both sides lift their spears and open the giant doors for us.
Without loosening his grip, the dark-haired boy keeps dragging me through hallway after hallway. We reach one I recognize and before I can voice my thoughts, he throws me once again into that damn chamber. Only this time, he doesn't say anything at all. In one last attempt to break free, I try to open the doors but it looks like they are locked. Looking down at the lock, I fiddle with it before trying once again. Seemingly frozen in place, they don't bulge one bit.
An exasperated sigh leaves my mouth as I break down on the floor in my gown. I can't hold the tears anymore and they start flowing like a river. They wet my skin, falling into my mouth and leaving a salty taste on my lips. I curl my arms around my waist, hugging myself hard as it is the only sense of comfort I can procure myself. I stay there, lying on the ground like a broken vase waiting for someone to pass by and either pick it up to fix it or throw it away.
"Get up honey, you look pathetic."
I hurtle at the sudden voice and raise my head so fast I almost snap my neck. I wipe my tears as best as I can to see the figure who just spoke. My vision gets clearer, allowing me to take a look at the old lady standing by the end of the bed. The first thing I remark about her is her eyes. Those blue, blue eyes. I've seen them already. At the theatre. She's the woman who asked for my help, except she doesn't look as vulnerable as she did then.
"Y-You're the lady from the theatre. How did you get here?" My voice is sore from all the crying I've done in the last moments.
"Well obviously the realistic answer to that question would be the door young girl," the woman says with nonchalance in her tone.
"Did they kidnap you too? Or are you one of them?" I stand up and back away from her form.
"You still think this is a simple kidnapping?" As she speaks, a chuckle escapes her red lips.
"Of course, I woke up in a place I don't know with people I never saw before. I'm pretty sure we can qualify that as kidnapping."
The blue-eyed woman looks at me and smiles before walking around the bed to sit on the chair by his side. Her pace is elegant and confident despite her old age. Her cane now looks more like an accessory than a necessity. The complete opposite of how she did the first time I met her.
