Womanish Lady

Chapter 15:

Prince Tuquor walked out of the room his father was. He tried, yet again, to convince his father to let Fuyaiyah out of the dungeon. It was a failed attempt, so he came out huffing, sighing and stressed.

But when he saw his baby sister waiting for him right outside, his frustration dissipated.

Princess Zyla was standing and playing with the bracelet Fuyaiyah made for her.

"He still won't let her out?"

He shook his head.

"Not yet. He's, clearly, still mad with her."

"But why? Fuyaiyah never did anything wrong on purpose."

"I know. But Fuyaiyah is getting the wrong attention from the wrong people."

Princess Zyla was getting upset.

"How? I just don't get it!" She cried. "Fuyaiyah tries her best not to do anything wrong - in fact, she's been doing good things. So why does everyone keep making things hard for her?"

Prince Tuquor thought about it.

"Well, Zyla. People don't like it when other people do things like what she does."

"But why? I don't understand."

He thought about it once more, then responded softly.

"A lot of people - especially as they get older - don't like seeing the same people do good things. So when they have to see people like Fuyaiyah do good things, it makes everyone else feel like what they do is wrong. Most people don't want to be reminded of that."

"The people harassing her should be mature; we should be able to take it."

He nodded.

"Yes, we should. But adults are more childish than children; when they encounter something unpleasant, we'd throw a fit about it to try to get away from it. In this case, they've encountered Fuyaiyah and don't like her, so they're giving her a hard time."

Princess Zyla understood. She bowed her head, and played with her bracelet.

"That's dumb."

"Pppsssttt!" Said a voice. And another pebble was thrown at her.

Fuyaiyah gained consciousness and looked in the direction of the pebble and her eyes adjusted to the light of winter's evening.

It was the familiar vendor from her village.

"They served us some warm soup tonight. You haven't eaten anything so at least drink your soup."

She smiled faintly.

"I don't intend to eat it. But thank you for thinking of me."

"But you haven't put anything in your stomach since you got here. Why is that?"

She continued smiling but didn't say anything. She was the only female in the vicinity with lots of males nearby. She didn't want to eat or drink because she didn't want to go through the digestive process in front of them. But she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Well, if you don't want it, can you slide it over to me?"

Fuyaiyah crawled to the section of the cell door where the food is placed, and slid it safely to her fellow captive.

"Anyway," he said after consuming it all. "What got you in here, Fuyaiyah."

She made a surprised sound.

"You remembered my name. I feel bad - I don't remember yours."

"Quite impossible not to know your name." He laughed. "So many stories are being passed around about you. My name's Harun."

"Ah yes - Harun! You always made and sold icies to us kids on hot days." She smiled at the thought. "I, quite frankly, don't know what I did to get thrown in a dungeon. I don't have an answer for your question.

"I'll tell you what happened." Said a prisoner in the cell beside her. "On the King's birthday, she wore a dress that wasn't for her. I'm surprised she isn't dead yet."

"She'll be dead eventually." Butted in another. "Everyone sent to the dungeon eventually gets executed."

The other prisoner agreed and they had their own conversation. And the dungeon got loud again. Fuyaiyah turned back to Harun.

"You'll be dead soon?"

He kept a positive attitude.

"I guess so. I didn't break any rules either, and the fact alone that I got thrown in the dungeon without seeing the King first simply means that they're trying to kill us off quickly."

"'Us?'"

He raised a brow. "You don't know?"

Fuyaiyah, very curious, shook her head. But before Harun could let her know the situation, the guards came in with their weapons and whips, approaching the cells and quieting the loud prisoners.