My Keeper

The Ring A Sword Makes

"To understand what death brings about, what it offers and what it can't take away. Is knowledge such as this worthwhile to a soul?"

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I didn’t know the next time he’d return to my room. If I was fated to starve or give way to thirst. My tongue was already parched, the dryness clawing at my throat with each breath. This air was so dry and barren, as if it, too, was stripped of life, carrying only the taste of dust and decay.

I raised myself off the bed, the sheets were silk, but scratchy against my unquenchable skin. The fabric clung to me in an almost mocking imitation of luxury, offering no comfort in its touch. I shuffled my bare feet to the balcony, feeling the chill of the stone floor beneath me, rough and unforgiving. A few feet away from the wooden, meticulously carved railing, I paused. The sight beyond was a dark abyss, the plummet below so vast and endless it felt like gazing into the maw of some ancient beast. A nauseating pull settled in my stomach, a sickening sensation that tightened with each second I dared to look over the edge.

With a gut-wrenching step forward, I forced myself to stretch out a hand, brushing my fingers along the wood. Just to feel how smooth and strong it was, as though it had absorbed years of resilience. It was stronger than all the rocks on this mountain, perhaps stronger than the mountain itself—a rare piece of life in a place that seemed to drain everything it touched.

A sadness leaked through my fingers the second they touched the smooth surface. It was almost tangible, as though the wood itself held memories of something lost. I could almost smell it, a phantom scent of fresh pine. A vivid flash of woodland struck me between the eyes, a punch of green life and earthy richness that nearly knocked me backwards, as if I had crossed into another world entirely.

Grief. Something like grief was bolted around my chest, tightening with each passing second, and I couldn’t understand why. I knew I wasn’t from here, but I had no memory of how I arrived. It was like I had awoken inside a dream—a dream I couldn’t wake up from, trapped in a place that was both familiar and alien, hauntingly empty. Suddenly, a flash of crystal blue eyes appeared in my mind, piercing through the shadows like a forgotten promise. Tears began to sting mine, welling up in a grief I couldn’t place.

Who was it? Who do I long for? “Where are you?” I whispered, my voice trembling as if the question itself was too much to bear. Who are you?

I wore a stained cream dress, worn and faded, clinging tightly around my waist as if it too was a prisoner here. The sleeves were long and hugged my arms well, their fabric almost binding. The hem drifted just barely across the smooth stone floor as I walked, whispering against the silence.

As I walked, I made my way toward those tall, imposing doors. I pressed a hand to them, expecting resistance, but they opened without a sound. No creak, no boom, not even a shudder to echo down the stairwell. Just a silent surrender, like they were waiting for me, knowing my steps before I did.

The cold stone flashed across my vision, stark and unfeeling. I threw my head back, trying to lose myself from the weight of it, from the relentless grief that clung to the air. It wasn’t worth basking in this unknown, untouchable sorrow, a sorrow that felt like it would last an eternity. An eternity spent in a realm that reeked of hell, devoid of warmth or mercy.

I took my time down the stairs, feeling the oppressive weight of each step. I wasn’t in a hurry; the end result would be the same if I had stayed up in that desolate tower. Death. I was simply taking charge of how quickly I met it, carving my own path down this grim descent.

At the bottom of the stairs, there was a small door. Its wood was worn, its handle cold beneath my fingers as I opened it. It didn’t stay closed to me. Beyond it lay a cliff, a vast drop that sucked the breath from my lungs as I wrapped a hand over my mouth. It was beyond the wall, a place that seemed both forbidden and welcoming in its finality. What was the meaning behind a door that led to a place you couldn’t walk?