Painted Roses

The Frog at The Well

Rosalia woke with such a sudden jolt, the back of her head collided with the stone wall behind her and she curled in on herself, clutching her head and looking around, momentarily confused as to where she was and why she was where she was.

And then everything from the night before slammed back into memory along with the aches and pains of the carriage crash and the escape and the run through the forest and the awkward position she had fallen asleep in.

Slowly straightening up, she looked around.

It was just before dawn, the light was still weak and sour, the dawn of the world transitioning from winter to spring.

But it was enough for her to see where she was.

The remains of the castle were much clearer now. It was a high ceilinged corridor, both doors and window branching off the walls, stretching away either side of her.

Slowly standing up, she peered around the corner, down the stairs towards the forest.

Her breath stopped.

There was a wolf lying at the edge of the forest. One of the black ones from the night before, asleep.

She flattened herself back against the wall.

Why was it there? Was it waiting for her?

Looking out again she winced. The wolf had woken up and was looking at her.

They stared at each other for a moment, then the wolf got to its feet, stretching with a yawn and simply turned tail and walked back into the forest, vanishing into the shadows.

Rosalia stared after it.

"...What?" she said, not really expecting an answer, just watching until the last hazy indication of the wolf was gone.

Had it... been guarding he— No, that was impossible, it was a wolf, not a dog.

Edging out from the corridor, towards the steps she carefully made her way down, one step at a time, freezing every now and then as the feeling of the stairs trembling under her.

She let out a heavy breath when she was finally back on solid ground and quickly swept away from the forest edge, looking around.

She was in the gardens of the castle. Hugely overgrown from who-knew-how-many-years of neglect but she could still see where the elegant garden paths should have once been, even if the stones had long been dislodged by roots.

The only thing that still looked remotely intact was a well that sat at the end of one of the garden paths, near an archway that led out towards a small lake.

Peering into the well, Rosalia couldn't hope to see the bottom. It was too dark, from both dirt and depth and she stepped back from it, the wall had partially crumbled away and only stood up to her ankles at the point where she stood, unlike on the other side where the well wall was up to her waist.

A low grumbling made her jump and she spun around before realising what it was and held a hand to her stomach.

She wasn't used to being hungry. She hadn't felt any real sense of hunger since her family had moved back to their right position in society as some of the richest in the country and she instantly remembered how awful it was.

Turning around, she sank onto the edge of the wall, looking up at the sky.

"What a truly awful day," she muttered – to put it mildly – then looked down at her purse.

Opening it, she dug around inside and pulled out the golden ball.

But it only made her sigh.

She had forgotten she had put it in there to show the children at Rose Castle but it did her no good at the moment. Dropping it on the wall beside her, she tipped the purse upside down and only an extra hairpin and a small coin purse fell out.