They locked me inside the chamber to dress myself; they knew I was capable of dressing myself at least. I washed my face and took my hat off, stuffing the gloves and any other small trinket I'd brought inside. I folded my gown and cloak and placed them on a chest by the edge of the bed. I took a gilt hairbrush and raked it through my hair. It shone like mingled gold and bronze in the candlelight, framing my ghostly face. My eyes were living emerald fire staring out of the gaunt, malnourished body, watching it move. I was nothing but skin stretched over brittle bone, a lonesome body with a lost soul.
The thin white dress laid out for me allowed me to shiver even with long sleeves. The king had lied that I was allowed to pick my clothing; what else was new? The sleeves grazed the floor, loose and too roomy on my frame. Starvation does that to you, and it was considered extremely unfashionable. But I've learned to not care what the high and mighty royalty think of me, or how much my stomach hurts until I keel over.
He was by the strong wooden door leading up to the tower, arms folded and face jubilant. He surveyed me, scanning my body lecherously through the thin fabric. Despite my poverty, I happened to be quite voluptuous. Without another words, he opened the door and the maids pushed me inside. I could hear him bolting the door and walking away, laughing.
I'd fallen face-first onto the stone floor. As I pushed myself up, blood spattered on the floor from my nose. It felt like fire. I cradled it and sat against the door, looking around my surroundings. Three clear bottles as tall and wide as dogs stood on the left filled with water, three matching empty bottles on the right wall. A tin colander was set in the middle of the room, the brisk autumn night blowing in from the window across from me. There was no bed, nothing to sleep in or on; I'd freeze to death in the night before I could be publicly executed.
My nose refused to stop bleeding, so I left it be and crawled to the colander. I opened one of the empty bottles and placed the tin object on the entrance. Unscrewing one of the crates of water, I took a tin cup I'd found beside the window and filled it to the top. Careful not to spill it, I poured the cup's contents carefully through the colander though I knew it was pointless. I wouldn't be able to save myself, and my father would die without me even attempting to help him. I felt tears begin to run down my cheeks, a sob ricocheting throughout my entire body. Blood and tears stained the cold stone floor where I would spend my final hours.
It felt like days had passed; I was later told it was only three hours. Either way, I felt a work-roughened hand on my shoulder that was so unexpected I looked up with astonishment. I'd curled myself into the fetal position, watching salty blood drip onto my knees. The hand belonged to a tall man. He was handsome, but you couldn't immediately tell; not many people recognize him as attractive. It took me a few moments to realize he was. His skin was a scaly slate gray, stretched thin over his aristocratic boning. Mesmerizing gold eyes streaked black and amber smiled kindly down at me with his thin lips. Coal black hair shot through with strands of vivid gold fell loose and thick around his face, flying away from his face with a gust of wind. It was the first kind face I had seen is so long; was I going mad?
"Hello, sweetie," he said. The strange man crouched down to be eye level with me and pulled a black piece of cloth from the pocket of his breeches. One cold hand tilted my head forward, my knees automatically straightening, and he pinched the cloth to the tip of my nose with his fingertips. "When you have a nosebleed, you always hang your head forward and press the sides together to stop the bleeding." His voice was so soft and pleasant. Could people always act so nice? Of course, he had a motive; everyone did, but I appreciated the approach. I could always kid myself into thinking it was real.
My bleeding stopped quickly after the man helped me. I smiled at him, lips trembling. "Thank you," I said, my voice low and unstable. Hell, myself as a whole was unstable.
