Painted Roses

Bleeding Roses

                  

Rosalia sank to the ground, breathing hard, her hand clutched to her waist, grateful for her corset, it was holding her together despite the stab wound in her stomach.

"Rosalia, sister-dear, where are you?"

Rosalia flattened herself back against the door she hid behind, stifling her breath as she listened to Lucinda approaching.

If she could just get outside to her horse.

If she got outside to her horse, The Rose Castle was an hour's ride from The Play Castle. If she could get there, find Jasper, get away. She would be safe at Rose Castle.

She looked down at herself. Half the bodice of the white gown was red, the colour seeping into the skirts. She felt faint and it was sheer willpower that determined that she was not going to faint or die from this attack. She refused to give that wretched enchantress the satisfaction.

She heard Lucinda pass by and held her breath. Hadn't Lucinda mentioned something about a seeking spell? Could she locate Rosalia using it? Was she even using it?

The wall to her right had a large crack through it, leading to the next room and she sped towards it, cramming through the crack, tearing her dress and once again cursing her mass of skirts. They were so cumbersome when running for one's life.

The room she squeezed into was missing a wall and it led out into the hall. Peering down the hall, she saw no sign of Lucinda and she quickly gathered her skirts and raced away.

"Rosalia?"

She heard a call behind her and hurled herself through the closest doors, swinging them closed behind her and spinning around.

She let out a gasp, eyes wide as she looked around. She was in a throne room. A huge cavernous hall with a towering throne set in the middle, surrounded by a great expanse of water, a single walkway the only way to the throne without swimming.

The water was most likely rainwater, judging by the large hole in the ceiling, and it was filthy, rippling with the shadowed movement of strange creatures. Plant life had run rampant throughout the room, spilling from even crevasse, coiling into the water, hanging from the ceiling. Only the throne was left untouched, darkened by decades of dust and dirt but free of any choking wildlife.

Rosalia pushed away from the doors when she heard footsteps beyond them, skirting the water, running to another set of doors on the opposite side of the room.

The main doors behind her blew open with enough force to shake the floor, making Rosalia stumble, scrambling to keep herself upright as she spun around.

"Rosalia, dear, come back," Lucinda called, smiling as she waltzed into the room, dark, wild eyes fixing on their prey.

Rosalia spun away, reaching the doors ahead, grabbing the handles and wrenching them down. She had to throw her shoulder into it to make the doors give way and they screamed in protest at being disturbed after so many years before finally coming lose and flying open and Rosalia's arm flailed wildly to try and keep her balance, a gasp of horror and fright escaping her.

The door weren't normal room doors.

With the darkness of the night outside and the layers upon layers of dirt on the glass, they had appeared to be normal wooden doors in the gloom, towering but normal, that would just lead into another room.

They weren't. They were anything but. They were glass doors that led out to a balcony.

Only the balcony had fallen away a long time ago and Rosalia had very nearly stepped out into thin air, plummeting downwards into the black lake below.