The Knife's Case

The Wishing Head

I open my eyes. I pick up the knife, and inch it toward my chest. I am scared. My heart beats faster, as I think it will never beat again. It is now touching my chest. I can feel the tip of the knife on my skin.

I hear a knock on my door. "Ahh." I gasp. I stop. I have to. I sit up, immediately. "Oh, I, I can't." At this moment I know. I do not want to die. "I won't. No matter what." I gather the things I got out, and shove them into the dresser. It is Father. I open the door, still in my dress. "Prince Bastard is here to see you." He says. "Yes, Father. Just let me change." I say. "Why? You look fine. Come on, get in there. I am not in the mood in there." His voice is ice. I go downstairs immediately. I see him standing in by the door. He is wearing a dark blue and black suite. We greet each other and head out the door, for another one of his adventures. They always excite me; get my mind off what I am thinking of. We get into the carriage, and take off. We glide along in the cooling air, as winter is uncovering itself. And the time for snow. I am silent, tonight. Being with what he saved me from. I cannot help but be a little dazed. "What is the matter? You look dazed." He observes. "Sorry, I am fine." I answer. "Well?" He asks, as if expecting me to know what he means. " What?" I ask. "Well, where are we going, you're supposed to ask me?" He says, and smiles. It relieves me to see his genuine smile. "Where are we going, then?" I ask. "Ice-skating." He says, excitedly. "Oh, I, do we have to?" I say I want to do anything but that.

"No, of course not. We can do what ever you want to." He reassures me. "Oh." I say. And this time I think I know what I really want to do. "I wish to walk in the gardens of the palace." He grins, "Yes, my princess." He says peacefully. He does not talk much the way there, but he does mention what places are what on the way to the palace. I am tired, exhausted. I remember what I thought was my last thought. Him. I look at him. His glowing face is contagious. For that is why I do. I am cold, now. The wind blows on us. I like the cold, but right now, I want to be warm and safe. I want to feel safe. I put my left hand in his arm. He can feel the warmth, too. He pulls my hand through his arm, so we can link arms. I do not push away. I know why. It is because I thought I lost him. I was scared I was never going to see him again. I curl up next to him, and lean my head on his shoulder. He leans his head on mine, and we move along.

I could have sworn the ride was slower than usual. It was like time stopped just for us. Just so we could be warm. Time did go on, though, and we now come though the gates of the palace. We don't want it to end, and we both know it. "Can we keep going, like this?" I ask. "Yes." He says. We turn from the gates of the palace. We ride on through the cooling night. But to us, nothing is warmer than this night. First we go to the outskirts of town, and then we begin to go further. I know where he is taking us, though. I know even though I am falling asleep, and it is darker now. I still know. We go past town houses, and small farms. It feels as if we ride past the day, and escape into night. We still hold each other dear. I know we are scared, that if we let go we will loose this moment.

I do not let Father's plans for my future, or the prince's, or the kingdom's get into my mind. I let my mind dwell in this moment. Even though I know what I will think about, when it was over, I try to make it last. When we come to the field of the flowers, he stops the carriage. My eyes are resting, but they open when we stop. Why did we stop?" I am surprised, to find how much my voice sounds frantic. "What is the matter? He asks. "I want to keep going." I say, "Please." I am frantic. I do not want the thoughts to catch up with me, to find where I am. "My princess, what is the matter?" He is beginning to sound worried. Worried thoughts make me think of my searching thoughts. "Please. Please." I say, almost begging. He begins to sit up, now and move so he can face me. I clench onto his arm, though. Like a child in despair, and afraid, who does not want to be left alone. He sighs, and gives in, but his other arm is still mobile. He says my name with understanding, but questioning, "Ingrid? Ingrid." He wraps his other arm around me.