The Burden of Freedom

Chapter 2

I am not allowed to leave my room until the next morning. Normally, I would never have obeyed my father, would have slipped out in the middle of the night to head to the library or sit in the courtyard. But this time feels somehow different.

For some reason, I can't bring myself to try and disobey, choosing instead to lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Maybe some part of me is done rebelling, tired of the constant battle. Maybe another part is relishing in the small freedom of being completely alone.

Regardless, I stay in my room all night, eventually slipping into a fitful sleep.

When I awake in the morning, Rose is laying out breakfast. Her red hair is in a bun today, a piece of it falling out over her eyes. She brushes it behind her ear and turns.

"Good morning, Ev," she says. "I hope you're well today."

I sit up, wincing when my face throbs. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the other side of the room. My cheek is swollen and purple, a huge contrast against the paleness of my skin. There are dark circles under my blue eyes; not the cold blue of my father, but a blue-green, like the ocean on a stormy day.

I have to look hurriedly away.

My face reminds me too much of hers.

After finishing breakfast and getting dressed, I decide to go to the library. It seems like a good place to visit today, as my father rarely goes there and not many people tend to bother me if I have my nose stuck in a book. 

I take the stairwell down to the first floor and follow the corridors, my footsteps echoing off the high stone ceiling. The way is familiar to me, as I walk it almost every day.

I pass by a servant or two, each one bowing low as I pass. I can feel my face redden as they mumble greetings, heads bowed humbly. I can never get used to the way I am treated here. For even though I have grown up a princess, I know I am undeserving of the title.

Entering the library, I pass through shelves upon shelves of books. I run my hand along the spines, reveling in the feeling of soft leather below my fingertips.

This room is dimmed, huge red curtains filtering the pale morning sunlight. Lamps line the walls, flames flickering warmly, greeting me with joyful brightness. In the corner sits a chair that invites me to sprawl down and read, nestled between its arms.

I nod over at Oswald, the castle's librarian. He is a thin man with equally thinning hair, a set of wired spectacles perched on his angular nose. This is a person who always seems to be doing something, whether it be shelving books or organizing papers, copying notes or conducting research. 

Now, he sits at the desk in the corner, shuffling through a few sheets of parchment. He smiles at me.

"Good morning, Evelynne," he says, and then goes back to reading. I'm glad that he doesn't give any flourishing bow or flowery words. I'm also glad he makes no comment on my bruised face.

I turn away from him and make my way to the chair in the corner. The book I had been reading yesterday is still resting on the windowsill, a piece of cloth stuck between the pages.

I open the book and it takes me mere seconds to lose myself in the story that is not my own.

I don't know how long I read. Someone brings me lunch and I eat it quickly, not bothering to put down the book. I get a disapproving look from Oswald for this, but I know he wont say anything against me so I do it anyways.