Hooked

Chapter Seventeen

I stared at the feeble article of clothing long after the queen left me to get dressed. It seemed like it held some sort of curse or disease, now. I was scared to put it on over my skin.

I suddenly felt a pang of misery hit my heart like a bullseye. Maybe it would've been better to stay with Hook.

What was I saying? Just because Hook was on the shady side didn't mean that I had to solve the mystery that is him.

But... I could never get his eyes off of my mind. Those green eyes of his that made me feel like I was lost inside of a tropical paradise. I mean... unless they were a really dark shade. Then I could possibly die from the soul behind them.

It was frightening, but it also made me oddly intrigued. Being away from him made me more curious. That's dangerous. Thinking about Hook at all is dangerous. I would like to forget.

I forced a smile as I heard an impatient knock on the door. "Yes?" I answered.

It was the Red Queen. She barged right in, and proclaimed through half-clenched teeth, "Why are you not ready?"

"Because... I was thinking."

"Thinking is a terrible thing to do. Why think when you could do?"

"Didn't you just say that you can 'do' thinking, though? When you think, you are doing something."

"I'd rather not think about it." There was an odd pause, "Well?"

I looked up at her, pained tears in my eyes. I tried to hide my face from her, in fear of her thinking of me as weak. "W-what?"

"Get ready," she said sternly, and left after she slammed the white-stained oak door.

One of the pictures hanging on the wall slipped off of the tiny hook and onto the floor. It was a picture of a ship.

I wish I was that picture, and that the hook symbolized Hook, because I wish I could easily slip away from the memories of him just like that. With a simple slam of a door.

I sighed and fell onto the bed, until I pulled myself together enough to get off of the silk and linen sheets and get ready as told by the murderous Queen.

I hummed a simple tune, so that I would give off the feeling of happiness. But I wasn't the bit happy. In fact, I was loathing the Red Queen, and all of her faithful servants. They all should know better.

I stared at my petty costume for what seemed like hours before I pulled enough courage deep out of the pit of my stomach to go downstairs and serve the Queen. I pulled at some loose strands of thread, and kept sighing subconsciously, humming a merry tune all the same.

I was breaking... like those teacups that that girl dropped onto the floor. I could still feel the horror and anger bubble up inside of me when I thought about it.

I walked up to her with a pail and sponge in hand, hair pulled back from my face.

I looked down at the ground as she told me, "I know you don't want this. I know you don't want to be my servant," she paused, looking me over, then continued, "but you must be. Not just anyone can be my servant. It's considered an honor."

I didn't answer her.

"Wouldn't you agree?"

I was her servant, but my job wasn't to compliment her. "No, I would not," I smiled bitterly.

She pursed her lips and made a popping sound with her tongue, then sighed, "You deserve to have an opinion, I suppose. If any other peasant spoke to me that way, I'd have them mauled to death in the town square. But you... you're special." She looked at me with a small smile of admiration.

"I don't need your compliments. Just tell me what I need to do."

She looked at me with a threatening glare, but then the deep lines on her forehead softened, and she waved her hand to shoo me away. "You may go clean the kitchen."

I trudged away. Maybe I was my mother's legacy. The world needs a Cinderella in every generation.

...

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