The Keepers of Eternity

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It was mid-day when Abreigelle woke from her sleep. A shaft of white light filtered in through the only window in the room—a rectangular hole which was situated just inches from the ceiling. She might have been able to squeeze through it if it hadn't been fitted with iron bars.

Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. Everything felt sore. The thin blanket she had found and laid on the floor was a lousy excuse for a bed, and all night she had shivered from the frigid breeze that blew in through the open window. The dress that had once been clean and beautiful had transformed into a dirty, burdensome piece of fabric. When she couldn't take the chill anymore, she had torn off the outer layer of her skirt and used it as a blanket. Even after that, it hadn't been much easier to get to sleep.

That day was a lot of waiting, and a lot of regretting.

Things would never be the same after this. Beshna might never trust her again, and Abreigelle would never trust herself to keep her promises.

At age eight, all of the young children born to the other servants were assigned a job which they would carry out until the day they died. It wasn't a completely random process--sometimes, if the administrator saw that a child possessed a special talent, she would place that child into a position that could compliment that talent. Lenore, for instance, had a particular inclination to keep everything straight and orderly, so she was placed in the sewing and knitting room, where she could stitch up the Varner's clothing with the finest precision. Other children were not so lucky, and were stuck cleaning out the horses' stalls or scrubbing the floors for the rest of their lives.

Abreigelle never knew why she had been chosen to work for Beshna, though it was something that she always wondered about. Side by side, Beshna and Abreigelle had grown up--one, as an aristocrat, and the other as a servant. For ten years Abreigelle had fetched her Lady's water, helped pick out dresses, and combed through silvery hair about hundred thousand times. And they'd talked and talked, and laughed together, but despite that, their relationship had always been something just short of a friendship. Beshna was never afraid to put Abreigelle in her place.

Still, Abreigelle understood that she had been blessed with a job that not only let her talk and bring joy to another, but also to read and write and learn about things that other servants never could. She had heard all sorts of stories from the library, and hells, she'd even been able to attend the New Year's Ball. She was the luckiest little girl in the servant's household to be chosen as Lady Beshna's personal handmaiden all those years ago. Although, with everything that had happened, her luck might have just run out.

Abreigelle spent the rest of the morning rummaging through the crates, trying to look for something that would make living down here more bearable. A blanket, some warm socks, or some food would be nice, but there was nothing here except old pewter dishes, bottles of wine, and a bunch of books that had gone moldy and unreadable. She didn't dare look at her hidden stash—those memories wouldn't serve her well at this time, especially since one in particular was still so fresh.

After hours of sitting on the floor aimlessly, Abreigelle suddenly heard a sound—a voice calling her name. She surged onto her feet and ran over to the window, clamping her hands around the metal crossbars. Lenore.

Lenore had to stoop down and sit on her knees just to reach Abreigelle's eye level. She wore an angry frown on her face as she caught a glimpse of the cellar's interior. "Are you ok?" she asked.

Abreigelle nodded. Sort-of ok, besides the fact she was locked in a makeshift prison.

"Monfreid told us what happened at the ball." Her head bobbed. "I can't believe that Lord Varner did this to you. He was probably drunk last night and didn't know what he was thinking."