The Dying Rose

Chapter Five

Music was playing throughout the corridor as Corla danced with the paintings above her head. She had no one to dance with, but that didn't stop her from trying. She gently placed one of both of her hands on top of imaginary shoulders. She tried to imagine a face but all that showed up was her father's face. She tried to shake it away but it didn't leave.

"It's okay, my dear," Corla heard him say. She glared as if it were a mind trick, not trusting anything about it. "I'm going to teach you how to dance." Corla looked toward the imagined eyes and gave the slightest nod, though she didn't trust what was going on. He smiled, rising his cheeks and wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Corla almost wanted to smile but held it back.

"First, you want to place one hand on my shoulder, the other in my open hand." The imaginary man spoke, opening up one of his hands. She clenched her jaw before taking it slowly, and still the man smiled. "Then I put my free hand on your waist." He grinned softly, looking at the girl with a fatherly smile. His hand fell on her waist gently, and Corla nearly jumped back from feeling the warmth of his hand. The man gave a light chuckle before speaking again. "Now we have to dance along with the music. Focus on the violins, my dear." Corla tried to, but she was too focused on the imaginary man. She was about to step away from him when he began to dance. He took half a step back, forcing Corla to take half a step forward. She blinked, looking down to her feet quickly. "So far so good," he whispered into the space between them before taking a half step to the side, letting her follow his steps. "It's like we're making a box, except we're dancing. You keep doing the same steps." He grinned gently, taking another half step. Corla followed, but she was beginning to get flustered. Her lips twisted into a slight grin without her knowing. "You smile just like your mother used to."

Corla paused and immediately took a step back from him. She looked up to his face and snarled for a second before looking away from him. She didn't know what to say anymore, she didn't know how to react. She looked back to the imagined man and then away again. She repeated that for a little bit until she took a few steps back. "Corla," he said, taking a step toward her as she took a step back. "We had to protect you somehow," he whispered, dropping his arms and stood still. "They would have taken you too."

"Who would have taken me?" Corla asked, but as she asked, the man disappeared and all around her was a faded black. She backed up, trying to get away, but she was engulfed in it before she could run away.

Then she woke up in her bed, breathing hard as her heart beat increased. "Dad?" she asked, looking around frantically. She breathed out the air in her lungs slowly, realizing it was just a dream. Her eyebrows lowered and her normal scowl found it's place on her face. She growled deeply and stood from her bed quickly, soaring through the air with power. She stormed out of her room and went down to the ballroom, looking around with anger. She growled louder before bolting toward the garden. The rose was still dying, growing old and wrinkly. Corla looked at it with a scowl before seeing all of the dead flowers around it. Her glare softened and she knelt beside the flowers. Most of them were dying, even though her servant had been watering them daily. She brought one of her hands toward the still living rose and ran her index finger down the petals. None of them were falling, but she knew they would be soon. She took a breath and stood quickly and turned away from the garden.

In front of her was her servant, who held a silver tray in her delicate arms. On it was a plate with scrambled eggs and toast with butter, as well as the same chipped tea up and tea pot she brought Corla the other day. "I was wondering where you were, dear," the woman said gently, but her eyes fell onto the gardens behind Corla before focusing back on the girl. "I brought you breakfast."

"We don't have time to eat," Corla's voice thundered around the two of them. "We have to get the king!" Corla looked back toward the rose before she glared toward her servant. "We will leave tonight," Corla said before walking around the servant. "Get ready," she demanded before rushing down the hall and down the stairs to her secret room.

The broken screen was in front of her. The wires stopped cracking with electricity, but the screen was still broken and stoll had no colour. Corla nearly smiled before she moved a mouse for another monitor. In front of her was a picture of both the king and the prince. She tried to ignore the prince's face as she glared at his father.

He looked too snobby and rich, and Corla knew it would be easy to get him out of his castle. Her servant would work quickly, and Corla wasn't worried. The king would get the citizens into the castle and lock the barricades and the entrances, but there would be a criminal somewhere in the crowd.  Corla grinned as she stared at the king, looking into his olive green eyes. He must have had a good life before the queen was killed, but Corla lacked sympathy for him. When she glanced toward the prince, who was the same age as her, she huffed out some air. "Soon," she whispered to herself before turning off the screen and walking out of the room.

Tonight would be the night. The king was going to be her's.