The Colosseum

Terms I Can Understand

Kova

Leon took me to my bedroom after I filed for dinner to be served in my bedroom rather than the Dining Hall. "It can be arranged," is all he quietly confirmed. And when I asked if the king is as malicious as I think he is, Leon bit his lip and spoke naught. That is, until we arrived at my room and I stepped inside. "His mind has been warped," Leon eventually answered, sympathy shining in his eyes. Before I had the opportunity to follow up with a question, the servant shut the door, leaving me in here by myself.

The bed is pushed against the right wall, with red veils draped all around it. Across the foot of the bed, a giant wardrobe with elegant etchings stands closed. Upon opening it, I discover a single pair of pajamas and a plain outfit, presumably for tomorrow. Sighing, I wander to the side of the bed, flicking on the lamp that sits atop a short nightstand which is, predictably, full of nothing. The room doesn't lack a window, however, and I immediately draw the curtains back. The view is stunning – I'll give it that much. Overlooking an elaborate garden and a faintly illuminated clocktower makes me momentarily forget the day's events.

After absorbing the environment, I throw myself on the plush bed. A thick comforter, silk sheets, and fluffed pillows are enough to make me swoon. Though as I try to sleep, I find myself in an odd state of discomfort. Rolling this way and that, changing out all eight of my pillows, and even switching which side my head goes on doesn't solve the issue. Then it hits me. Although I've fantasized about sleeping in such luxurious conditions, I've found myself with my dreams amuck on the floor of the desert. Now, it's almost like the bed is trying to swallow me whole.

Sitting up, I suddenly miss home – or whatever my tent in the dunes was. Though I was barely surviving, I wasn't forced to kill people, let alone get swept up in double crossing people and meeting my mother who seemed to want me dead.

A pang of anguish spears through my body. Though I never looked into her eyes as she bashed my head against the ground, I have the stitches that speak for how she feels about me. What did I do wrong? What made her want me hurt to such a degree? Does it have to do with the reason why she decided to leave me behind in the first place? Or is she really that much of a cruel woman?

Rapping lightly on the door, Leon coos, "Dinner." Waiting a beat, he opens the door and motions for others to come in. Pushing a cart of food covered in tons of dishes, maids lift the silver lids off the meal, releasing curls of steam into the air. A glass of water is poured for me by Leon, who asks, "Is there anything else I can get you?" Silverware, plates, warm food, and a glass of water...it's more than I ever had.

"No," I whisper.

"Enjoy," he says, like he doesn't really care if I enjoy or not.

Roasted goose, sorbet embellished in flower petals, and a rice pilaf stare up at me, the savory seasoning smelling delightful. Yet with Annette on my mind, I find my appetite diminished. The roomy bedroom suddenly seems small and suffocating. The king said I could go anywhere I wanted...does that count when it's late at night? Only one way to find out.

Tentatively, I start to open the door, but yank it when I realize I'm being ridiculous. What's the worst that'll happen? I'll get beaten? Killed? The thought of either of those things happening doesn't trouble me, which should then make me feel troubled about the sprout of carelessness, but it doesn't. I've already felt like a bit of me died anyways, and I don't think it can get much worse than your own mother pounding the crap out of you on live TV.

Exiting the room, two guards and Leon perk up at my presence. Ignoring them, I head outside towards the garden, hoping that some scenery might clean my head and restock my appetite. The ones who were meant to follow me do so without question, which is nice. I don't want to be spoken to in fear of the topic focusing on Annette, and I'm not sure I can speak of her without crying tears of rage and rejection. I'm already mortified that I cried in front of the king. I don't need is quiet servant to watch me do the same.