Slowly and Painfully ー ✓

Chapter 50: The Whistle in the Dark

Cold.

That's the first thing that comes to mind.

Dark.

That's the second.

And for the third...

Tayden's vacuous gaze.

They were as though wiped off of colors that make him feel, that make him human. They were wiped off clean, almost like a blank slate. As the gears of my struggling brain began to spin at clockwork motions, recent memories fill me up with pleasant sceneries and smiling faces. The change of mood had occurred too fast. This was unwritten in the passage of historical events. Damn it, I should've been prepared for the worst. And I shouldn't have let my guard down.

I couldn't help it. It was Tayden.

I recalled a blunt force knocking me out. Those soldiers. His men.

No, not Tayden's. His.

The man undeserving of his entitlement and his kingdom.

Somehow, Eldred's wicked toothy grin drove me to a contemptuous rage, giving me power to at least crawl towards the bright lights shining ahead of me. Other than the throbbing of my head, I don't seem to be scathed. I felt the goad to faint, but I won't allow myself succumbing to my unpredicted fate just yet.

Through the dark, I crawled along the biting chill of the cracked floor. Growing past these cracks, tiny plants brushed against my dirty palms.

Aculeus, my weapon, wasn't with me.

Without it, I was as bare as a rose that had its thorns scraped—scraped like skin peeled away from flesh.

Back then, I refused to have thorns, didn't I? I should be happy.

I should be happy...

But then why am I so close to crying?

You are unique in all the world, Rosette. Your thorns would never make you ugly. It makes you fearless. It makes you who you are destined to become. That is the true kind of beautiful.

Those lines resonated. They resonated louder than the droplets of ambiguous liquid coming from behind me, dripping one at a time in consistent will. Taking a peek over my shoulder was the least of my priorities. My curiosity had drowned beneath stress.

Although, it had me realize how dry my throat was. I was thirsty. Water. I need water.

I made it to the metal bars and gripped them hard. I shook them with the leftover strength I have, producing these series of rattling noises. Beyond me were torchlights plastered on the spaces between arch after arch, their incandescence layering the dimlit surroundings in ruddy amber. Multiple cells with the same metal bars greeted me from left to right.

The dungeons. I'm in the dungeons.

Process this quickly, Rosette. How will you get out? Where will you go? When will your chances arrive? I forced my mind to think and come up with ideas.

Due to frustration and uncharacteristic impatience, I shook the bars harder.

“I would stop that if I were you.” A lonesome voice slithered out of the dark cell from across me. Startled by the sudden sound, I let go of the metal bars.

I squinted at the figure within the shadows of the cell. He had a stocky build. His ankles were cuffed with shackles, chained to the stone wall. And he wore a stained apron.

My jaw dropped in recognition.

The Royal Cook!

“Mushu...?” I called out, enunciating his name like I was reciting a forgotten poetry from second grade.