glisten
the mind is a torrent of language
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ( I wrote this short story for my Advanced Fiction Class,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀and quite frankly I am searching for any and all critiques.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀Feel free to read, I would love to hear your thoughts!
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀TW: mild blood/gore, mentions poison )
Sparse skirts grated along cobblestone; a feminine pair of bare feet wrapped in rags rushed through the area on tiptoe. The young woman was not clumsy in her movements, no. Her starved figure darted deftly between heavy boot and heel; her steps lost to the bustle of the streets. Purpose filled her being as she walked, careful to not draw any attention to herself. She was a ghost amongst the crowd. Salty morning air mixed with warm smells of flour and yeast. This smell that had been leading her, was becoming more saturated. She was close to her target, and it would soon be time to strike.
She hated stealing. She wasn’t good at it because she did it often and cared to do it, she was good at it because she knew the consequences that awaited her if she were to be caught. The townsfolk knew her, knew where she came from; thus, stealing became quite difficult because they watched closely for her. But, Sundays brought the morning market that was nestled on the harbor side of town, which allowed for business to reach new customers, which allowed the young thief to blend in easier with the crowd.
She did not stand still while she poised herself, a cat ready to pounce on their prey. No, she still moved, but made sure to stay close, and in the shadows. She watched the vendor at the baker’s stand moving to grab her coin purse which had been hidden under the table. The customers, a painfully foreign, wealthy couple, cooed over each other. Their payment rested on the edge of the table. It was time. She lunged forward through a break in the crowd, appeared next to the couple, grasped for their coins with one hand and a loaf of bread with the other, then spun on heel and made a run for it. The first echoes of accusation flew over the crowd after she had made herself a good five paces away. By the gods… She cursed herself in her head whilst she felt a hoard of eyes coming to rest on her, following the point of accusatory fingers no doubt. Her feet padded lightly on the pavement as she rounded a corner into an empty alley, which she used to enter an inn that left their doors open on days like today. She did not run through the inn, for she could hear the footsteps following down her ghost trail and knew that the guards were now upon her. However, she didn’t pause her timed steps to shove the coins into the fold of her dress, nor did she pause as she snatched a traveler’s cloak off the back of his chair to drape around her head and shoulders. Moments would pass before the poor sap cried out in realization that it was gone, and by that time, the young woman had stepped into the opposing alley, her ratted hair and dirty face hidden under the shadows of his cloak.
She moved confidently now, careful to keep the large loaf of bread hidden under the fabric that drowned her slight frame; and keep her head low enough as to not be recognized. She passed by the couple, speaking to a head officer in hysterics, while the stout woman behind the stand spoke to another officer. However, the thief didn’t breathe until she had cleared the morning market, and soon the sounds and smells of the crowd fell far behind her, and she was on her way home. She did not pull the bread out on her journey, and still stepped carefully, for now she was in more danger than ever. The townsfolk knew her, the constables knew her, and if she were caught with this fancy cloak and the money and the bread, they would know. She would be accused in two seconds flat with no one to vouch for her.
Her worried thoughts were startled by a collision of her lithe frame with two pairs of large-bodied individuals. She inhaled sharply, stumbling backwards. A quick glace at their shoes told her their positions, and she knew, she was in for. She kept her head low, tears starting to well behind her eyes, her breathing going shaky.
“Oi, where’ya off’to little one?” One of the guards spoke.
“I…” she started.
Words had left her just as quickly as her hope, and she started moving backwards from the pair of guards, who matched their steps with hers.
“Look a’us will ya?” The second guard asked.
“I’m on my way back to the north side,” she said.
She pulled her hood down enough to allow the sunlight to break some of the shadow on her face as she raised her chin a bit, studying their uniformed chests.
One. She began counting the buttons on the first guard’s uniform.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lil’ mousey one eh?” the first guard asked.
Two.
“She’s pretty cute, this one. Wonder where she’s really of’to in such a nice ge’up,” he said.
Three. The second guard chuckled along. Four.
“Well, I reckon if she’s that cute, she better show’us her face, aye?”
Five. The first guard stepped closer to her. Six. She tried to step under his arm but was caught by both shoulders and held by a sturdy pair of hands, the second guard.
“Let’s see,” the second guard piped up. She could taste the tobacco in his lips. It charged the air between them. She was trembling. The first guard stepped behind her to pull the hood of the cloak from her head, revealing her dull, mussed brown hair. The grip on her shoulders tightened, and she knew that they knew.
“Street rat,” the first guard muttered.
Six. They spun her around, pulling the cloak from her shoulders, revealing the bread clutched weakly at her side. With a grunt, they dragged her back towards the market, their hands circled completely around her bony arms.
The baker was pleased she was caught, the couple happy to have their coins returned. It had taken such minor communication to find where she had committed her crime. The tears came freely now, as they pulled her to the square next to the constable’s center.
“Name?” A gruff voice spoke.
A crowd had already gathered but were blurred in her vision through her tears. She did not make a sound. She knew what was waiting for her.
“Name?!” the voice shouted.
“Adelaide Osthello,” she said.
“You have been accused of the crime of thievery. How do you plea?”
“Not guilty.”
“Will anyone stand?”
The crowd went dark and silent as she squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting her punishment. Her body shook now with her silent sobs. The only thing preventing her from collapsing were the guards holding her upright by her upper arms.
“I will,” a man’s voice said.
His tone had cut clearly across the crowd, and Adelaide opened her eyes to peer through her sniveling sight to see the crowd parting for an impeccably tall man in a stark white suit. The square was in a hushed shock as he stepped forward.
“How much?”
The constable took his payment and the guards thrust her forward towards him. Adelaide fell to her knees in front of him, a audible sob escaping her throat. Why me? She would rather have had her hands cut off, been lynched, or hanged. Anything but this. The crowd peered curiously as the guards barked at them to leave.
“Get up,” the man said.
Adelaide rose carefully, her starved frame weak from the excitement. She kept her gaze on his shiny black boots. Her pitiful frame was fuzzily reflected at her.
“You will work for me- it is obvious you need a job, and you are quite lucky I was feeling generous today. Come.”
He turned around without giving her an opportunity to speak, and she had no choice but to follow him back to his mansion.
He had allowed her to ride in his carriage, which was intriguing. She knew the man rarely left his home, and when he did, it was to strike fear- never to help anyone. This man never helped anyone- that she knew. He was cruel, cold-hearted. She tried to get a look at his face, but it was covered- as it always was rumored to be. When his dark eyes caught her looking, a squeak sounded at the back of her throat, and she immediately focused her gaze back on his shined boots. She left them there for the remainder of the ride. When the carriage stopped, she was greeted by a singular young woman. They locked eyes. Adelaide watched her face change. She was then ushered wordlessly by the woman down the side of the estate, the servant’s entrance. The halls inside were cold; even the underside of the lair of the Blood King was sinister and unforgiving.
All of Adelaide’s questions were met by silence. The woman led her up the stairs to a small room, a servant’s quarters. The door was shut and locked behind her. Adelaide pleaded through the door, begging to be let out, asking what she was here for. There was no response, and the girl fell asleep crumpled next to the dark wooden door.
Click. Adelaide woke, crawling backwards from the door. The same young woman who had met her earlier stood in the doorframe. Adelaide did not have a sense of the time, there were no windows in her room. Her hazel eyes were dark under a pair of furrowed brows.
“I am so…” the woman said.
She paused, almost as though stopping herself, her brows un-creasing her forehead.
“My name is Aemelia. The master has instructed me to show you to your duties, but we had better get you cleaned up and ready first.”
Aemelia extended her hand to the small frame huddled defensively at the foot of the bed. Adelaide reached out tentatively, allowing the other to help her stand.
“Why am I here?” Adelaide asked.
Her question was met with the response of Aemelia’s lips pressing into a thin line, and nothing more. She walked from the room, looking back at Adelaide.
“Come.”
Adelaide followed Aemelia down the stairs and through the kitchens, to a back room where a tub with hot water awaited her. The early evening light streamed through a window on the right side of the room. All thoughts and worries flew from her mind at the sight of a warm bath. Adelaide did not question the other girl any longer. She tugged the shambles of what was meant to be a dress from her bony body, and gently lowered herself through where the water met the air in a steamy embrace. A small sigh escaped her parted lips- the girl was in so much bliss, she had not even noticed that the young woman had placed a uniform on the chair next to the door and left the room. There was soap on a small ledge of the wooden tub. Adelaide seized it, bringing it to her nose. It smelled of lavender and honey and was buttery soft under her fingertips. Soon, she got to work, scrubbing years of grime from her hair and skin. The water was black when she stepped from the tub. The light cast shadows under every rib and shone on the water that still coated her skin. The girl engulfed herself in a towel, and then noticed the dress sitting on the chair next to the door. So, she clothed herself in the simple, dark garments, and then braided her long, dark locks down her back. She had forgotten what it was like to have clean clothes.
Adelaide tentatively opened the door to the kitchens and stepped out to see no one waiting for her. Odd. After locking her in a room and watching her every move, she would have thought that Aemelia would have been waiting for her. She also found it quite strange that she had seen no other soul in the time she had been ushered in and around the servant’s quarters. So, she wandered, aimlessly making her way though the kitchens, and up to a set of ornate doors. She opened them, and was met with the landing of a dark, ornate staircase. Her hands trailed up the railings as she walked up the stairs, her bare feet sticking across the polished wood. The hall at the top of the stairs was dark- as with everything in the house. The mahogany walls matched the floors. Ornate scones lined the walls, their candles nestled neatly. A red rug followed the length of the hall, which met a sharp corner at the end. Adelaide proceeded with caution, but soon found herself entering the great room of the house, which was breathtaking.
A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, so high up Adelaide wondered at the impossibility of how the candles had been lit. Two sets of broad stairs curved upwards at the back of the room, red rugs lining a path down their centers. An ornately detailed circular red rug sat in the middle of the room, woven from various shades of crimson, its patterns pulling and weaving over each other. The doors at the entrance were a dark black, and no moonlight entered through those windows. Stone and wood met neatly, everything stood alone.
The small girl was dwarfed in the grand area, and she stood with her chin raised, circling about herself, taking it all in. She was drawn to a small hall off the opposite side of the room to where she had entered, so the sticks of skin on wood followed her to the hall. Red was a theme in the mansion, which as it belonged to him, did not surprise her. The carpeting was soft underfoot and the second open door on the left drew her in, so she peeked her head in the door.
The room was a beautiful study room with a window overlooking out to a pond surrounded by a garden. The sunset painted the calm water. A mahogany desk stood at the rear of the room, a small candle lighting the perfectly clear surface. The rest of the room was lit as the hall had been, by candles mounted to the walls. She turned her head, and that was when she noticed the dark figure standing in front of the fireplace opposite to the desk. She held her breath, fearful of being caught.
Sweaty hands placed themselves on the door frame- she peeked in a bit more- her curiosity the death of her. As though he could sense her, the figure spoke:
“Are you going to stare, or are you going to come in?” he asked.
Adelaide’s throat went tight as she recognized the voice. Her feet moved to just barely cross the threshold, her eyes focused on the floor.
“I-I am sorry… sir, I was left alone, and I started walking around, and I found this room and I’m…”
“How do you like it here?” he asked.
Adelaide was taken aback by the question, so she paused. She studied the back of his figure, now that she was in the room her eyes had adjusted to the low light and she could see we was wearing a simple peasant-style shirt tucked in to some fitted black trousers. Gone were the shiny boots, and instead, he wore a simple pair of black loafers.
“There’s a lot of red.” she said.
He chuckled, turning now to face her. His black hair that had been hidden earlier by his hat framed a pleasant face- and he was young, much younger than she had expected. The Blood King had been a source of terror in all of Albion for centuries. How was he so…
“Surprised? I presumed as much. You do not have to fret my dear, you are safe here- the notorious Blood King is not all as bad as the world makes him out to be.”
“I am not your dear.”
Adelaide was horrified at her enthrallment with his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. A singular scar ran through his left brow. He chuckled.
“Blood King… I have always hated that name. You all know I am not royalty and yet, you all insist on calling me that horrible name.”
He crossed the room over to her now, standing mere inches away. Her eyes tracked his own, and he soon loomed over her, staring down at her with green irises. Good Gods. She had not noticed how lovely his eyes were.
“You’re a horrible person- what else were we supposed to call you?” she asked.
Though her sentence was defiant, her voice revealed her fear. Her statement was met with a small smile, which revealed dimples in his cheeks.
“Call me Reaver,” he said.
Adelaide felt her cheeks grow warm, and so she directed her gaze to the hearth of the dancing fire. She felt a calloused finger gently grace her chin, and Reaver then pulled her line of sight back to his own.
“Though, you may want to watch your curiosity little one, I would hate for the notorious Blood King to punish you.”
He smells like evergreen trees in winter.
“Master I- Oh gods,” Aemelia said.
She had entered the room from the wall adjacent to the desk.
“It’s alright Emeli, Adelaide and I were having a lovely conversation,” Reaver said with a small smile. He had stepped away from her, leaving a small buzz on her skin here his fingers had rested.
“I was wondering where you wandered off to! We need to get you shoes and brief you on the procedures for the ball tonight. By Luce if you ever wander off again-”
“Emeli? Make sure she is dressed appropriately for tonight,” Reaver said.
He left the room, leaving the pair of women alone. Aemelia moved to Adelaide, who stood frozen in the door frame.
“Come,” she said. Adelaide could not help but notice Aemelia’s fallen gaze; her normally confident demeanor, dissipated.
Adelaide was back in the servant’s quarters. After Aemelia introduced her to the few other servants on staff and had shown her the duties he was responsible for that night, she had given Adelaide a new dress to wear, and to say this one was different barely began to cover it.
She had been provided with extensive undergarments this time, and one of the other servants had to help her into them. Adelaide had never worn a corset before, and it alarmed her how it made her already starved waist look impossibly small. It was hard to breathe- she kept forgetting to take frequent shallow breaths rather then her usual breathing pattern. The dress was crimson, matching the Blood King’s sense of décor. The neckline was square, revealing her creamy décolletage. Fiery satin fabric engulfed her small torso and billowed at the waistline to create a full skirt. Embroidery outlined the bodice of the dress, the dark red stitching drawing the eye to all the right places.
Adelaide stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror that hung on the wall. They had certainly outdone themselves with this dress- and why was she to be dressed so fancily? She much would have preferred something simple, especially with her duties for the night. She lost herself in her own deep brown gaze, as she tugged gently at the hem on her sleeve. Tug down the right, tug down the left. Right, left, right, left. She smoothed the front of her dress, examining her body from the left angle, then the right. She pulled her long braid over her shoulder, undoing it to reveal a tumultuous mass of curls. Adelaide pressed her lips into a circle upon revealing the mess but startled at the door creaking to her left.
“Oh, don’t you look stunning,” Aemelia whispered.
Adelaide turned to face the girl, folding her hands in front her herself, then unfolding them and placing them at her sides. She grabbed two pinches of the fabric on her skirt and rubbed them together, her teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Aemelia looked at her with sparkling eyes, but Adelaide felt like a bundle of nerves swathed in fancy fabric.
“Thank you,” Adelaide said.
“Well your hair I… We can fix that. Come, I have your shoes here.”
Aemelia held up a pair of red heels garnished with gems and sequins, a flaming addition that perfectly matched the shade of the dress.
“Thank you,” Adelaide repeated.
Aemelia knelt, presenting one shoe at a time to the brunette standing above her. Daintily, Adelaide slipped her feet in, one at a time. Then, Aemelia stood, a small smile gracing her lips.
“Let’s get your hair fixed up- hm?”
Adelaide felt ridiculous. More than just her hair had been primped by Aemelia. Her face was plucked and powdered to perfection. She stood by the door, waiting to offer to take people’s coats. The Great Room was alight with energy, a small string quartet was nestled into the corner to set the mood. Once all the guests had arrived, Adelaide followed the line of servants headed to the kitchen to grab serving trays. She was given a tray filled with glasses of champagne, and so, she headed back up the stairs, and out into the hustle.
The room was buzzing with energy when Reaver arrived. Adelaide did not notice him at first, but when she did, the room around her went quiet too. He wore an ornate red and black get up, complete with a mask to hide his features. Despite his face being shrouded, Adelaide felt his eyes on her- she stared defiantly back. He raised his arms in a flamboyant greeting, the room applauded, and then the party picked up once more.
Adelaide moved through waltzing couples, picking up empty glasses and replacing them with full ones. It was enchanting to watch the skirts whirl around, the tinkle of laughter rising and falling with the cascading music. Adelaide smiled along with the guests, side-stepping to avoid a waltzing couple. She was greeted with the scent of pine, and a pair of sturdy hands steadying her at the waist.
“Slow down there dear one,” The Blood King said with a chuckle.
Adelaide flushed, using both hands to keep the tray steady.
“My apologies, sir,” she said.
“I told you to call me Reaver.”
Reaver snapped his fingers twice, gesturing for a servant to come his side. The Blood King then took the tray from Adelaide, handing it to the servant at hand.
“Dance with me darling,” he said.
Adelaide snatched a stout red glass from a servant walking by, warming her heart with a liquid fire. She would need courage for this next part.
“You’ll love it, I swear.”
So, they waltzed. They glided through the great hall, their clothes glinting in the firelight. Through his mask, Adelaide could see Reaver’s bright green eyes glinting at her with creased corners. She wondered what his smile looked like. He was a great dancer and led her well- she had no idea what she was doing, but under his guide she somehow felt less stupid. Adelaide was floating when they finished, high off the scent of wintergreens.
Thank you,” she said.
He had stolen her breath; her chest rose and fell quickly. It had already been hard to breathe in that corset and she was suddenly feeling very faint.
“Adelaide,” Reaver said.
She smiled at him.
“Are you evil?” she asked.
Her world went dark.
Adelaide’s chocolate gaze came to rest on the mansion for the second time after being asleep, and she felt herself brimming with frustration. Her clothes had been taken from her and she was left wearing a simple, white nightgown. She blinked at the ceiling, a canopy filling her view. That is when she jerked fully awake- she was not in the servant’s quarters, so where was she? Her eyes studied the room around her, her fingers gently brushing across the silken comforter beneath her. The bed she sat upon was huge, though the red room felt less sinister and more warm, gentle. The place felt rather… familiar. A portrait hung above the mantle of the fireplace. A portrait that looked chillingly similar to her…
“Adelaide,” a familiar voice spoke behind her.
Reaver had entered from a room on her left, no longer wearing his ballroom outfit. Instead, he was once more dressed in a simple button down and black fitted pants. This time, the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. His sleeves were rolled, and the white top was spattered with a bright crimson.
Adelaide felt her heart roar in her ears. She clutched the satin fabric she sat on, her lifeline to steadiness while the world spun about her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“What is that?”
“Do you need some water?”
“On your shirt.”
Reaver looked down at himself. He let out a chuckle, which calmed to a broad smile. Crinkled eyes. He has a nice smile, she thought.
“Are you feeling well enough- would you like to see?” He asked.
Adelaide bit her lip, worried her heart was audible from a mile away. Reaver walked to the edge of the bed, extending a hand to her. She took it, carefully lowering herself from the plush mattress.
“Come.”
He led her to the room adjacent, where a man knelt in the center, on a deep crimson rug. His hands were chained to bolts in the floor, his ankles shackled together, he jangled.
“Would you care to explain yourself to the lady?” Reaver asked.
A wicked light danced in his eyes, he moved towards a table, metal glinting in the candlelight.
“Y-your eminence, it was a misunderstanding, I did not mean any harm!” the man babbled. “She wasn’t meant to drink from the glass, I-”
“Tcht tcht tcht tcht tcht,” The Blood King shushed him.
“What…” Adelaide said.
“He poisoned your drink!” Reaver spoke once more.
Adelaide turned to him to see him standing in front of the table holding a delicate dagger in his hands. The handle was a blood red, and the cloth was stained the same color as he wiped the blade clean.
“Took a few to find the right culprit, but here he is!”
“Sir, please,” Adelaide said to the villain. “He couldn’t have meant… Why… Is this nec-”
Her stammering stopped when Reaver held the knife out to her, handle first.
“My love, do something about it.” He told her.
Adelaide crossed to the man with shaking hands. She stared at him, helpless to what awaited him. She was aware of the Blood King’s presence behind her, his fingertips barely brushing her waist through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
“Go on.” Reaver said.
Adeleaide knelt in front of the whimpering man, her mind hazy. She pressed the tip to the man’s throat.
“Do it,” Reaver whispered in her ear.
The blade was sharp, it cut through the skin of his neck like paper. Her hands were covered in blood when a joyous laugh bubbled from her lips. She remembered, and she was back.
“Welcome home, my queen.”
Reaver placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, as Adelaide pulled the blade from the man’s throat. He gurgled and clanked to the floor, slumping forwards and into her lap. A smile pulled on Adelaide’s lips, as she felt it all come flooding back to her.
“Reaver,” she whispered, turning her head to his.
“My little Blood Queen.”
“I’m home.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀and quite frankly I am searching for any and all critiques.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀Feel free to read, I would love to hear your thoughts!
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀TW: mild blood/gore, mentions poison )
Bloodborne
Sparse skirts grated along cobblestone; a feminine pair of bare feet wrapped in rags rushed through the area on tiptoe. The young woman was not clumsy in her movements, no. Her starved figure darted deftly between heavy boot and heel; her steps lost to the bustle of the streets. Purpose filled her being as she walked, careful to not draw any attention to herself. She was a ghost amongst the crowd. Salty morning air mixed with warm smells of flour and yeast. This smell that had been leading her, was becoming more saturated. She was close to her target, and it would soon be time to strike.
She hated stealing. She wasn’t good at it because she did it often and cared to do it, she was good at it because she knew the consequences that awaited her if she were to be caught. The townsfolk knew her, knew where she came from; thus, stealing became quite difficult because they watched closely for her. But, Sundays brought the morning market that was nestled on the harbor side of town, which allowed for business to reach new customers, which allowed the young thief to blend in easier with the crowd.
She did not stand still while she poised herself, a cat ready to pounce on their prey. No, she still moved, but made sure to stay close, and in the shadows. She watched the vendor at the baker’s stand moving to grab her coin purse which had been hidden under the table. The customers, a painfully foreign, wealthy couple, cooed over each other. Their payment rested on the edge of the table. It was time. She lunged forward through a break in the crowd, appeared next to the couple, grasped for their coins with one hand and a loaf of bread with the other, then spun on heel and made a run for it. The first echoes of accusation flew over the crowd after she had made herself a good five paces away. By the gods… She cursed herself in her head whilst she felt a hoard of eyes coming to rest on her, following the point of accusatory fingers no doubt. Her feet padded lightly on the pavement as she rounded a corner into an empty alley, which she used to enter an inn that left their doors open on days like today. She did not run through the inn, for she could hear the footsteps following down her ghost trail and knew that the guards were now upon her. However, she didn’t pause her timed steps to shove the coins into the fold of her dress, nor did she pause as she snatched a traveler’s cloak off the back of his chair to drape around her head and shoulders. Moments would pass before the poor sap cried out in realization that it was gone, and by that time, the young woman had stepped into the opposing alley, her ratted hair and dirty face hidden under the shadows of his cloak.
She moved confidently now, careful to keep the large loaf of bread hidden under the fabric that drowned her slight frame; and keep her head low enough as to not be recognized. She passed by the couple, speaking to a head officer in hysterics, while the stout woman behind the stand spoke to another officer. However, the thief didn’t breathe until she had cleared the morning market, and soon the sounds and smells of the crowd fell far behind her, and she was on her way home. She did not pull the bread out on her journey, and still stepped carefully, for now she was in more danger than ever. The townsfolk knew her, the constables knew her, and if she were caught with this fancy cloak and the money and the bread, they would know. She would be accused in two seconds flat with no one to vouch for her.
Her worried thoughts were startled by a collision of her lithe frame with two pairs of large-bodied individuals. She inhaled sharply, stumbling backwards. A quick glace at their shoes told her their positions, and she knew, she was in for. She kept her head low, tears starting to well behind her eyes, her breathing going shaky.
“Oi, where’ya off’to little one?” One of the guards spoke.
“I…” she started.
Words had left her just as quickly as her hope, and she started moving backwards from the pair of guards, who matched their steps with hers.
“Look a’us will ya?” The second guard asked.
“I’m on my way back to the north side,” she said.
She pulled her hood down enough to allow the sunlight to break some of the shadow on her face as she raised her chin a bit, studying their uniformed chests.
One. She began counting the buttons on the first guard’s uniform.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lil’ mousey one eh?” the first guard asked.
Two.
“She’s pretty cute, this one. Wonder where she’s really of’to in such a nice ge’up,” he said.
Three. The second guard chuckled along. Four.
“Well, I reckon if she’s that cute, she better show’us her face, aye?”
Five. The first guard stepped closer to her. Six. She tried to step under his arm but was caught by both shoulders and held by a sturdy pair of hands, the second guard.
“Let’s see,” the second guard piped up. She could taste the tobacco in his lips. It charged the air between them. She was trembling. The first guard stepped behind her to pull the hood of the cloak from her head, revealing her dull, mussed brown hair. The grip on her shoulders tightened, and she knew that they knew.
“Street rat,” the first guard muttered.
Six. They spun her around, pulling the cloak from her shoulders, revealing the bread clutched weakly at her side. With a grunt, they dragged her back towards the market, their hands circled completely around her bony arms.
The baker was pleased she was caught, the couple happy to have their coins returned. It had taken such minor communication to find where she had committed her crime. The tears came freely now, as they pulled her to the square next to the constable’s center.
“Name?” A gruff voice spoke.
A crowd had already gathered but were blurred in her vision through her tears. She did not make a sound. She knew what was waiting for her.
“Name?!” the voice shouted.
“Adelaide Osthello,” she said.
“You have been accused of the crime of thievery. How do you plea?”
“Not guilty.”
“Will anyone stand?”
The crowd went dark and silent as she squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting her punishment. Her body shook now with her silent sobs. The only thing preventing her from collapsing were the guards holding her upright by her upper arms.
“I will,” a man’s voice said.
His tone had cut clearly across the crowd, and Adelaide opened her eyes to peer through her sniveling sight to see the crowd parting for an impeccably tall man in a stark white suit. The square was in a hushed shock as he stepped forward.
“How much?”
The constable took his payment and the guards thrust her forward towards him. Adelaide fell to her knees in front of him, a audible sob escaping her throat. Why me? She would rather have had her hands cut off, been lynched, or hanged. Anything but this. The crowd peered curiously as the guards barked at them to leave.
“Get up,” the man said.
Adelaide rose carefully, her starved frame weak from the excitement. She kept her gaze on his shiny black boots. Her pitiful frame was fuzzily reflected at her.
“You will work for me- it is obvious you need a job, and you are quite lucky I was feeling generous today. Come.”
He turned around without giving her an opportunity to speak, and she had no choice but to follow him back to his mansion.
He had allowed her to ride in his carriage, which was intriguing. She knew the man rarely left his home, and when he did, it was to strike fear- never to help anyone. This man never helped anyone- that she knew. He was cruel, cold-hearted. She tried to get a look at his face, but it was covered- as it always was rumored to be. When his dark eyes caught her looking, a squeak sounded at the back of her throat, and she immediately focused her gaze back on his shined boots. She left them there for the remainder of the ride. When the carriage stopped, she was greeted by a singular young woman. They locked eyes. Adelaide watched her face change. She was then ushered wordlessly by the woman down the side of the estate, the servant’s entrance. The halls inside were cold; even the underside of the lair of the Blood King was sinister and unforgiving.
All of Adelaide’s questions were met by silence. The woman led her up the stairs to a small room, a servant’s quarters. The door was shut and locked behind her. Adelaide pleaded through the door, begging to be let out, asking what she was here for. There was no response, and the girl fell asleep crumpled next to the dark wooden door.
Click. Adelaide woke, crawling backwards from the door. The same young woman who had met her earlier stood in the doorframe. Adelaide did not have a sense of the time, there were no windows in her room. Her hazel eyes were dark under a pair of furrowed brows.
“I am so…” the woman said.
She paused, almost as though stopping herself, her brows un-creasing her forehead.
“My name is Aemelia. The master has instructed me to show you to your duties, but we had better get you cleaned up and ready first.”
Aemelia extended her hand to the small frame huddled defensively at the foot of the bed. Adelaide reached out tentatively, allowing the other to help her stand.
“Why am I here?” Adelaide asked.
Her question was met with the response of Aemelia’s lips pressing into a thin line, and nothing more. She walked from the room, looking back at Adelaide.
“Come.”
Adelaide followed Aemelia down the stairs and through the kitchens, to a back room where a tub with hot water awaited her. The early evening light streamed through a window on the right side of the room. All thoughts and worries flew from her mind at the sight of a warm bath. Adelaide did not question the other girl any longer. She tugged the shambles of what was meant to be a dress from her bony body, and gently lowered herself through where the water met the air in a steamy embrace. A small sigh escaped her parted lips- the girl was in so much bliss, she had not even noticed that the young woman had placed a uniform on the chair next to the door and left the room. There was soap on a small ledge of the wooden tub. Adelaide seized it, bringing it to her nose. It smelled of lavender and honey and was buttery soft under her fingertips. Soon, she got to work, scrubbing years of grime from her hair and skin. The water was black when she stepped from the tub. The light cast shadows under every rib and shone on the water that still coated her skin. The girl engulfed herself in a towel, and then noticed the dress sitting on the chair next to the door. So, she clothed herself in the simple, dark garments, and then braided her long, dark locks down her back. She had forgotten what it was like to have clean clothes.
Adelaide tentatively opened the door to the kitchens and stepped out to see no one waiting for her. Odd. After locking her in a room and watching her every move, she would have thought that Aemelia would have been waiting for her. She also found it quite strange that she had seen no other soul in the time she had been ushered in and around the servant’s quarters. So, she wandered, aimlessly making her way though the kitchens, and up to a set of ornate doors. She opened them, and was met with the landing of a dark, ornate staircase. Her hands trailed up the railings as she walked up the stairs, her bare feet sticking across the polished wood. The hall at the top of the stairs was dark- as with everything in the house. The mahogany walls matched the floors. Ornate scones lined the walls, their candles nestled neatly. A red rug followed the length of the hall, which met a sharp corner at the end. Adelaide proceeded with caution, but soon found herself entering the great room of the house, which was breathtaking.
A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, so high up Adelaide wondered at the impossibility of how the candles had been lit. Two sets of broad stairs curved upwards at the back of the room, red rugs lining a path down their centers. An ornately detailed circular red rug sat in the middle of the room, woven from various shades of crimson, its patterns pulling and weaving over each other. The doors at the entrance were a dark black, and no moonlight entered through those windows. Stone and wood met neatly, everything stood alone.
The small girl was dwarfed in the grand area, and she stood with her chin raised, circling about herself, taking it all in. She was drawn to a small hall off the opposite side of the room to where she had entered, so the sticks of skin on wood followed her to the hall. Red was a theme in the mansion, which as it belonged to him, did not surprise her. The carpeting was soft underfoot and the second open door on the left drew her in, so she peeked her head in the door.
The room was a beautiful study room with a window overlooking out to a pond surrounded by a garden. The sunset painted the calm water. A mahogany desk stood at the rear of the room, a small candle lighting the perfectly clear surface. The rest of the room was lit as the hall had been, by candles mounted to the walls. She turned her head, and that was when she noticed the dark figure standing in front of the fireplace opposite to the desk. She held her breath, fearful of being caught.
Sweaty hands placed themselves on the door frame- she peeked in a bit more- her curiosity the death of her. As though he could sense her, the figure spoke:
“Are you going to stare, or are you going to come in?” he asked.
Adelaide’s throat went tight as she recognized the voice. Her feet moved to just barely cross the threshold, her eyes focused on the floor.
“I-I am sorry… sir, I was left alone, and I started walking around, and I found this room and I’m…”
“How do you like it here?” he asked.
Adelaide was taken aback by the question, so she paused. She studied the back of his figure, now that she was in the room her eyes had adjusted to the low light and she could see we was wearing a simple peasant-style shirt tucked in to some fitted black trousers. Gone were the shiny boots, and instead, he wore a simple pair of black loafers.
“There’s a lot of red.” she said.
He chuckled, turning now to face her. His black hair that had been hidden earlier by his hat framed a pleasant face- and he was young, much younger than she had expected. The Blood King had been a source of terror in all of Albion for centuries. How was he so…
“Surprised? I presumed as much. You do not have to fret my dear, you are safe here- the notorious Blood King is not all as bad as the world makes him out to be.”
“I am not your dear.”
Adelaide was horrified at her enthrallment with his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. A singular scar ran through his left brow. He chuckled.
“Blood King… I have always hated that name. You all know I am not royalty and yet, you all insist on calling me that horrible name.”
He crossed the room over to her now, standing mere inches away. Her eyes tracked his own, and he soon loomed over her, staring down at her with green irises. Good Gods. She had not noticed how lovely his eyes were.
“You’re a horrible person- what else were we supposed to call you?” she asked.
Though her sentence was defiant, her voice revealed her fear. Her statement was met with a small smile, which revealed dimples in his cheeks.
“Call me Reaver,” he said.
Adelaide felt her cheeks grow warm, and so she directed her gaze to the hearth of the dancing fire. She felt a calloused finger gently grace her chin, and Reaver then pulled her line of sight back to his own.
“Though, you may want to watch your curiosity little one, I would hate for the notorious Blood King to punish you.”
He smells like evergreen trees in winter.
“Master I- Oh gods,” Aemelia said.
She had entered the room from the wall adjacent to the desk.
“It’s alright Emeli, Adelaide and I were having a lovely conversation,” Reaver said with a small smile. He had stepped away from her, leaving a small buzz on her skin here his fingers had rested.
“I was wondering where you wandered off to! We need to get you shoes and brief you on the procedures for the ball tonight. By Luce if you ever wander off again-”
“Emeli? Make sure she is dressed appropriately for tonight,” Reaver said.
He left the room, leaving the pair of women alone. Aemelia moved to Adelaide, who stood frozen in the door frame.
“Come,” she said. Adelaide could not help but notice Aemelia’s fallen gaze; her normally confident demeanor, dissipated.
Adelaide was back in the servant’s quarters. After Aemelia introduced her to the few other servants on staff and had shown her the duties he was responsible for that night, she had given Adelaide a new dress to wear, and to say this one was different barely began to cover it.
She had been provided with extensive undergarments this time, and one of the other servants had to help her into them. Adelaide had never worn a corset before, and it alarmed her how it made her already starved waist look impossibly small. It was hard to breathe- she kept forgetting to take frequent shallow breaths rather then her usual breathing pattern. The dress was crimson, matching the Blood King’s sense of décor. The neckline was square, revealing her creamy décolletage. Fiery satin fabric engulfed her small torso and billowed at the waistline to create a full skirt. Embroidery outlined the bodice of the dress, the dark red stitching drawing the eye to all the right places.
Adelaide stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror that hung on the wall. They had certainly outdone themselves with this dress- and why was she to be dressed so fancily? She much would have preferred something simple, especially with her duties for the night. She lost herself in her own deep brown gaze, as she tugged gently at the hem on her sleeve. Tug down the right, tug down the left. Right, left, right, left. She smoothed the front of her dress, examining her body from the left angle, then the right. She pulled her long braid over her shoulder, undoing it to reveal a tumultuous mass of curls. Adelaide pressed her lips into a circle upon revealing the mess but startled at the door creaking to her left.
“Oh, don’t you look stunning,” Aemelia whispered.
Adelaide turned to face the girl, folding her hands in front her herself, then unfolding them and placing them at her sides. She grabbed two pinches of the fabric on her skirt and rubbed them together, her teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Aemelia looked at her with sparkling eyes, but Adelaide felt like a bundle of nerves swathed in fancy fabric.
“Thank you,” Adelaide said.
“Well your hair I… We can fix that. Come, I have your shoes here.”
Aemelia held up a pair of red heels garnished with gems and sequins, a flaming addition that perfectly matched the shade of the dress.
“Thank you,” Adelaide repeated.
Aemelia knelt, presenting one shoe at a time to the brunette standing above her. Daintily, Adelaide slipped her feet in, one at a time. Then, Aemelia stood, a small smile gracing her lips.
“Let’s get your hair fixed up- hm?”
Adelaide felt ridiculous. More than just her hair had been primped by Aemelia. Her face was plucked and powdered to perfection. She stood by the door, waiting to offer to take people’s coats. The Great Room was alight with energy, a small string quartet was nestled into the corner to set the mood. Once all the guests had arrived, Adelaide followed the line of servants headed to the kitchen to grab serving trays. She was given a tray filled with glasses of champagne, and so, she headed back up the stairs, and out into the hustle.
The room was buzzing with energy when Reaver arrived. Adelaide did not notice him at first, but when she did, the room around her went quiet too. He wore an ornate red and black get up, complete with a mask to hide his features. Despite his face being shrouded, Adelaide felt his eyes on her- she stared defiantly back. He raised his arms in a flamboyant greeting, the room applauded, and then the party picked up once more.
Adelaide moved through waltzing couples, picking up empty glasses and replacing them with full ones. It was enchanting to watch the skirts whirl around, the tinkle of laughter rising and falling with the cascading music. Adelaide smiled along with the guests, side-stepping to avoid a waltzing couple. She was greeted with the scent of pine, and a pair of sturdy hands steadying her at the waist.
“Slow down there dear one,” The Blood King said with a chuckle.
Adelaide flushed, using both hands to keep the tray steady.
“My apologies, sir,” she said.
“I told you to call me Reaver.”
Reaver snapped his fingers twice, gesturing for a servant to come his side. The Blood King then took the tray from Adelaide, handing it to the servant at hand.
“Dance with me darling,” he said.
Adelaide snatched a stout red glass from a servant walking by, warming her heart with a liquid fire. She would need courage for this next part.
“You’ll love it, I swear.”
So, they waltzed. They glided through the great hall, their clothes glinting in the firelight. Through his mask, Adelaide could see Reaver’s bright green eyes glinting at her with creased corners. She wondered what his smile looked like. He was a great dancer and led her well- she had no idea what she was doing, but under his guide she somehow felt less stupid. Adelaide was floating when they finished, high off the scent of wintergreens.
Thank you,” she said.
He had stolen her breath; her chest rose and fell quickly. It had already been hard to breathe in that corset and she was suddenly feeling very faint.
“Adelaide,” Reaver said.
She smiled at him.
“Are you evil?” she asked.
Her world went dark.
Adelaide’s chocolate gaze came to rest on the mansion for the second time after being asleep, and she felt herself brimming with frustration. Her clothes had been taken from her and she was left wearing a simple, white nightgown. She blinked at the ceiling, a canopy filling her view. That is when she jerked fully awake- she was not in the servant’s quarters, so where was she? Her eyes studied the room around her, her fingers gently brushing across the silken comforter beneath her. The bed she sat upon was huge, though the red room felt less sinister and more warm, gentle. The place felt rather… familiar. A portrait hung above the mantle of the fireplace. A portrait that looked chillingly similar to her…
“Adelaide,” a familiar voice spoke behind her.
Reaver had entered from a room on her left, no longer wearing his ballroom outfit. Instead, he was once more dressed in a simple button down and black fitted pants. This time, the top three buttons of his shirt were undone. His sleeves were rolled, and the white top was spattered with a bright crimson.
Adelaide felt her heart roar in her ears. She clutched the satin fabric she sat on, her lifeline to steadiness while the world spun about her.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“What is that?”
“Do you need some water?”
“On your shirt.”
Reaver looked down at himself. He let out a chuckle, which calmed to a broad smile. Crinkled eyes. He has a nice smile, she thought.
“Are you feeling well enough- would you like to see?” He asked.
Adelaide bit her lip, worried her heart was audible from a mile away. Reaver walked to the edge of the bed, extending a hand to her. She took it, carefully lowering herself from the plush mattress.
“Come.”
He led her to the room adjacent, where a man knelt in the center, on a deep crimson rug. His hands were chained to bolts in the floor, his ankles shackled together, he jangled.
“Would you care to explain yourself to the lady?” Reaver asked.
A wicked light danced in his eyes, he moved towards a table, metal glinting in the candlelight.
“Y-your eminence, it was a misunderstanding, I did not mean any harm!” the man babbled. “She wasn’t meant to drink from the glass, I-”
“Tcht tcht tcht tcht tcht,” The Blood King shushed him.
“What…” Adelaide said.
“He poisoned your drink!” Reaver spoke once more.
Adelaide turned to him to see him standing in front of the table holding a delicate dagger in his hands. The handle was a blood red, and the cloth was stained the same color as he wiped the blade clean.
“Took a few to find the right culprit, but here he is!”
“Sir, please,” Adelaide said to the villain. “He couldn’t have meant… Why… Is this nec-”
Her stammering stopped when Reaver held the knife out to her, handle first.
“My love, do something about it.” He told her.
Adelaide crossed to the man with shaking hands. She stared at him, helpless to what awaited him. She was aware of the Blood King’s presence behind her, his fingertips barely brushing her waist through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
“Go on.” Reaver said.
Adeleaide knelt in front of the whimpering man, her mind hazy. She pressed the tip to the man’s throat.
“Do it,” Reaver whispered in her ear.
The blade was sharp, it cut through the skin of his neck like paper. Her hands were covered in blood when a joyous laugh bubbled from her lips. She remembered, and she was back.
“Welcome home, my queen.”
Reaver placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, as Adelaide pulled the blade from the man’s throat. He gurgled and clanked to the floor, slumping forwards and into her lap. A smile pulled on Adelaide’s lips, as she felt it all come flooding back to her.
“Reaver,” she whispered, turning her head to his.
“My little Blood Queen.”
“I’m home.”
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