Anita peered through the coats of people, her fingertips itching from loose looking pockets and badly placed broaches. Were Anita a dog she would've been drooling.
She gulped as she slipped past people, her arms brushing against silk and cotton and the bulges of goods in pockets or hanging from the sleeves of women.
This would be so easy… Anita thought, They're too focused on the Queen.
For once in Anita's life, she didn't care that she was the shortest person in the crowd. Aside from the bopping of the Queen's white hair, Anita couldn't see the Queen nor her dress nor her face nor her anything. Anita weaved her way further through the crowd until she got to an unguarded doorway. She ducked into the corridor and peered out in search of Raphael, but she couldn't see his hat or hair anywhere amongst them.
Anita waited, for a long while, scanning the crowd for some sign of that Raphael was on his way or perhaps at another doorway, when she heard a violin.
The song which played caused an immediate shiver to run down her spine. She pulled away from the archway and pressed her back against the wall, while dampened in the hallway the faintness of the piece only made it more daunting, yet beautiful. Anita couldn't walk away from it.
Eventually, the music stopped. Anita could hear faint voices, their words indistinct, but she believed it to be the Queen. The crowd muttered, some women gasping, as a commotion appeared to begin.
Anita heard Maria's voice.
Like the Queen, she was unable to hear what was being said.
But it was Maria's voice.
Upon hearing her, Anita groaned softly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she looked out to the crowd again. People had made a circle around her, there was some sort of commotion, followed by the Queen demanding someone to leave.
Anita leaned heavily on the doorframe and sighed sadly as she walked down the corridor in search of the crown. If Maria was in trouble, Raphael wasn't going to help find the crown, he was going to help Maria.
Anita took her chance and started running down the hallway, deciding to meet up with Raphael at the crown, if he ever got there in the first place. There was a ping of excitement resting in Anita's stomach, thinking of Raphael's face when she found the crown on her own, the guilt he may feel and the ways in which she could exploit it.
As Anita wandered down the halls, she became lost in thought whilst in the quiet.
Anita was well in touch with her emotions, at least by her own standards, but she admitted she didn't understand social situations and customs at times. She also contemplated whether she disliked Maria or merely the idea of Maria and Raphael.
The more steps she took, the greater the possibility of hatred became.
But she didn't understand why this feeling was bubbling away in the back of her mind. It made no sense for her to feel this way. Maria hadn't done anything to her, on the contrary, she was rather kind for the most part, and she seemed to make Raphael happy.
She makes Raphael happy… Anita pressed her lips together as this thought lingered in her mind. The longer it lingered, the stronger her sudden need to weep became. She cleared her throat as she tapped her chest, taking a moment to blink away her overwhelmed tears. Happiness doesn't mean he'll replace you… Happiness doesn't mean he'll replace you…
Anita gulped, stopping in the hallway to gather her distractive thoughts. Despite what she told herself, she found it difficult to believe it. Her thoughts around Raphael become dark, almost violent as her teeth ground. She wanted to throw a tantrum, punch the walls, break any one of the strange vases or display tables she found in the corridor. She wanted to squeal but was unable to justify why.
She just suddenly felt so angry.
Her anger was directed at the discomfort she felt in her dress from where the paper was uncomfortably pressing against her skin. She stomped the rest of the way down the hallway, passing by a window to count the stars to calm herself. The large window had a long-cushioned seat, which she gladly sat before and counted.
She managed to find forty-three stars before she calmed herself down. Her anger replaced by a feeling of hurtfulness, followed by contentment.
"Now where's the crown…?" she breathed kicking her legs over the opposite side of the seat and continuing her search.
She walked down the remaining hallway, upon turning a corner she saw a large display case opposite a doorway and five meters from an open window. The night breeze brushed the thin curtains aside. Anita approached the display case, marvelling at the shiny wood and glossy glass as she examined its contents. There were seven velvety pillows, each with a glamourous piece of jewellery rested upon it. From left to right; a silver, glittering tiara, a gold necklace with a deep purple jewel, a similar necklace in silver, a larger crown decorated by old French jewels, a lonely red ring, a rosy gold bracelet set decorated by diamonds and another glittery tiara.
Seeing such pretty things made Anita's fingers twitch, her eyes widening and becoming glassy from awe. She had never seen so much potential money in one place before.
She stared at the crown in the centre of the cabinet, kneeling to look at a means of opening it. She was careful not to smudge the impeccably clean glass as she examined the edges and the corners, daringly running her fingers under the cabinet itself for a switch or perhaps a keyhole. But there was nothing to indicate a means of opening it, at least traditionally.
Anita grunted as she picked herself up off the floor and hopped on the spot, pacing before the cabinet. Do I break it? She mused resting her hands behind her head, seems messy but do I have a choice?
Before Anita could make up her mind she heard the heavy footsteps of someone marching down the corridor. In a moment of panic, she darted to the window, attempting to open it without realising it was a long drop to the ground, before squatting in the corner and obscuring herself behind the thin curtains. Her green dress was likely still able to be seen, but she was merely a silhouette crouched under a window. She hoped if it was just a patrolling guard they wouldn't give her small form a sidewards glance.
A Royal Guard turned the corner and methodically marched down the hallway, seeming to relax his shoulders and stop before the cabinet. Like her, he took a moment to marvel at the jewellery. He didn't touch it, merely examined with his eyes. Anita held her breath, a small part of her treating this like a game; hold one's breath until the scary Royal Guard leaves.
Anita held her breath for over a minute and felt her heartthrob in her cheeks as the guard turned around and stood before the cabinet. Anita slowly released her breath through her nose, her burning lungs soothed by her forcefully slow breaths as she glared at the guard to go away. Her controlled breathing influenced the curtains, causing slight movement around where she sat. She watched the micro-expressions of the guard, even from her short distance she watched as something caught his attention.
Anita worried she had been found, slowly covering her mouth with her hand and biting the inside of her cheeks to silence herself.
But the guard narrowed his eyes, holding his weapon out as he looked for the source of a faint noise. "Who goes there?" his voice was clear and firm, travelling down the hallway. If Anita didn't know he was there, she believed his voice would���ve frightened her. "Come out, this is a member of the Royal Guard!" He took some strides forward, professional steps as his eyes looked from one side of the hall to the other.
Anita didn't move, a new fear gripping her.
The Royal Guard had not heard her, he had heard someone else.
Anita hugged her knees closer to become smaller.
She saw him, a man dressed in a black suit, a large black hat which dipped down his face, obscuring his eyes and the start of his nose. His hands were concealed by black leather gloves and he bore a long cape which trailed behind him as he walked.
He approached with a sense of confidence, unprovoked by the Royal Guard who continued to yell commands as he came closer. Anita attempted to make out a face, the curtains, while thin, was like looking through layers of spiderwebs. From where she sat it looked like he wore a silver mask.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" the guard commanded raising his gun.
The cloaked man stopped, allowing his cape to drip down his body, clinging to his legs. "Oh Monsieur, please do. It'll give me a reason to do this."
Anita saw a flash of silver and a black blur before the guard collapsed to his knees, his white gloved hand becoming stained a crimson red from the blood gushing from his throat.
The vicious figure was squatted on the other side of the guard, closer to the cabinet, in his hand a blood-soaked dagger.
Anita almost didn't recognise what had happened, only knowing she suddenly was unable to move, unable to speak, hardly able to breathe. She watched, unblinking, as the hidden figure rose from his kneel and approached the jewels calmly, ignoring the gasps and gags of the dying man behind him. He adjusted the way he held the knife, grabbing the butt of the blade and slamming it down against the glass.
The whole case shattered from the violent impact, the glass shards scattered on the carpet and the display pieces within.
Anita felt her body catch up with her mind, her breathing hitching through her nose as panic choked her, tying her stomach in knots as her hands trembled. She couldn't control herself.
She whimpered.
The small noise caught the attention of the assassin, who lifted his head and coolly turned it to the hiding girl. He stared at her, each second incapacitating Anita further, before returning to the tiaras, jewels and crown. He examined them, casually determining their worth, before returning them and picking up the crown.
Anita managed to turn her head, a movement proving to be excruciating, as she looked to the Royal Guard. He had stopped moving, opting to lie on the floor staring at the ceiling, a hand still resting on his throat and only proof of life being the few and far between coughs he mustered.
The curtain blocking her vision was pushed aside. Anita's head turned sharply to see the shiny surface of the assassin's silver mask. The only part of his face left unobscured was his mouth, which rested on a neutral expression and was speckled by stubble. Anita's eyes couldn't focus, everything she stared at became fuzzy around the edges, bulging in and out of focus to match her heaving chest as she attempted to breathe. Her lips trembled as she frantically searched for his weapon, through blurry eyes noting it was still in his hand, resting on his knee.
He was kneeled before her, crippling her with his stare.
He lifted his free hand, reaching forward and neatening up the fringe of her hair. The small movement prompted Anita to move back, slamming her head against the polished walls and spluttering as he touched her. He retracted his hand from this reaction.
"Be calm," he instructed, his voice was contrastingly comforting, "I will not hurt you, Anita."
Surprise surfaced, allowing Anita to ask, "How do you know my name?"
Anita could make out her own reflection in his mask, but barely the colour of the man's eyes. She watched them examine her, scan up and down her body, but resting on her neck. He reached forwards and held the ruby of the necklace Raphael had given her to wear. Anita was convinced he was going to steal it from her, she played the event in her head, how she would fight, would scratch at his eyes, kick him in the groin, and how she would more than likely lose. But instead, she saw a flicker of recognition, a passing glint of a moment so split second, she immediately thought she imagined it.
He dropped the gem to grab the tip of his hat and farewelled her politely, he rose and walked down the opposite hallway, the Crown of France hidden beneath his cape.
The further away he got the easier it was for Anita to breathe. She attempted to talk to herself, screwing her eyes closed to assess. "You're going into shock…" Anita observed looking at her violently trembling hands. She could feel her heartbeat in her neck, making any attempts at swallowing difficult. She couldn't see herself, but she could assume she was pale, sickly like she felt. "You don't have much time… You don't have much time…"
Anita attempted to stand, but her legs gave out on her, her body refusing her to move. She gritted her teeth as she went into a crawling position, attempting to stop herself from mentally shutting down. She felt herself begin to rock where she kneeled.
Through her anxiety, she heard the Royal Guard making spluttered final attempts to call for help.
Anita almost forgot him. She frantically crawled over to him, kneeling over his head to look at him.
He looked terrified.
His eyes were bulging, upon seeing Anita there was a moment of relief he wasn't alone.
Anita attempted to help, ripping excess cloth from her dress to suppress some of the bleedings, but it kept coming and coming, spilling from beneath her hands and soaking through the cloth. The red rug under the guard's head was soaked from the guard blood, staining Anita's dress and squelching under her knees.
Anita had read three books on medical practices. She attempted to recall a single thing, anything. She stuttered, her mind fogging up to any detail as to whether she could help him.
She noticed water on the surface of his face, speckled droplets uncharacteristically placed. Is he crying? She managed to ponder.
She was crying.
Her cheeks were wet with her own tears as she watched more droplets drip from her face onto his. He made a trembled effort, lifting his unoccupied hand to feebly grab her elbow, eventually resting it on her.
Anita's breath trembled severely, her teeth chattering as she retracted her hands, the man's arm dropping to the floor. His eyes darted around the ceiling, gradually slowing down to weaker he became.
Anita sat on her legs beside him, helplessly watching him grow weaker and weaker. She felt her eyes well up but made no attempt to stop it. She leaned over him, resting a hand on the side of his face. "I'm still here…" she croaked, his eyes found her again, but his eyes were glassy and growing absent. Anita attempted to speak, managing small phrases and little words to comfort the dying man. He would attempt to speak, but blood sat in the back of his throat, causing him to cough it up. Anita withheld screams.
Anita attempted to continue speaking, but her teeth chattered, and every word became an effort as she felt sick. She started humming, that being the only thing she could manage.
The man's choking gradually ceased, Anita, continuing to hum, before noticing the dead expression in his eyes. The Royal Guard's hands laid on the ground, his neck and uniform stained by his blood which continued to drip out of his neck wound.
Anita didn't move.
She couldn't move.
She could only stare.
Anita felt her breathing level out, and her limbs relax. Her legs started to fall asleep.
Why does my foot feel funny? Anita wondered staggering to her feet, where am I? I need to go home…
When Anita attempted to walk she nearly fell over, leaning heavily on the wall as the environment seemed to swirl. She crumbled to her knees, knocking something over, but only hearing a shatter, not seeing it. She felt exposed, unknowingly frightened as she fell over again. Her knees and palms suddenly stung.
She looked down at her hands, they were sticky and red. She recognised some glass. I've cut myself…? Anita pushed off the ground to keep walking, wiping her hands on her skirt. Her throat was dry.
Under her dress was itchy. She scratched at her chest and pulled at her skirt, when she dipped her hand under her skirt some paper ripped. Confused, she left it alone.
Anita didn't know where she was, but didn't feel safe going out the front door. She found an open window and fell outside, landing in a bush below it. She didn't want to move. She felt the need to rock, to sway, to be held, to cry, to scream, but she stayed silent because she felt vulnerable.
She crawled from beneath the bush and charged across the grass to the brick fence which boxed her in. Leaning heavily on the wall, she walked to the nearest gate and slipped through the bars. No one saw her.
Anita walked languorously, in a daze in the middle of the road. Once getting yelled at by someone and was thrown to the side from something noisy. Upon hitting the ground, Anita felt like she couldn't breathe. Her eyes swelled up, her lungs started burning and her throat started seizing. She curled herself into the foetal position and gently rocked herself.
She wept.
The ground was cold, the bricks uncomfortable, but Anita didn't care. She could only lie on the side of the road whimpering and sobbing for reasons she couldn't currently comprehend.
I want to go home… Raphael, I want to go home… These words chanted in her head, unable to be verbalised. The phrase overlapped and became muddled, becoming something, that Anita couldn't understand.
Someone grabbed her arm, lifting her up and resting a hand on her hip to pick her up. She squealed, kicking and swiping at whoever was attempting to hold her.
Anita was held in comforting arms. She gritted her teeth and continued to scream, trying to wriggle from their grip, but she was unsuccessful. Her turmoil was stopped by someone making a deep hum. There was something familiar about the tune, something that ceased her fit and allowed her to rest gently in the man's arms. He didn't walk straight away, he stood still and rocked his arms back and forth slowly to calm the girl.
Anita leaned her head against his chest, feeling the gentle drone of his humming, as she rested her hands on her stomach and snuggled into his coat, attempting to suppress her weeps. She felt very safe in the arms of this man.
After a moment, the man started walking down the street.