*Lésbony - Late Nineteenth Century*
Everyday I watch the snowflakes kiss the face of the window in my room, watching as their white beings fall to their doom. A land of beautiful yet deadly winter encompasses the tower that secludes me, and my gaze shifts to watch as pine trees are dressed in white like a virgin with her bridal veil.
Bridal veil…
The words bring back cold memories.
And yet, I entertain them anyway.
I trace my fingers along the frost that develops on my glass window. I write out words unknown to the land I walk, words like phone, internet, and work. Words that will never exist here.
In the end, I only sigh, feeling defeated as my attempt in conquering boredom fails. Once more, my eyes fixate themselves on the land of white beyond this confining tower of mine.
It's the twenty-second day since the first sight of snow here in Evercrest, and its the two hundred and twenty-second day since I have been imprisoned here.
Sooner or later, I get up from my misery and trudge towards the generous library that was built solely for me as I withered away in this prejudiced-built tower. I've never been the one to enjoy books, but what else is there to do when one is counting her days until liberation?
Or until death…
I graze every book with my fingertips, each covering a different texture from the last. I then stumble upon an alluring book, its spine sticking out from all the others as if it were about to fall. I caress it and notice its worn, velvet covering and breaking spine. I take it from its cozy place in-between its neighboring novels and open to read its contents.
"Three To One," it read.
Apparently, that's the title.
I turn the following page to find a dedication note written to whoever was the owner of this story.
I read, "To my beloved Evercrest. May our love conquer above all love stories and may my heart be only yours, forever. Your dearest, Klaer Winstent."
I smile, brightened by the message the author sent to his lover. Curiosity boils my intrigue at the thought that this man addressed his lover as Evercrest, the very name of the prison which imprisons me at this moment.
Turning the page once more, I am led to a table of contents unlike any other. What surprises me about this book is that there are three prologues, each only one to two pages at length. To have three prologues is something not often seen in a book, but it doesn't make it any less interesting.
In fact, it makes it more so.
Intrigued, I return to my seat next to the snow-covered window and nuzzle in the quilted blanket that lays folded on my seat. As I begin to turn page-after-page and start my journey in this novel's fantastical world, the door to my cell bursts open, and, in shock, I flinch and drop the book.
"Christ, my savior, it's just you, Terrence," I exclaim, picking up the fallen book. "Why the hell must you barge in like that?"
"The Lord wishes to see you," Terrence replies. "May I bring him in?"
Lord Nerrick?
"Why? What for?" I demand.
"He says he wishes to speak to you about something urgent," he responds. "Regarding an early release."
Release?
I fight against the urge to display any sort of hope or happiness in my expressions. The last thing I want is for my captors to indulge in the satisfaction that they can elicit reactions from me. But I feel my eager hands squeeze anyway, hoping— even praying— that what this guardsman, Terrence, speaks of is hope.
I keep my voice even, tone poised. "Bring His Lordship in."
"Yes, Mademoiselle," Terrence says, gesturing for the person behind the door to enter.
Terrence is soon replaced by a smaller, rounder man who boasts a jewel-decorated attire and a wig of unruly, brown locks. His cheeks are round and as red as Eve's apple, and they rise as a Cheshire cat's smile dances on his lips.
"Mademoiselle," Lord Nerrick greets, bowing. "I hope you have been staying warm these last few days as the weather has gotten quite harsher recently."
"Yes, unfortunately, I have," I answer. "But I'd rather be outside than be pent up in this prison."
"Oh, perfect! That's what I've been meaning to discuss today," he says with joy, walking towards me with giddy steps. "I propose a deal that will help me get what I want while liberating you as well. What do you say?"
Caution. If my parents taught me anything, it is that caution is as important as confidence. Especially when talking to a powerful man of influence.
"Depends on what's at stake," I reply. "We both know agreements don't come without disadvantages and sacrifices. So, what is it you want in stead of my presence here, my Lord?"
Lord Nerrick smiles and takes a seat beside me near the window. He notices my newly found book, and his eyes light up with joy as he lifts it up to examine it.
"I see you have indulged yourself in Winstent's works," Lord Nerrick comments, suddenly ignoring the elephant in the room. "Three To One. I heard this was a popular one amongst the ladies of the Queen's court. Is it to your liking, Mademoiselle?"
"I haven't gotten to know it since you barged in here," I respond frankly. "But my Lord, you know I don't fancy pleasantries. And neither do you." His eyes raise from the book's cover, and his brown eyes freeze with a kind of cold more deadly than the one outside. "What is it you're truly in here for, since I know you well enough to know you don't give the slightest damn about me."
Lord Nerrick frowns. "You are way too harsh on a dear old man," he says, still fiddling with the book. "I think confinement has made you forget about a woman's manners, Mademoiselle." His expression hardens. "And in this world, it's best that you are always aware of that."
I hold my head high, knowing all too well that he's right. Even so, I don't want to admit it.
Lord Nerrick's serious expression soon changes as he laughs gaudily and sets the book down. "I'm just playing with you, Rosa," he chuckles. He taps his finger on the book. "It's a romance story, by the way. That's why all the ladies adore it."
"How nice," I reply. "Unfortunately, I'm not one for romance."
"Unfortunate it is indeed," Lord Nerrick says. "Since romance is the only way I'll set you free."
My eyes widen.
"I don't get what you mean," I say.
Lord Nerrick smirks. "It is not a wonder that a woman such as yourself should get any less suitors than the Queen," Lord Nerrick says. "Especially being the beautiful femme that you are, both within and without."
I snort at his statement.
"I don't know if you were aware, Mademoiselle," he continues, "but you have a lot of suitors outside of this tower waiting to take you by the hand and gallop you away to a happily-ever-after."
"I am sorry to say, but I refuse any hand in marriage," I reply, rubbing the band that still wraps around my finger. "Especially the hand of a noble snob who only marries me for my face."
"Oh, that's a shame then. But I do hope you reconsider your words," Lord Nerrick says. "Especially since this is your one and only opportunity to be set free."
I clench my fist at the possibility of eternal imprisonment. The one thing I hate more than love is the feeling of confinement.
But just because I despise confinement more than love, doesn't mean I hate love any less.
"I'm sorry, Lord Nerrick," I begin. "But I know I am incapable of loving."
Silence reigns the room as Lord Nerrick's expression shifts once more and offers me an intense glare. His jolly smile is now relaxed and the wrinkles on his face deepen into creases.
"That's too bad," he replies, frost in his tone. "Then I guess I, too, am incapable of saving you."
My heart sinks. "You can't do this to me. This can't be my only option. What will you benefit from me being confined in this damned tower, anyway? I, in no way, shape, or form, can harm you and your reputation." My fist clenches harder, to the point crescent moons form on my skin. "I just want to return, Nerrick."
"And how do you expect to return without the locket?" Lord Nerrick hisses.
Agitation.
I've seen it before on him. Every time the locket is mentioned.
"The whole of Lésbony knows of it already," he says. "And now that it is lost from our hands, if you attempt to find it, you'll be condemned a witch!"
"I already swore to God that I am not a witch, Nerrick," I respond with fervor. "And you know Goddamn well that they don't exist. We both know that's a fact."
Lord Nerrick stares at me, his eyes clouded with worry. "In your time, they might think that way," he begins. "But in mine, they do not. I'll give you an ultimatum, Rosa. You either take a nobleman's hand in marriage or I'll keep you here till you die a lonesome death."
I glare down at him, my pride unwilling to give in. To sign my soul away to marriage is like walking into another cell. Only this cell is invisible, and much, much harder to escape.
"What gain will you have by marrying some foreigner off to a friend of yours, Nerrick?" I scowl.
At my question, a smirk overtakes his grave countenance, and a mischievous look glints in his soil-colored eyes. "A love story, ma chérie," he answers. "Something you will never understand."
And right he was.
Love will forever be too complex for me to comprehend.