The flickering shadows danced across the canvas above me as I clawed my way back to consciousness. My head pounded with a dull, insistent throb. Where was I? How had I come to be here? I tried to piece together fragments of memory, but they slipped away like smoke.
A figure loomed over me, tall and imposing. Long golden hair framed a face of terrible beauty. His eyes, blue as a frozen lake, bore into mine with an intensity that made me shrink back.
"Sera?" His voice was soft, almost reverent. "My love, is it truly you?"
Fear clutched at my throat. I didn't know this man, yet he looked at me as if I were his salvation. "I-I'm sorry," I stammered. "I don't know you."
His eyes darkened, black as pitch. The temperature in the tent seemed to plummet.
"You dare mock me?" he snarled, his earlier tenderness vanishing like mist before the sun. "Guards!"
Rough hands seized me, dragging me to my feet. My head spun and I stumbled, unable to find my footing.
"Take her to the castle," the golden-haired man commanded. "Let her rot in darkness."
As they hauled me away, I caught one last glimpse of his face. The anguish there haunted me more than his rage. What sins lay in my past, that I could not recall? What memories tormented this stranger who looked at me with such longing?
The journey passed in a haze of confusion and terror. When at last they flung me into a lightless cell, I was almost grateful for the solitude. Yet as the lock clicked shut, leaving me alone with my fractured thoughts, I wondered if I had merely traded one prison for another.
The silence is deafening, broken only by the frantic pounding of my heart. I press my ear against the cold stone wall, straining to hear any sign of life beyond this oppressive darkness. Suddenly, muffled voices and footsteps echo through the corridor outside, growing louder with each passing moment.
"They're coming," I whisper to myself, my voice trembling. "But who? And for what purpose?"
My mind races, conjuring terrifying scenarios. Will they torture me for information I don't possess? Or am I to be executed for a crime I can't remember committing?
The footsteps halt outside my door. I hold my breath, willing myself to disappear into the shadows. The rusted hinges groan in protest as the door slowly creaks open, flooding the room with flickering torchlight.
Four men enter, their faces weathered and scarred, eyes glinting with a predatory gleam that sends shivers down my spine. They leer at me, their gazes roaming over my body with undisguised hunger.
"Well, well," the tallest one drawls, his voice rough as gravel. "What have we here? A pretty little bird in a gilded cage."
I press myself against the wall, wings trembling. "Please," I manage to croak out, "I don't know why I'm here. There must be some mistake."
The men exchange amused glances. "Oh, there's no mistake, love," another says, his grin revealing rotted teeth. "The prince has plans for you, he does."
My heart sinks. The prince—the golden-haired man from before. What cruel fate awaits me at his hands?
As they advance, I desperately search for an escape, but find only unyielding stone and leering faces. I am trapped, a butterfly pinned beneath glass, awaiting whatever torment these men—and their prince—have in store.
Rough hands seize my arms, yanking me forward. I stumble, my feet barely touching the ground as they drag me from the room. The stone corridor stretches before us, endless and foreboding.
"Let me go!" I plead, my voice echoing off the cold walls. "I've done nothing wrong!"
They ignore my cries, their grip tightening painfully. My mind races, desperately seeking an explanation, an escape. But every thought slips away like smoke, leaving only fear in its wake.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady.
The man to my left chuckles darkly. "Somewhere special, little bird. The prince has quite the collection, you know."
Collection? My blood runs cold. What twisted game is this prince playing?
As we round a corner, I catch a glimpse of a tapestry depicting a familiar scene—a golden-haired woman embracing a man who could only be the prince. The woman's face is mine, yet not mine. A memory tickles the edge of my consciousness, but vanishes before I can grasp it.
"That woman," I gasp, "who is she?"
The men exchange glances. "Best not to ask questions, love," one warns. "Some answers are better left buried."
My heart pounds frantically. Am I losing my mind? Or is there a truth here, hidden beneath layers of forgotten memories?
As we descend a winding staircase, the air grows thick with dread. Whatever fate awaits me, I fear it will shatter what little remains of my fragile sanity.
The staircase opens into a vast chamber, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness we've left behind. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over marble floors and gilded furnishings. Servants scurry about like mice, their eyes downcast, their movements furtive.
My gaze falls upon a stern-faced woman seated on a velvet chaise. Her silver hair is pulled into a severe bun, her eyes cold as winter frost. The men force me to my knees before her, and I wince as bone meets unyielding stone.
"Another lost lamb for the flock, Mistress," one of the men announces, his voice dripping with false deference.
The woman's lips curl into a sneer. "Stand aside," she commands, rising to circle me like a vulture eyeing its prey. "What's your name, girl?"
"I- can not remember," I reply, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
She laughs, a harsh, brittle sound. "It doesn't matter anyway, my dear? In this castle, identity is as changeable as the wind." Her fingers grasp my chin, tilting my face up. "You have her eyes," she murmurs, almost to herself.
"Whose eyes?" I ask, a chill creeping down my spine.
The woman's gaze hardens. "It matters not. From this moment, you are nothing more than a maidservant. You will work until your fingers bleed and your back breaks. Perhaps then you'll remember your place."
As she speaks, I catch sight of a figure in the shadows—tall, blonde, achingly familiar. Prince Gideon. Why do i remember him? Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and I see something flicker in those depthless blue orbs. Recognition? Regret? Before I can be certain, he turns away, leaving me to wonder if he was ever there at all.
"Do you understand your position?" the woman's voice cuts through my reverie.
I nod, my throat tight with unshed tears. "Yes, Mistress."
"Good," she says, her smile a grimace of false kindness. "Welcome to your new home. May you find it as comforting as a grave."
The days that follow blur together, a haze of endless tasks and whispered insults. I scrub floors until my knees are raw, polish silver until my reflection becomes a stranger. The other servants regard me with a mixture of suspicion and contempt, their eyes following my every move.
"Look at her," I hear one maid hiss to another as I pass. "Thinks she's better than us, I'll wager."
I bite my tongue, willing my tattered remnants of wings—now hidden beneath a coarse servant's dress—not to twitch in response. "Pardon me," I murmur, trying to squeeze past them in the narrow corridor.
The taller maid blocks my path. "Where do you think you're going, little bird?"
"To fetch water for Lady Emmeline's bath," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
She snorts. "Hear that, Marta? Our new friend's already tending to the nobles."
Marta's eyes narrow. "Best be careful, girl. Wouldn't want to get ideas above your station."
I swallow hard, fighting to keep my face neutral. "I assure you, I have no such notions."
"See that you don't," the taller maid warns, finally stepping aside.
As I hurry away, their laughter echoes behind me, a reminder of my precarious position. I find myself in the castle's sprawling kitchens, the air thick with steam and the scent of roasting meat.
"You there!" a gruff voice bellows. "Stop dawdling and help with these dishes!"
I turn to see the head cook, a mountain of a man with arms like tree trunks, glaring at me. "But I'm supposed to—"
"I don't care what you're supposed to do," he interrupts. "You'll do as I say, or you'll find yourself in the dungeons. Understood?"
I nod meekly, my shoulders sagging under the weight of yet another task. As I plunge my hands into the scalding water, I can't help but wonder how long I can maintain this charade. How long before someone sees through my disguise? How long before I break under the strain of this new life?
"I will endure," I whisper to myself, the words a promise and a prayer. "I must endure."
The clatter of pots and pans fades into the background as I scrub dish after dish, my mind drifting to darker places. A sharp cry pierces the air, snapping me back to reality. I turn to see a young scullery maid cowering before the head cook, her cheek reddening from a vicious slap.
"Clumsy wench!" he roars, raising his hand again. "That was the finest china!"
I flinch, my heart aching for the girl. But I dare not intervene, lest I draw attention to myself. The maid's sobs echo in my ears long after she's been sent away, a haunting reminder of the cruelty that permeates this place.
As twilight falls, I slip away from the kitchens, my feet carrying me to a forgotten alcove tucked away in the castle's east wing. Here, hidden behind a threadbare tapestry, I find a moment's peace.
I sink to the cold stone floor, my wings aching to unfurl, to carry me far from this wretched place. But I must keep them hidden, must play the part of a mortal servant.
"Oh, Gideon," I whisper to the shadows.
But even as I speak his name, I wonder – would he truly be my salvation? Or has the darkness that claimed his wife now consumed him as well?
The castle's corridors stretch before me like a labyrinth of despair, each turn promising only more suffering. Yet I press on, my feet moving of their own accord, driven by a desperate hope I dare not name.
"You there! Girl!" A harsh voice cuts through my reverie. "The ballroom needs scrubbing. Now!"
I nod meekly, averting my gaze as I hurry past the steward. His eyes linger on me, filled with a hunger that turns my stomach. But I am not helpless prey.
As I work, my hands raw from the lye and my back aching, I listen. Servants' gossip is a currency more valuable than gold in this place of secrets and lies.
"Did you hear?" a kitchen maid whispers to her companion. "Prince Gideon's to host a grand feast tonight."
My heart leaps at the mention of his name. Could this be my chance?
"Aye," her friend replies. "They say he's in one of his dark moods again. Heaven help the poor soul who crosses him."
I scrub harder, my mind racing. A feast means chaos, distraction. Perhaps, in the tumult, I could.
The great doors burst open, and my breath catches in my throat. There he stands, Prince Gideon, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. His eyes, bluer than the deepest ocean, scan the room with detached disdain.
For a heartbeat, our gazes lock. I see a flicker of... something. Recognition? Confusion? But before I can be certain, he turns away, barking orders at his retinue.
As he strides past, I inhale sharply, catching the scent of leather and smoke. My wings strain against their bonds, yearning to unfurl, to reveal my true self.
But the moment passes. He is gone, and I am left alone with my pounding heart and the acrid smell of lye.
I rise, my muscles aching from hours of scrubbing, and slip into the shadows of the bustling kitchen. Servants scurry about, their faces etched with worry as they prepare for the impending feast.
"You there!" a harsh voice snaps. "Stop dawdling and fetch more wine from the cellar!"
I nod meekly, seizing the opportunity. The cellar - dark, secluded, and blessedly empty. As I descend the worn stone steps, my mind whirs with possibilities.
"If I could but find a way to speak with him alone," I murmur, tracing my fingers along the damp wall.
But how? The prince is as unreachable as the stars, his heart as cold as the stone beneath my feet. And yet, I've seen the pain in his eyes, glimpsed the man he once was.
A rat scurries past, startling me from my reverie. I grab a bottle of wine, its rich burgundy reminding me of blood. Of sacrifice.
As I ascend, a plan begins to form - dangerous, desperate, but perhaps our only hope. Tonight, amidst the revelry and shadows, I will find a way to reach Gideon's tortured soul.