Story Playlist: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-QPCwqppZsA&list=PL8258BE81A97522E5&index=11
Twelve Years
Power is something that must be controlled.
Power is something that can cause fear.
Power is the friend of Man’s greed and pride.
I subconsciously fiddle with the silver ring on my index finger, my find careening with thoughts yet somehow remaining blank. Meetings like this are normal, in fact they are frequent, only this time, something is different. The guards, for once, are not dragging in some helpless writhing person in chains
His countenance hints at confidence, and his shoulders carry the form of a leader. His eyes smolder with a calming charm, and by the sounds of a few hushed sighs around me, I know that I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Taming my curiosity, I paint my features into what I’m hoping is a straight, expressionless face as the Queen hushes the already quiet room with her presence.
“Your name?” Her rich voice carries throughout the room.
“Lukas, your Highness.”
“Why have you come here?”
“I think you know why already.”
The Queen’s red lips hint at a sinful smile before she says, “Indeed. We shall see what you make of yourself then.” And with that, she stands and is gone.
The young man is unchained and guided over to the head of staff, a pale dark haired woman in her fifties with inky black eyes and a few missing fingers.
Without speaking, she walks him out of the room.
I'm handed a small pile of clothes and a pair of boots and am sent off to give them to the new arrival. I place them outside his bedroom doorway, knock, then rush out of the hallway, letting out a sigh once I'm in the kitchen.
"Don't just stand there, child. Get back to work." The cook whispers as she passes by with a hot loaf of bread.
"I'm sorry." I apologize and go to the herb and flour covered table. I begin kneading some dough, imagining that I'm stuffing all my anger and fear into the depths of oblivion. After a few minutes of invigorating kneading, I have to stop to calm myself.
I've been here ever since I can remember; surrounded by these same gray and black walls, these same floors and feelings. Me and my sister both.
I know that there was once a time where I had my own freedom, my own complete family, but then something changed, and one by one, everything died and disintegrated before my eyes. Now I'm a slave, in a castle filled with the screams of the dying and the tears of the dead.
As I fold the dough and shape it into a loaf to get it ready for the oven, the new arrival, Lukas, steps in, sweeping his eyes about the kitchen until they come to land on me. Feeling his eyes on my back, my shoulders tense and I try my best to go on with my work, but with a few quick strides he's at my side, looking over my shoulder.
"May I ask your name, Miss?"
His voice startles me and I flinch.
"Forgive me, I didn't wish to frighten you." His voice is soft and warm like honey, and despite my better judgment, it calms me.
"Ronan. My name is Ronan." I say.
"Well Miss Ronan, it is a pleasure meeting you." He replies gently. Then he's off, walking up the stairs and out of the kitchen. Fear marks a trail down between my shoulder blades. Why did he ask for my name? Did I do something wrong? What if he tells her...
For the rest of the day, I mask my worry with a blank stare and silence.
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