Broken Queen

Chapter 7: I've Never Seen A Mirror Glow So Brightly 𖤛-𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚊-𖤛

I woke up in an unfamiliar room. There is a patch around my thigh and my leg is elevated with a springboard. I slightly move and an agonizing pain shoots up my leg. I thrust my head back and groaned. A man rushes in with a wet towel in his hand.
"Are you alright?"
He asks in a worried tone. His voice is mesmerizing. Soft, yet strong, and young. I can't quite process how beautiful it sounds. I want to capture it and lock it in a bottle for safe keeping. Then, I remember my appearance. I quickly thrust my hand over my face and avoided looking at him.
"I-I'm fine, truly, just please, leave."
He pauses for a moment. Probably deciding whether or not to heed my wishes. The silence makes me uncomfortable and I shift slightly. Another pain shoots up my leg and it hurts more than the last. I groan again. He comes over to me and puts his hand gently on my arm.
"Please," he says in a quiet voice.
"Let me help you."
Let him help me? HA! He wants to help ME? I have taken care of myself since childhood. I've dealt with cuts on my wrists and ankles. No one ever noticed. How could they? I was always covered in deep cloaks. But something about the way he offers me his help, about the way he talks to me.
"Do what you must to help me. I am forever grateful for your kindness."
Then, he takes his hand and so very lightly starts tugging it away from my face.
"No!"
I scream at him and pull away. I see him looking at me through my shaking fingers. I can just barely see his face. He looks confused and shocked. Then I realized how horrific that scene was. I made myself appear weak and pathetic. Great. I clear my throat.
"I-I mean no. Please. Don't"
Trying to steady my breath, I bury my head into my arms. Does he know who I am? I ask myself. The voices in my head answer. Of course not! You've been hiding behind that cloak for your entire life, it's impossible. If anything, he'll think you're just a dirty hag from the streets that bothered a guard. I laugh and pull my head up. I freeze. He freezes as well. What have I done? We look into each other's eyes. The atmosphere is cold, somehow dark and damp. His eyes are like pools of ice. Hard and as clear as air. I can practically see myself in their reflection. I'm startled by my repulsing face in his perfect stare. It doesn't belong. I don't belong.
"You're bleeding." He breaks the silence and I snap to reality.
"Oh, Uh." The man lifts the wet cloth to my forehead and I stifle a sob upon the contact. Water drops spill onto my cheeks.
He pauses while the cloth is in contact with my forehead and we both just look at each other. It's at this moment that I realize how I've craved touch. How I begged for someone to just- touch me without gagging, even with the fabric on my head. What a pathetic wish.
"I'll- I'll go collect some supplies."
No. Don't go. Please. I think and watch him retract the  blood stained towel.
He stands up and walks across the room and throws the cloth into a bin while also walking out of a door. I then realize the area surrounding me. I'm laying in a cot on a grimy floor in a rather- small room. There is another cot next to mine, along with a stool and the springboard under my leg. Across the room is a dirty sink and a window followed by a bin and what can only be the front door on the other wall.
My eyes water and I find myself rubbing my forehead. I am welcomed by pure pain and blood. I scream and stand up. More waves of pain scream back from my thigh and I yell. "Stop."
How can I be so stupid. So dumb. So useless.
I need to get out of here. I need- I need him. I need him, I need him, I need him. I need help.
"What is wrong with me?"
My voice cracks, I cry.
What is wrong with me? This repeats in my head until the words twist into thorns and death. What is wrong with you? You don't deserve love. You don't deserve beauty. You don't deserve the pleasure of death. Just admit it, all you have done and will do in your life is suffer.
"Stop. Please just-."
"Never."
The voices answer, they sound like a pile of whispers thrown into the wind.
"Why? Why are you here? Who created you!"
They cackle and evil laugh that sounds like knives digging into glass.
"You did! You're the reason for your own suffering. Look at yourself! You're hideous, a monster of humankind. A mistake. A misfortune. A charity. A sad, lonely, ugly, stupid little-"
I dig my fingernails into my scalp and scream. I whisper help as I rock back and forth.
The door opens and the man walks in, carrying a bag. He looks at me and drops his bag. Stop crying. Please. Please. Please. Please. I won't.
The man rushes over to me and I shake as he puts his hands on my shoulders.
"What happened?"
Think of something, quick. You don't want to sound stupid.
"I never told you my name."
Great. Now I look stupid and weak.
He takes a couple of steps back and smiles. My heart warms. Oh no.
"I'm... Silas."
I notice a hesitation in his voice, but choose to ignore it.
I rub my eyes and back away from his grip.
I need a name. I need a name, any name.