To Run and Hide

Part 1: Goodbye

I was tossed from my slumber by intense shaking, so hard it rattled my brain. I opened my bleary eyelids, eyes widening as Ione's own gaze pierced into my face. I could recognise those tired hazel eyes a mile away, as much as I could recognise the dread I got from her presence. 

"Come on. Get up." She whispered furiously. I did as told, too tired to bother with my usual defiant shenanigans. Something was different today. A sort of feeling I couldn't quite place, like the return of a long lost lullaby or the scent of a lover. 

I exhaled and slipped down from the pallet I slept on, turning my back from Ione only to pack it up. I could feel her eyes follow me all the way to a rickety closet beneath a nearby staircase, where her stare pierced into my back. I coughed as a cloud of dust washed over my face. 

Annoyance rippled through me as she continued to survey my actions, watching me all the way to the kitchen. Frustration ebbed at her determination that I would somehow mess up even the most simplest of tasks. Nevertheless, as I stood by the rusted sink and began to scrub at worn wooden dishes, I realised that I couldn't blame her. Not really. 

The other servants took care not to bump into me, their expressions a hateful mockery of bliss. They were not enchanted, although Lord Anwir, as a magician, certainly knew how to do that. The servants were simply scared of the punishment they would be dealt to them if they revealed their unhappiness, even all the way at the bottom of the castle. Where I lived and slaved away, 'grateful' for my 'opportunities'. 

As I washed I remembered when I first started. And then I stopped remembering, because I simply couldn't. Nothing could make me think when my sister Wynter was concerned - not when the hate that had sliced through us both still ran so deep. 

No one bothered me for the rest of the morning, so I simply drifted deeper into my thoughts. I dreamed stories up in my head, grand escapades of lost princesses and pirates and children abducted by fairies. Each one of them unique, each one begging to be conjured into reality by an artist's hand. I closed my eyes and imagined it, my hand moving a paintbrush across a stretched canvas, a beautiful painting of a golden-haired child in a ring of toadstools, dancing arm in arm with little creatures. Beautiful. 

"Someone's here for you." Ione interrupted, my eyes flinging open at the intrusion. When she snuck up on me like that, it was all I could do not to shield myself physically. Her very presence was like an intrusion on my soul. I glared into her soot coloured eyes, allowing my fiery anger to burn through my own blue ones. 

Her caramel hair framed her grin, the yellow teeth all of us workers had stark against her smooth honey face. Gods, I wanted to punch her. 

"Who. Is. It." I sniped, watching her expression like a viper. Ione took that opportunity to pounce like a cat. 

"M'Lord's whor- I mean wife. M'Lord's wife." Her voice was sly, demure and sweet. To angry to reply, I turn and run away, some part of me ashamed at not standing up to her. The same part of the family that got Father to send us here, the part of my brain which remained rational chided. I stopped before I could even remember where I was meant to be going. Where had Ione said she was waiting for me? Had she even mentioned it?

"Are you okay, Carmyn? You look thinner than usual." A cautious voice whispers from behind me. In a second all my anger dissipates, and I offer Wynter my best attempt at a smile, even as my eyes glance down her clothing. She seems to accept the smile, and offers one of her own, some childish part of me pleased from the validation being offered. 

Despite knowing my sister for as long as I can remember, I am still struck by her beauty. We look alike and yet different. She is pale skinned with a slim face, her cheekbones as sharp as razor blades. She gazes down at me with deep blue eyes, the same colour as the open ocean at midnight, illuminated by the serene light of the moon. They are like mine, missing only the defiance I see whenever I am able to observe my reflection. Her raven black hair is pulled back from her face and tied with multiple silver bands, shaped in such a way that each section of her hair puffs up like a bubble. My eyes fell to a bruise present on her neck, but before I could open my mouth to question, Wynter spoke again.