Scales and Swords ✓

60: Beautiful Eyes

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But what does it mean when you peer through and find nothing?

I was as light as a feather. Floating up the stairs and through the corridor. I came to an abrupt halt at the sight of him.

He stood at his doors. Eyes wide and alert. Philip always had beautiful eyes. No, I can't return down that path.

"What happened?" He said, searching the hall for something that wasn't there.

"I was thirsty." But as I said it something seemed missing. Something I could've said but couldn't.

He nodded resolutely after a moment. "Sleep lightly." And disappeared behind his doors.

I lingered at my door for a moment until I turned in as well for the night that went by with barely any sleep. In bed I waited for dawn to arrive, just as I waited for myself to return.

The memory was too vivid, every second a record. I went downstairs in search of water. And water I found, drank and returned to my room. That didn't happen, it didn't. It did but I swear it didn't.

Morning came. I was directed to the bathhouse, by who I assumed were maids, and returned to my room where I was fitted into something clean and new. A plain white suit embossed along the shoulders and down the arms with inscriptions in golden Ogalsian characters. It had a way of making one look like a lifeless white block. Or maybe it was just me.

I was deep in thought, thinking through the events or the lack of an event last night when a knock brought me back to reality.

"Come in," I answered, expecting one of the maids.

But instead of a maid it was a little girl. Feeble and gaunt, her arms were thin and her cheeks were sunken so much so that it was alarming.

"I," she squeaked, eyes anywhere but on me. "I was told to do the Miss's hair." That was then that I had noticed the hairbrush in her hand.

"Is that so?" I tried to catch her gaze.

"Please take a seat before the mirror."

I stood hesitantly and relocated to the stool before the dresser and mirror. Standing behind me she only barely surpassed my height at sitting position. She went to work at once, brushing out my wet hair, skillfully untangling it with her tiny hands.

"Are you General Sorge's daughter?"

She bristled and our eyes met in the mirror. Words could never be able to describe the fear in the young girl's eyes.

"The General does not have children." She returned to her work, blanketing herself once again. "My mother is a maid."

"I see." I watched her nimble fingers twist and turn the strands of my hair. "And you are as well?"

I watched her jaw lock in the mirror. Hesitant and measured she replied, "the general takes great care of his servants and their families. And I am thankful."

"Do you work in the fields as well?"

She froze. Eyes glued to my scalp she didn't speak a word. "You have many questions Miss. It's best you keep them to yourselves during your brief stay."

"I'm not from Ogalsia."

And again our eyes met but this time I found a light ignited in hers, dim as it was I was no stranger to it, hope. And beacuse I knew it so well, I knew just how fragile it was. One moment it's alive and burning the next it's
gone.

"Welcome to Ogalsia," she said, returning to her work. "I hope you find pleasure and prosperity in our country." The next minute she was done. My hair tamed into braids that circled my temple. I marveled in the artwork only a second before I turned to catch her by the wrist.