Gilded Heart

| 8 |

Ameerah was not quite sure how her simple actions were proof enough to them that she was not a threat. It almost seemed to easy. She'd been chased for months on end with nearly no stops and when she is captured, instead of killed, she is offered a job, a place to stay, companionship. It all seemed almost too good to be true. It seemed during the entire time she was on the run she had not a single moment to think of anything other than surviving. 

So, when she was given a very small, little room, in the wing that Atlas owned with only his very large study occupying the majority of the wing and his own personal quarters as well as the entrance to the library and alchemy lab. She had crumbled to the ground, in front of the very nice--almost luxurious--bed that sat in the center of the room that was now hers and cried. She could finally feel the weight and pain of the grief in her heart, she remembered Maynord, the torment, the torturous life she had to endure for those months. 

She had not a single night to sleep those entire months, not a single night to shower, to eat, to hunt, to drink water. She barely had the time to fix her braids and continue running again. For months she lived in the same clothes, her shoes in tethers, her clothes ripped and embedded with so much dirt and mud and blood. Blood. 

Her room had her own bathroom, too, her own place to shower and finally clean herself. She was given a dresser filled with tunics and trousers and shoes and undergarments. For a great deal of time she trembled in her spot, her tears stopping but the grief very much still there. She had run out of any more tears to cry, she was simply recalling everything, everything she had to endure.

She never believed her life would come to this, that she would end up at the Kingdom of werewolves, working under the King's personal Warlock, who knows how many miles away from the cottage she spent her entire life in. A thought flashed her mind and she wondered if she would ever be able to visit her grandfathers grave again. The thought washed over her, releasing another flood of tears. After all she trained and learned from Maynord, she knew she had to be strong but she couldn't, not then. 

"Take your time, shower, sleep. Someone will leave food outside your door for tonight. We won't start anything until tomorrow," Atlas had told her after leading her through the castle and to his wing of the massive building, to this room, her room. 

It had taken four days after Harland, Darion, and Atlas visited her cell before she was fully released and brought here. 

She barely mustered the strength she had and went into the bathroom, amazed to see that they had a different tub than what she was normal to in the cottage. It wasn't made of wood nor a small circular shape but a long oval made of sparkling white marble with a golden faucet that poured water into the tub, the sound like a waterfall deep within the forest. She sat there, staring at the sparkling water as it poured into the tub, watching the marble shine as the tub filled. 

Someone like me gets something this nice? 

She assumed she'd get a shoe-closet still, a little room barely the size of a bed because she was what she was. Yet this room alone was beautiful, the bathroom even more gorgeous than what she could've ever expected. She watched the steam come off the hot water as it continued to fill the tub. She poured some of the soap into the water, watching bubbles form. 

The marble floor beneath her feet was cold to the touch as she stepped back and began peeling her tethered clothes off her body. She removed her tunic and undershirt, her ripped trousers and undergarments, pausing to look herself in the mirror. She had gotten significantly thin, frail even. Nothing but muscle and bone as from the lack of food those many, many months. Her hair was so matted and nearly brown from the dirt and grime. Her wrists and ankles were barely healing, mainly due to her lack of nutrition which, if she were healthier in the current moment her healing would have sped along, but her wrists and ankles remained raw and red and sore. 

She pried her hair out of its tangled braid and climbed into the hot water, hissing as the burning liquid hit her sore, tight skin. She sighed in deep, deep relief as she laid fully in the tub, the warmth engulfing her entire body completely. She took many rags and scrubbed her body, over and over and over again, scrubbing and washing her hair multiple times, changing out bath water, until the water remained clear and was no longer brown and swirling with dirt. 

She remained in the warm water for a long time after washing herself, enjoying the calm and comfort she felt for the first time in all those months. It was a relief to no longer be in constant, eminent danger, to be able to relax for just a single moment. After a while longer, she stood from the tub and let the water drain, drawing herself off and looking herself over in the mirror once more. Her once dirt-covered skin was now light showing the true paleness of her body, her hair was back to its stark, white color, no longer a light brown from the grime. She quickly put on a shirt and trousers, brushing her hair and braiding it once again with a central braid down the center and two extra braids on each side of her head, the rest of her hair cascading down behind her in long, waves all the way to the middle of her back. 

Quickly, she hung her towel up and stepped into the bedroom, jumping at the sudden knock at her door.

"Ms. Ameerah? I have your dinner for the evening," said an unfamiliar voice from behind the door.

Slowly, she stepped over to the door and opened it, catching sight of an older woman, her hair gray, her eyes deep brown, and her smile contagious. She held a tray of food in her hands with large slices of roasted chicken, scalloped potatoes, fresh green-beans and a freshly baked roll of bread. She blinked a few times, her stomach growling at the sight of the food.

The woman before her chuckled, lifting the tray to her. "Here, dear. You should eat, you've had a long journey, I've heard," she said, smiling warmly. Ameerah opened the door further and gently grabbed the tray of food from her arms, looking at her with genuine happiness. "My name is Martha, I will be your personal servant when you need me, dear."

"You're a werewolf?" Ameerah asked, smelling the same wolf scent on her.

She nodded. "Yes, I am. I work in the Kingdom as a servant helping around the palace," she said. "Though my days of shifting are long past me, I am simply a servant now."

"Thank you," Ameerah said, truly grateful to have a large, heaping pile of food that was all hot and fresh for her. "Thank you."

Martha's brows furrowed slightly, shocked to see her so grateful for a plate of food. "It must've been hard out there, dear. Wasn't it?"

"How did you---?"

"Darion briefed me before allowing me to come down here. It would've given my old heart quite a shock to come here without knowing you were a hybrid, I might've had a heart attack meself," she chuckled. "Rest assured, dear. You will receive the same amount of respect and care I give to everyone else in the palace."

"Thank you," was all she could manage to say, no longer being able to find the correct words to use. 

She smiled at her again. "Eat well, my dear. You may leave the tray on the dresser when you're done. I'll collect it in the morning. There is fresh water on your nightstand as well."

With that, Martha gave a graceful bow and left, walking down the hall and disappearing from Ameerah's view. Slowly, she backed into her room and shut the door, going to the corner of the room where a plan, white table sat with a white and gold chair. She quickly thanked the goddess for the meal and dug in, being sure to wobble over and grab the large pitcher of water as well as the cup with it. 

She enjoyed her food fully, eating rather fast and slowing down at certain moments to chew and swallow before filling her mouth with more food. Flavors bursted with every single bite, it was some of the most fulfilling and delicious food she had ever had. After finishing the entirety of the tray and drinking nearly the entire pitcher of water, she leaned back, sighing with fullness and joy.

That is, until memories of her grandfather, of the past months, slaughtering rogues came to mind and she had to force herself to swallow, not allowing any of the delicious food to come back up.

Now, it was a matter of sleeping.