Broken Souls

A Difference

Kiera and Rose talked for hours on end about her life after leaving England. Even though some details were hard to recall, and she had to be vague, it felt like she was getting a different perspective on life before Mirkwood, now that she finally discussed it with someone she trusted.

She had fled to get away from her father, when he as drunk as a lord tried to poison her – but she found refuge in Chicago. It was short-lived though, as she fell in with the wrong crowd.

It had worked for a time, and she had been protected. The son of a mafia boss had become a friend of hers and had made sure she was cared for. But Matteo had fallen in love with her, and she had not with him. It had simply been a convenient friendship that kept her safe.

Matteo's father wasn't pleased with his heartbreak, and Kiera was bound to flee for a second time. But she found no reason to search for happiness or safety elsewhere. She didn't believe there was any. At least not on Earth.

Kiera told Rose everything, except about her death. Not because she didn't want her to know, but because she couldn't. She didn't have the heart to tell her best friend why she had died, and she worried it would break a heart she cared for yet again.

Maybe one day, she would tell her. But, perhaps, it could be after she had figured out how exactly she died. The list still lay in the pocket of her ragged clothes, but at least she had managed to edge another word onto it with some lead she found in the cell many days past.

Choking.

"Kiko, your life sounds like a Hollywood-movie." Rose snorted and pounced on Kiera's attention, ever the hunter for opportune moments to laugh. Kiera smiled.

"Thank you so much, Rosie, how kind of you to say." Kiera rolled her eyes, but she smiled at the sweet nickname. She had missed it. "The worst thing is, I don't remember anything after that. The last thing I remember was me in my apartment, doing what needed to be done, and then I woke up here... in a tree." Kiera rubbed her forehead, shrugging off the exhaustion that comes with hours of conversation. "At least I'm safe from drunk maniacs and gang lords in this world. And I have you and Mojo here."

Rose watched her expectantly. "Mojo is here too?" She asked, a glint of joy in her eye.

Kiera smirked. "He is."

"Shut... the front... door. Where is he?!" Rose happily smiled and wiggled on the wrinkled bed sheets, having missed the little ball of hair all these years.

Kiera was actually unsure and shrugged unknowingly. "That's a good question. He came to visit me in the dungeons a few days ago, but I haven't seen him since." She whistled the two tones he knew as a long calling and waited to see if he would magically appear somewhere in the chamber.

To no surprise, the monkey never showed, and Kiera huffed. "Oh well, he's probably in the kitchens somewhere. I'll ask around to see if anyone knows, whenever I'm allowed to leave this stupid room." She waved at the said chamber and sighed, hating that she in truth liked the place. It was very nice and comfortable compared to her cell, which was kind of the King to offer, but she kept reminding herself that it was still just another cell to keep her in, even if it was better looking.

Rose stared at her disappointedly. She had hoped to see Mojo, and worried if he was all alone, but tried not to voice those thoughts aloud. He probably knew the palace better than them both combined and would find his way here soon.

Kiera rested against the pillow – that at some point during their conversation had found its way down from the wardrobe and now lay on the bed – while Rose picked at the soft locks of her dark hair. A calm atmosphere settled between them.