Lies Dressed In Lace

18

When I wake its on a soft feather bed wrapped in blankets, a small fire lights the little room and warms it from the cold coming in through the open window. The sword sits with my boots by an only rickety chair with its seat rotted through. I notice my hand has been rewrapped with fresh bandages too. I sit up and look around, dust covers everything looking more like dirt then just dust and the sky is dark outside telling me I've been out for at least a day. The door looks like it has been worn down and used often but nothing special. It creaks open slowly and Wolkif walks in bent over a bowl of something steaming and smells like soup. My stomach growls in agreement.

    "You're alive!" He says once he sees me siting up and almost drops the bowl.

    "How long was I...Dead?" I decide to let his madness go.

    "You've been dead since we met, but you were asleep for a day and a half." He sets the bowl down on the bed beside me and gives me the spoon. I roll my eyes at his changing madness.

    "You know you're clear somedays and foggier than mud others." I take a bite of the soup. Its rabbit.

    "Your fathers here." He says ignoring my comment.

    "Tell him he's an idiot for me." He laughs lightly.

    "Well, he'll definitely believe me when I tell him your awake that way." I nod and continue to eat. I look up when he doesn't leave and continues to watch me eat.

    "Can I help you?" He shakes his head. "Then what do you want?"

    "Your father said to make sure you finished that, and to be nice to you." I drop the spoon and hand him the bowl with the last bit of unfinished soup.

    "I'm done, leave." He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water trying to find the words to make me finish the soup so he can get a pat on the head by his master. He gives up sadly and leaves taking the bowl hanging his head on his way out. I kick off the layers of blankets and stand up. The cold of the stone floor bites into my bare heels so I pad over to my boots taking my socks out and pulling them on, then pulling one of the blankets over my shoulders I walk to the door. Glancing back at the sword I decide against brining it just incase it sings again and walk out into the hallway. I recognize this place as being the guest wing of the temple, anyone in need of shelter or a nights rest were welcomed here. This was first and foremost a place of sanctuary. I patter down the hallway having flashes of memories that aren't my own, not from this life. Trying to think of how I know this place so well, how I remember people I have never met here, I think of where I found the sword. Trapped in a room with the souls of the people who once lived here for hundreds of years. The sword has given me the memories of this place and the people who were once here.

    I begin to feel the peace still left over in the walls. How warm it use to be when people lived here where it is now cold with the memories of what it once was. Why would that sword give me these memories? Now even the happy memories are tainted with the sadness and abandonment of this place. I walk further down the hall finding the door to the library, it's a little nook of a doorway with a small thick door and a large metal doorknob. I pull it open softly relishing the smell of the old leather books and sweet yellowed pages. Slipping in I close the door behind me and look at the stacks and stacks of books still sitting on their shelves waiting to be opened. I find candles melted everywhere and covered in dirt but I clean them off and light a few. Going around and dragging my fingers along the many spines collecting dust on my fingertips and leaving trails on the leather. I pick out a well worn book and decide to take it back to my room with me and slip back out into the hallway. Once I get back to my room I find my father sitting on my bed holding a cloak and running his thumbs over it.