My Pride and Joy Story Thots

The Dutchess

The bed was firm and the blankets were scratchy, as fo it is at an inn. The cool wind flowed throughout the room, rustling the papers on the desk below the paperweight. I could hear the humdrum of the train passing by the windows near the corner of the inn's room. It comforted me. Fortunately, the train was low with its thunk-thunking. I could hear the whispering of thoughts inside my head, echoing and conversing with one another, forming conversations only present in my psyche. I had found the sound rather comforting: it was steady. Thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk. I have relaxed to the point of thought. Tonight, the mind I had found now free, was buzzing with the plethora of information about my actions and with the events that went on earlier today. I tried to shake them but they eventually lead back, similar to a dog herding cattle.

She collapsed onto her knees, her dress being sprawled behind her like roots. Not that that matters though, with her already having several other wounds that were bleeding even more severely, but she didn't know that yet. Nobody did. Why a Nobel Woman like her would even be in this situation, who knows. The matter will only be speculated upon by fellow peers, and when the news breaks, the fellow peasants will so please to hear they have a new chatter topic. The Noble Woman herself didn't even know why this was happening, or to my knowledge.

Another woman appeared at her side to help her stand once more, using her own body as support. Or so it seems. She helps her stand, the woman trusting her since they are allies in both their cabinet's countries. She leaned on her, muttering a quick thank you and went to stand on her feet. She collapsed once more, this time supporting her weight on the arms, instead of the knees. Her shoe had broke, and her ankle sprained.
But what caused her to fall again after resting for just only a second? Was it fatigue: blood loss: another hit? No, the ally the woman dress with a very long and very thin blade, making her internal organs bleed. She then removed the then blade very, very quickly, resulting in the sensation of pain almost of a paper cut. The Nobel Woman cried out, a subtle cry. Her face was of terror to what I could see.

There was a scream of terror. A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the hall. Nobody moved as the woman continued for what seemed like an eternity. People looked over, one at a time. One, then another, then another. Soon groups looked over at the scene. A woman was leaving the scene, rushed and hurriedly, pushing past the crowd that was forming around the woman close to death, the woman who was clutching to dear life.

The night was going so perfectly. Everyone was laughing and dancing: they were having fun-enjoying themselves. The night was good, right up until the Dutchess pulled that trick. Everything I have ever known, seen or even heard, was doomed.

The Dutchess ran and ran and ran, fast may I have to note. She was barely making a sound, gliding hurridly through different alleyways and blocked streets. Dodging the families playing in them, she climbed the side of a lone building, up against its fire escape ladder, and onto the roof. I followed her until she stopped. She never turned around, she never glanced back at any time, any moment I was chasing her, I never saw her look back. Not once. Once she stopped moving, I stopped my movement. There was no echo, I covered my hand to my mouth so my heavy breathing was barely heard, and I stayed completely still. Everything was stilled.

She turned around with a gun. The dutchess raised her arm into the air and shot it. The dutchess was looking me straight in my eyes, her face sullen and sunken in. She looked stone cold, and that she had no emotion. Her hair was on the frizz, sticking out in all different places.

"I am going to take this gun, and I am going to throw it at you. If you don't shoot me with it, you will be blamed for the murder of Abigale Buxhoeveden. If you do decide, for obvious reasons, shoot me, you will be blamed for the murder of myself," The Dutchess states, her voice at an even level. She, to me, was almost shouting from the quiet around us. "Take this gun and choose, loyal protector. Take it, and choose."

The gun was tossed at me and the Dutchess stood still. I caught it, the gun, not sure what to do. She looked casual, she looks calm, below her usual self. I couldn't look at her, she looked to be the devil's spawn. I looked around, looking and hearing what was going on around us, looking for anything normal. There were noises of children playing the dark, candlelight shining in the alleys below. I hear a train off in the distance and the thunder of the dark clouds above. I don't know what to do. I don't absolutely know what to do.

"Your grace, If I may speak," I started.

She kept her composure, "You may."

"Ma'am, pardon but this is ill-advised for either of us. I'll be a dead man cast aside, either way, Madam. This will not turn out alright."

"I doubt you know that I wouldn't do this without rhyme or reason, loyal subject. For I know, I know what I am doing," She took a breath, unclenching her fists from her side. "I know, I know, I know."

"Madam, are you alright?"

"Choose," She ignored my question. "Raise the gun and choose."

Looking at the gun in my hands, I weighed my options.

I rose the handgun, pointing at her.

I regret everything I did.