The Silver Rose

09 | Raven of Dracia

Rosaline stood in the balcony, the wind caressing her now braided hair and kissing her clean skin. The nurse had changed her bandages over an hour ago and then a line of ladies had walked in to help her freshen up. Heldi had excused herself to arrange for lunch.

     She'd been sceptical with everyone around her, treating her like she was a high-born noble, completely unknown to her reality. However, she'd been intent to wash the phantom blood off her, scrub it off till her skin seemed new. She could do it on her own, but the women wouldn't budge.

     Besides, even before she wouldn't allow anyone in her bathing chambers. Because Rosaline hated the stares.

     The scar on her back—which she was born with—was as it is ugly and with each curious eye, she felt worse.

     So, when she finally had fresh clothes on, Rosaline was relieved that the women didn't eye her like she had grown two heads anymore.

     Though it did not end there.

     Winlotte—her head maid servant—had led her to the dressing room to make her look 'presentable'. It was circular in shape with brown carpeted floors. Peaty wardrobes adorned the ivory walls on one side and a dressing table and wall-sized mirrors on the opposite.

She had sat in front of the mirror and had to bite down the gasp that had risen on her chapped, colourless lips. The corner of her lower lip looked bruised. She'd felt uneasy while bathing, but looking at the cause of the pain made bile rise in her throat.

If I look like this now, how worse did I look before?

     She had stared at her sallow face in the mirror. A pale reddish-blue bruise ran along her temple and left cheekbone. Her cheeks were hollow, shadows painting the skin under her eyes. Her colour had gone from a lush ivory to a sickly pale and the gold of her eyes had dulled.

     Collarbones stuck out of her body and she had noticed the small bruising, slanted cut on her skin, extending from the junction where her neck met her shoulders and running down to under her collarbone. Blue veins painted her skin—a side-effect of the poison according to the healer, like having no appetite after three days of playing dead was.

     It was as if her body had sunken. She had starved in the prison, but she had had enough food to survive, if not flourish. Besides, she'd eaten well the last two to three weeks. How come it wasn't showing at all? Not that she'd had a phenomenal figure before, but this was worse.

Bringing her mind back to the present, she let out a deep breath. Her heart was still uneasy as she beheld the view in front of her, her fingers clutching at the warm stone railing.

     She'd survived and was now free. She didn't know what lay ahead, but she wished, prayed that the General would keep his end of the bargain. He'd done that till now. If he hadn't meant his words, he wouldn't have saved her that night.

     Wind blew strands of her freshly trimmed hair back. Winlotte had tied them with a black ribbon and left it to dry. It was a bit cold, she realised, but still comforting on her skin. The sunlight felt soft, and the vast sky was a vibrant blue beyond the balcony.

     There were a lot of questions that she needed answers to, a lot of words she needed to speak, but presently, all she wanted was to stay at this balcony. And keep staring ahead.

     The castle was built on high, flat ground with a massive boundary wall. At regular intervals stood small watchtowers with guards. People dressed in off-white clothes were working in the gardens, watering and trimming the leaves of the hedges and pots. The smell in the air was warm and inviting. Almost familiar.