Epilogue
Age Seventeen
Being brandished by the King to his enemies was no easy task. Like a knife, or a spear, I had to be sharp, impeccable. Unafraid. Completely capable. And most of all, intimidating. When night fell, I was no longer a typical seventeen year old girl. I became a weapon. Now, as the servants draped shimmering black cloth over my shoulders, I stood straight before the mirror. I lifted my chin, raised my shoulders. Regality. Fear. Be what they want you to be. All in black and silver, I became what the kingdom’s people only dared whisper about. The name caught from the shadowed alleyways, the King’s protector. Them who darkness follows. Nyx. Lady of the night. The servants curled my fiery hair, keeping it plain and manageable. …show more content…
All at once, they stepped away, and I stumbled. The world spun and my knees went soft. Darkness swam before me. The servants’ shadows stretched and warped, blinking their red eyes at me. They bared their fangs and hissed. Footsteps echoed around the room and sharp nails dug into my shoulders, hoisting me …show more content…
I felt numb, a feeling I was quite familiar with. My heart pounded faintly in my ears, and I heard each breath I took, my chest calmly rising and falling. Serenity. The vial gave me peace. One last woman adjusted my silver bodice, then secured my cloak. I fingered my knife. My chamber doors were pulled open, and I was swept into the corridor. Guards immediately followed me, ensuring safety. The King’s pet couldn’t risk falling into any other hands. Their crisp blue and white uniforms stayed in my periphery. I passed sculpture after sculpture, marble pedestals laced with gold. Great, yawning windows lined the entire leeward side of the palace, melted moonlight streaming through them and into my corridor, splashing onto the paintings opposite. Ancient members of the royal family peered down at me, their canvas faces fixed into permanent frowns. My boots clicked across the marble beneath me, and we took a turn. This corridor contained no windows, lit only by flaming torches listed on golden sconces. More paintings filled the spaces in between, but this time of deceased Kings and Sovereigns, all angry and wrinkled. This trip was as familiar to me as the back of my own hand. My only escapes from my chambers consisted of this. Of being displayed like a prized
Age Seventeen
Being brandished by the King to his enemies was no easy task. Like a knife, or a spear, I had to be sharp, impeccable. Unafraid. Completely capable. And most of all, intimidating. When night fell, I was no longer a typical seventeen year old girl. I became a weapon. Now, as the servants draped shimmering black cloth over my shoulders, I stood straight before the mirror. I lifted my chin, raised my shoulders. Regality. Fear. Be what they want you to be. All in black and silver, I became what the kingdom’s people only dared whisper about. The name caught from the shadowed alleyways, the King’s protector. Them who darkness follows. Nyx. Lady of the night. The servants curled my fiery hair, keeping it plain and manageable. …show more content…
All at once, they stepped away, and I stumbled. The world spun and my knees went soft. Darkness swam before me. The servants’ shadows stretched and warped, blinking their red eyes at me. They bared their fangs and hissed. Footsteps echoed around the room and sharp nails dug into my shoulders, hoisting me …show more content…
I felt numb, a feeling I was quite familiar with. My heart pounded faintly in my ears, and I heard each breath I took, my chest calmly rising and falling. Serenity. The vial gave me peace. One last woman adjusted my silver bodice, then secured my cloak. I fingered my knife. My chamber doors were pulled open, and I was swept into the corridor. Guards immediately followed me, ensuring safety. The King’s pet couldn’t risk falling into any other hands. Their crisp blue and white uniforms stayed in my periphery. I passed sculpture after sculpture, marble pedestals laced with gold. Great, yawning windows lined the entire leeward side of the palace, melted moonlight streaming through them and into my corridor, splashing onto the paintings opposite. Ancient members of the royal family peered down at me, their canvas faces fixed into permanent frowns. My boots clicked across the marble beneath me, and we took a turn. This corridor contained no windows, lit only by flaming torches listed on golden sconces. More paintings filled the spaces in between, but this time of deceased Kings and Sovereigns, all angry and wrinkled. This trip was as familiar to me as the back of my own hand. My only escapes from my chambers consisted of this. Of being displayed like a prized