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I halt my pursuit as I get around the beast and see an iron prison door. Dad reaches his arm through two of the vertical bars of the door; I run towards him, wrapping my hands around his cold one.
“This is inhumane! How could you do this?” I snap at the beast.
He doesn’t say a word. No one speaks. The cold breeze whipping through the tiny open holes in the wall is the only noise in the West tower.
Looking into the darkened makeshift jail cell, I see that dad’s other arm is wrapped tightly around an older woman.
He’s protectively holding onto her. Who is she? And why is Dad holding her?
My gaze moves from hers to Dad’s. Neither one of them clue me into what is going on? What could he be hiding from me?
“Dad?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in a questioning manner.
Dad clears his throat and glances from the beast to me before turning his attention to the woman clinging to his side. She gives him a small smile to which he immediately returns.
He scrunches up his face, shoots the beast a glare, and blurts out, “This is Ethel. This is your mom.”
My head spins as my vision gets cloudy. My palms are slick with sweat. I have to lean my entire body against the iron door to keep from passing out.
How could this be? This can’t be my mom. Mom used to be bubbly and lively. This woman is old, sullen, and lifeless.
I take several deep breaths through my nose and exhale from my mouth. It does nothing to help the dizziness that I am feeling.
My breathing quickens as my heart beats faster. Squatting, I concentrate on my breathing.
In through my nose.
Out of my mouth.
A deep breath in.
A deep breath out.
After several moments, I stand, ready to face the situation.
“Arabella, you look so beautiful.” Her voice is shaky, but I instantly know this is Mom.
I whip my head around to glare at the beast, letting him see the raw emotions I am feeling before turning back to Mom. Tears fall down my face as I try to hug her through the iron doors.
She weeps as her hand runs over my face and hair as if she is trying to commit them to memory.
My sobs get harder and louder the longer I stand in this semi-comforting, semi-awkward embrace.
No one speaks or moves while Mom and I reconnect. They let us cry and hug until our hearts are content.
As my tears dry, my sadness seeps away and is replaced by anger. Red hot hatred burns in my chest until I feel as if I am bursting at the seams.
Turning around to face their captor, I scream, “Let them go!”
His nonchalant passive look changes to mimic the anger that I am feeling.
“No.” He growls out before slamming his fist against the stone wall.
“For years, my family has been stolen from. We have sat back and let it happen but not anymore. How many times must they trespass and steal from my family? How many enchanted roses must they cut off before-”
He stops mid-sentence. Taking a deep breath in, he balls his hands into large fists.
My head spins. Years? Mom and Dad have been trespassing and stealing those roses for years?
