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The material ballooned around Blanchette’s body as she submerged herself waist-deep in the calm Rockbluff River. Wading forward, her blond ringlets dragging behind like a queen’s train, she felt at one with her home’s soil. Rock and mud slid underfoot. She squeezed her toes and sank them deeply, savoring the feel of the earth and pebbles. The feel of her home.
All the while, her governess stood at the bank’s edge, her hands planted on her hips, her pale cheeks puffy and reddening with every breath.
“Join me, Governess. It shall do you well, I promise!”
* * *
I promise…
Blanchette slid out of the darkness and into a new world.
She woke with tears falling down her cheeks. Sunlight broke through a set of rough-spun curtains and pierced her eyes.
Where am I?
Groaning, she rolled away from the stab of light. The room was small, adorned with only the bare necessities of a chamber pot, an oaken table, and a rickety wooden chair. A cup of water sat on her table, two heels of bread, a burned-out candlestick, and a small pile of fresh bandage dressings.
The slightest movement sent her head spinning like a toy top. Her body screamed in pain as she jolted into a sitting position and shoved a tangle of matted curls from her eyes.
Then it came to her.
The siege…
Was it only a nightmare?
Have I slept?
Am I still asleep?
Disorientation hit her hard. Her temples throbbed against her skull as she fought to recall everything.
The night came to her in bits and pieces, like a half-remembered dream from her childhood. And every memory, every moment, was soaked in blood.
Aye, her thoughts ran red. As red as her riding cloak—the one her grandmother had made three winters ago.
How did I end up here?
And how, in God’s name, did she survive?
“Help me,” she whispered, not knowing who she spoke to or implored. “Please, help me. Please…”
Her breaths grew shallow and rapid. Choked tears came to her, and the pain they caused sent her reeling onto the bed again. Her throat burned.
Pure misery.
There was no other word for it.
Lying on her side, her face against the hard plank, she examined the room numbly. She took in shapes and colors yet felt disconnected all the same. Nothing seemed to exist outside of her terror and that feeling of hopelessness.
“No, no, no, no. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening, none of this is happening… not truly.” She whispered between knife-like convulsions. Her breaths came fast and panicky, and she felt like she was on the verge of passing out.
I’m still sleeping. When I awake, I shall be back in my chamber with the walls of Winslowe Castle all around me.
Snug and safe and well-guarded…
She blinked away her tears once, twice, thrice.
Wake up, Blanchette. She smacked her cheek with her palm. A bandage covered one of them. She hit herself again and again with a bunched fist.
