Hey guys,
So I've rewritten this chapter three times. I don't know about this one. I'm having a rough go. I just don't like the way it's coming out. I feel like I'm struggling and that doesn't bode well for this one's shelf life. My brain is working in different directions. I could force it out. But I don't think you guys would like the way it goes if I do.
So here's the deal. I'm gonna write some other stuff that I'm feeling more inclined to write and then I'll come back to this one. As much as I'm capable of writing on demand I don't want the stuff I'm posting here to feel like work or I'll get tired of it and stop. None of us want that! But I promise I'll come back to this.
*Chapter 3*
Mira may have thought it all a disturbing nightmare, if not for the handprint on her throat and the new pain searing through her skull. She stood in front of the mirror and examined the purple seeping into her pale skin. Collapsing onto the edge of her bed, she stared at the door, imagining that she was brave enough to leave. She knew she could find the way out. Rillan wouldn't follow her. He would just tell the druids to send someone else. But without a withered body lying on the slab outside the cave all of her teachers and friends would know that she had run away. She was trapped here by herself.
Mira lay back on the bed, letting tears stream down her cheeks. Slowly she resigned herself to her existence.
I don't know why it's taking so much for me to get used to it all. Didn't they tell me how horrible this was? Wasn't I prepared for being sacrificed for the good of my people?
Mostly she was angry at herself for seeing something in Rillan Tiernay that wasn't really there.
Just because the man's touch was gentle once and he seemed so… I was wrong. I was just wrong,
she thought.
It took some time that night, but she was able to turn her tears off. Mira busied herself by preparing a bath and making plans for what she could do to pass time until Rillan wanted another meal.
That's all I am. A meal. A well cared for, unwanted, meal. In the end, I suppose, it makes sense. He hates himself. I'm another representation of what he despises about himself. I guess if I were a good person who turned myself into a monster I wouldn't much like the things that reminded me of that either.
Mira soaked in the tub, feeling the warm water sooth the tension from her body. She did her best to remember her lessons and try not to be resentful for all of this. It had been her choice. No one had forced her into this life. Now she would have to adjust to it. The longer she lasted the fewer girls in the next generation would have to be subjected to it. She resolved to look through the library and see if she could find some books on music. Nothing had surprised her more than when she had found the room with all the stored instruments. If she could find some books on how to play one of them, maybe she could teach herself. That would certainly take a great deal of time. Besides, Mira had never liked sewing and there was plenty of clothing. She had only to cook and clean for herself. There were no gardens to tend or animals to look after or children to teach. She had never had so little to do.
Mira eventually got out of the tub, dried herself off, and went to her bed. She wouldn't disobey his rules again.
Rillan grabbed his armor off the rack and strapped it on. Choosing one of the more violent looking maces on from the weapons rack, he stepped up to the armored dummy. He roared frustration as vicious blows rained down on the dummy. Sweat covered his face and ran down the back of his neck as he battered the inanimate enemy into submission. When it finally lay in a brutalized mound on the floor he threw the mace across the room with an unsatisfied war cry and paced away from the mess. Air was forcefully drawn into his lungs as he tried to calm down.
"She's right to some extent," he said aloud to himself, a habit he had developed during long hours of silence. "I've shown her no consistency. She has no idea how to behave because I've given her no real direction," he sighed. He wanted to badly to trust her and walk down the hall to spend time near her. He stared at the large double doors and wondered if he had hurt her too badly when he had slammed her against the wall. "Well if she didn't fear me before, she'll be starting to now."
He couldn't decide if he wanted her to be afraid and cut off all chance of resurrecting what had started between them or if he wanted her to continue to challenge him. Rillan walked back to his dummy and began to repair the damage he had done with a skillful hand. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that he had relieved some of his frustration this way.
Mira could hear the echoing sound of metal on metal bouncing off the stone walls in the darkness. She worked her way down the hall until she found the door to the library. She was grateful for the yelling and pounding. He sounded angry and that concerned her, but it also told her where he was. She wasn't nervously wondering if he was watching her from the shadows this way.
The library was well organized and it didn't take long for her to find the books concerning music. The ones she found were mostly books that discussed music or talked about the history of music. Mira looked around the room with interest and found that there were more history books than anything else. "He must be interested in learning about the things that have happened since he was trapped inside this gloom," she said softly to herself.
Mira tilted her head toward the door and listened to the continued hammering of metal on metal. It was getting louder. She sighed nervously, using the sound to break the uneasy feel of her situation, and went back to the music books. She found one that looked simple enough. It was a book that was mostly the history of tin whistles, but there were some pages containing simple chords and a small section on how to read music notes.
Mira left a note for Rillan on the desk, letting him know that she had borrowed one of the books and which one. As she headed back toward her rooms, silence descended on the hall. A nervous queasy feeling had Mira watching the light around the doors at the end of the hall as she quickened her pace toward her own rooms. She wasn't doing anything wrong, but she didn't want him thinking she was up to something either. She didn't intend to ever find out how he would "punish" her, if she stepped out of line again.
The heavy wooden door closed behind her with a thud and she felt safe again. Excitedly she ran down her hall. The light helped her feel better as well. Mira wondered if she would ever grow used to the darkness of his halls. She opened the door that led to her music room. It didn't take long for her to turn up a small intricately carved wooden box that contained, what looked to be, a well made tin whistle. It was silver and had a soft red cord with tassels on it tied around the end near the mouth piece. She smiled thinking it was very pretty. Placing the whistle back in the little wooden box she picked up the book and the box then walked out of the music room and down the hall into her bedroom. She placed the box with the whistle on the stand next to her bed and began reading, absorbing everything the book said.
