DEAREST

PART 1: FEAST OF WAR, Ch. 5

5

Whether I close my eyes or keep them open, I only see the darkness. My muscles are stiff, I feel heaviness in my back and the lack of air makes me panic every few minutes. I can't even see the tip of my nose, which, in spite of the situation, I find funny. My mind doesn't seem to exist; It is as if it had mixed with the darkness that surrounds me, as if I was trapped in it. I know I have to endure this position for a few more hours until I can be sure I can escape.

I assume it's possible that one or two demons are still roaming Bachassau. The slightest noise and presence of magic will alert them, and then I will be finished. I can only hope that, whoever finds me, is a good person. Whoever installed the dumbwaiters in the castle, did they think they could also serve as a hiding place?

I can't calculate the exact amount of time I've been here, which makes me feel a bit desperate, but since I think about it I decide to start counting time in songs in my mind. I hum the tunes in the same way that my mother used to do when I was little, softly and gently, and, when I remember her humming, I can't help but feel a lump in my throat for the times I felt more secure, and didn't understood the notions of "time" or "future time." The little me, rude to maids and only concerned about dolls and dresses, having to be put up with by everyone around her. Even if I was the most exasperating child in the world, I wish I could go back there, sheltered in the warmth of the memories of my childhood. Everyone is a little more patient with children.

I don't know if it's because I've became used to the long silence, but I can hear steps. Actually, it's not the steps that I hear, but the echo that pierces the stone on the walls until it reaches me. Also, it's not any footprint, it is the hollow and firm sound of boots. Unlike the shoes of the maids, which sound a little sharper, the sound of boots steps is more stable, almost reassuring. It's a sound that I know very well thanks to my father. I'm humming the Adagio for Strings, and when my hearing encounters these footsteps, the first thing that comes to my mind is the pale face of the child soldier whose knees trembled when our eyes met.

I have mixed feelings at this time.

I wish she had died forever, but I also want to see her, tell her that it's okay, and then kill her myself. At the same time, I feel relieved at the possibility of meeting again. I imagine escaping with her through the forest, though I have no idea what I'll do with her once we're safe. I'll probably kill her.

I raise my hand with the intention of hitting the little wooden door that separates me from the outside, but I stop even before taking this action out and I keep an ear on any noise coming from outside. There's the slight possibility that all of it is machination of my own, and that no one with boots is walking nearby, with such freedom, through the halls of the castle. Even if it were, I have no idea where I am in the castle, I don't know where the route of this particular dumbwaiter ends. Maybe I'm in the middle of a wall, or on the top floor of the castle.

These floating steps approach, but I can't determine in which direction. I have exhausted the spell in my ring, and I only have the tiara and the Lightning Scepter left.

However, whoever is on the other side seems to know that I'm here.

Is it possible to hear my breath? Even so, this person must have a very sharp ear to perceive it.

Something hits the wall to my right a few times, which completely silences me. It's a dull thud. The edges of the door of the dumbwaiter light dimly with a gray light. What has thudded must have been some painting that covers this door to hide it from view. This person knew of the presence of dumbwaiters, which remain hidden. This person knew that in this room there is one.

I'm about to mutter the spell lines to activate my magic circle, when the door bursts open.

It's difficult to pinpoint what I saw. This person is against the light, so I can only identify a thin and tall silhouette. At a simple glance I seem to see a tall man in uniform. However, as my vision adjusts, I notice that their pale blond hair, visibly smooth and fine is only hair that has escaped from its low ponytail, and then I make sure that it is a young woman who, due to her androgynous appearance, looks like an attractive young man of no more than seventeen years old, with a pure and clean beauty like a stream, like a beautiful young boy in some old portrait. She wears the same uniform as my father, the formal uniform of the private guard of our family, with a few less insignias. She points a gun at me, but when she sees me she puts it down immediately.