Just because I’m all “theirs” doesn’t mean I can’t hear.
I’m not dead, you know.
I hear the frantic whispers behind the closed door. Some may say this is wrong, but for all I care eavesdropping is a source. A way to receive information. Or did the goody two-shoes not learn that one at her private lessons?
The whispers rise to shouts. I just roll my eyes. Probably arguing over another pony she would like.
Suddenly, I hear a smack. Firm, solid. Like skin hitting skin. The sound cracks throughout the castle like a clap of thunder. My heart practically stops. I panic and bustle away down the hall with a tray of teacups grasped tightly in my hands.
“Ah, Ophelia.” I cringe as I hear His Majesty’s startlingly calm voice. Considering.
“Your Majesty.” I face him and offer a small curtsy, not daring to meet his eyes. I feel translucent, like he can see right through me, into my soul.
She suddenly steps out from behind him, in a cerulean blue dress that match her eyes. She’s always had the prettiest eyes. Stifling a gasp, I catch a glimpse of her left cheekbone, reddened and bruising. Splotchy around the eyes. Discoloration on her arms. She looks so small and delicate compared to him, tall and powerful. I take a hasty step backwards, the porcelain dishes clattering.
“I-I was just leaving.” I mutter, turning away.
“Ophelia!” He barks. I notice her wince. My stomach throbs, gripped with guilt.
“Felicity and I were just…” He trails off for a moment, grasping her hand as she flinches. He gives a horribly fake smile. “Talking.” He puts, allowing his voice to darken.
Well, that was convincing.
“Yes. I’m aware.” I manage. I look him hard in the eye. “Well, I’ll be going then.” I give her a look of sympathy before practically falling down the staircase and hiding in the supply closet.
Deep breaths, Ophie, deep breaths. Closing my eyes, I try to shut everything out. But her soft, pale face, her deep blue eyes, her skinny, frails wrists keep showing up in my mind.
They can’t own me. He can’t own her. Never.
I find myself heaving, surrounded by darkness, losing consciousness.
I hear the grunt and the body rattling down the stairs. The cry echoes in my ears before everything goes black.
It’s a blithe and idle life, being a servant girl.
I’m not dead, you know.
I hear the frantic whispers behind the closed door. Some may say this is wrong, but for all I care eavesdropping is a source. A way to receive information. Or did the goody two-shoes not learn that one at her private lessons?
The whispers rise to shouts. I just roll my eyes. Probably arguing over another pony she would like.
Suddenly, I hear a smack. Firm, solid. Like skin hitting skin. The sound cracks throughout the castle like a clap of thunder. My heart practically stops. I panic and bustle away down the hall with a tray of teacups grasped tightly in my hands.
“Ah, Ophelia.” I cringe as I hear His Majesty’s startlingly calm voice. Considering.
“Your Majesty.” I face him and offer a small curtsy, not daring to meet his eyes. I feel translucent, like he can see right through me, into my soul.
She suddenly steps out from behind him, in a cerulean blue dress that match her eyes. She’s always had the prettiest eyes. Stifling a gasp, I catch a glimpse of her left cheekbone, reddened and bruising. Splotchy around the eyes. Discoloration on her arms. She looks so small and delicate compared to him, tall and powerful. I take a hasty step backwards, the porcelain dishes clattering.
“I-I was just leaving.” I mutter, turning away.
“Ophelia!” He barks. I notice her wince. My stomach throbs, gripped with guilt.
“Felicity and I were just…” He trails off for a moment, grasping her hand as she flinches. He gives a horribly fake smile. “Talking.” He puts, allowing his voice to darken.
Well, that was convincing.
“Yes. I’m aware.” I manage. I look him hard in the eye. “Well, I’ll be going then.” I give her a look of sympathy before practically falling down the staircase and hiding in the supply closet.
Deep breaths, Ophie, deep breaths. Closing my eyes, I try to shut everything out. But her soft, pale face, her deep blue eyes, her skinny, frails wrists keep showing up in my mind.
They can’t own me. He can’t own her. Never.
I find myself heaving, surrounded by darkness, losing consciousness.
I hear the grunt and the body rattling down the stairs. The cry echoes in my ears before everything goes black.
It’s a blithe and idle life, being a servant girl.
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