m e s s a l i n a
the chains are broken,
but are you truly free?
continuing from this threadbut are you truly free?
Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run
Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run
Bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun
Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run
Messalina's pallid lips formed the syllables of the rhyme over and over again in a soundless chant. It had been a tune the stable boys used to sing on summer afternoons, while they chased each other with sharpened sticks masquerading as swords. She had watched them from her room, condemning the game as silly so she would stop wishing so desperately to join them.
But that had been a long time ago.
The rushing wind whispered haunting things in her ear, of men and monsters and death. Messalina's pace quickened; her strides grew longer, her breath came sharper. Her thoughts turned to wicked things, to beasts ripping throats and hunters notching arrows. Something echoed through the trees, and her heart beat so fast she thought she would faint.
Run rabbit, run.
She shook the fear away. Whatever had killed Moore and Casper had gorged itself on their bodies. The thought turned her stomach, but she could not deny the logic. Whatever it was, its hunger was sure to be satiated. For now.
I must alert the guards. I must lead them back to King Somnus and Lady Eulalie. There is danger in the woods. Her hoof caught on a hidden root, and she stuttered on her rhyme as she fought for her balance. She won, just barely.
Her head ached. Her lungs screamed. She couldn't remember the last time she had run so fast, so far.
No — her breath caught when she remembered. When Mother disappeared in a cloud of smoke and stars. When they hunted me, the Witch's daughter. I had run faster than this. The memory sat bitter on her tongue, and she chased it away with a renewed sense of urgency.
The castle gates loomed in the distance, towers twisting to the night-black skies. She could not seem to get there fast enough. The shouts of the guards went unheeded as she tore through the open gates of the citadel, her moonlight hair a ribbon behind her. Her braids had long since unraveled.
"You there!" She caught the arm of a passing soldier, her grip as cold and unyielding as ice. His gaze snapped to her in wary surprise. Messalina's breath came in gasps and hacking coughs. She had barely enough air to speak, but she did not care.
"Find the warden. Tell him to assemble a troop of soldiers immediately and head towards Viride Forest. I shall meet them at the mouth of the trees." After a moment of thought, she added, "Double the guards at the gates."
She did not know if she had the authority to dictate so much, but they did not have a Champion of Battle. Dawn was a peaceful court; the lack of one had never been felt as sharply by her as it did now. She had to do what she could.
The guard hesitated. "What are you doing?" Panic had sharpened the girl's voice to a knifepoint. "Your Champion of Wisdom commands you," she said coldly, "and you shall do as I say." The threat in her voice surprised her, but it was enough to move him to action. He nodded at her once, murmured a quick "Apologies, my lady," and sped off down the hall.
All strength seemed to leave her body at once. She coughed again, wiped at the sweat dripping down her brow, and steadied herself against the smooth stone walls. Everything ached — her head, her chest, her legs.
But she could not rest. There was someone else she needed to find.
"Ipomoea!" She did not pause to knock at his door; she simply pushed it open with a grunt and stepped inside. Blindly, she fumbled along in the dark until the smooth glide of polished wood met her groping touch. Looking up, she made out the shape of a looming bed frame.
In the dark of the regent's chambers, the fear and weariness Messa had locked away poured out of her like blood from a cut artery. The room spun.
This time, she had not the strength to save herself, and down she fell to the cold marble floor.
Pain lanced up her leg when her cuts reopened, though she made not a sound in response. Tears sprang unbidden to Messalina's eyes. She hastily wiped them away.
With the last of her strength, she dragged herself to her feet and padded heavily to his bedside.
"Ipomoea. You must wake up." The softness of blankets pressed like petals against her when she stretched a trembling hand towards his sleeping form and shook.
"Something has happened." Blood fell like tears onto the silken sheets. Hair tumbled like liquid moonlight across her shoulders. Her eyes, the ice melted to pools of bottomless blue, were dilated wide with pain and fear. "I have done all I can, and still it is not enough."
I don't know what to do.
@Ipomoea | "speaks" | notes: she'll gasp in horror at her boldness later ;D
