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I hate that someone dared put their hands on her, leaving marks on her soft, pale skin. She’s like a rose—delicate and sweet, but with thorns that prick if you get too close.
A few times, when I couldn’t sleep, I passed her room while I was roaming the halls. On multiple occasions I heard whimpering. It was a sad, broken noise, and she called for Char. Her best friend, as I now know.
Like me, she seems plagued by the inability to sleep. Visited by nightmares and terrors. I hardly sleep these days because of them.
From the little I know of her, she’s survived through so much. Yet she doesn’t believe in herself. I was right on the first day, she does have a spark in her eye. But it’s like she works to tamper it down, to put it out. It’s another thing I recognize. Something I’m familiar with.
Where subduing herself looks as if to come easy, though, it’s a constant battle for me.
If she stays, at best, she will only be a distraction. At worst, she could unravel everything I’ve spent my life gaining control over. There’s something about her that is utterly bewitching.
Despite her fragility, she owns a quiet, unassuming type of power. For something so frail and timid, she hasn’t broken. Her spirit hasn’t been diminished. There are moments, sure, where she can no longer look me in the eye, or she recoils or hesitates, but despite all of that, she appears wholly in control of herself.
Maybe I envy her for that.
Or maybe I hate her extra for that.
There was a moment, when she was watching me and Kenisius train, that I didn’t see grief or fear in her eyes.
I saw hunger. Not for me, but for the battle itself. That combined with knowing someone in a position of power hurt her? It makes my chest ache. A feat that catches me wholly off guard.
It could be wise to set her up with Kenisius for training. It could bring forth her inner strength. It could protect her from me.
Deciding my mind will only continue spinning in circles if I let it, I head back into my room. Crossing past my bed and armoire, I exit into the hallway, striding quietly and quickly in the direction of Alessia’s wing. Some desperate part of me hopes she’s awake. For what? I don’t know.
Maybe I just don’t want to be alone anymore.
It takes a few minutes to get there. My quarters are in the castle’s turret, five stories high, and on the opposite side of the castle. The distance is useful for quelling any…temptations.
It means I have plenty of time for logic to kick in, to turn away and return to my rooms. Except, I don’t. There’s an invisible rope tugging me closer and closer to her. Until finally, I’m standing outside her door.
As I’m debating knocking, her sad whimpers reach my ears.
“Charlotta,” she cries softly. “Please. No. Please.”
Resting my head on the door, I press my hand against the wood, fingers splayed out. I listen to her cry. My ribs squeeze.
Should I wake her?
Should I leave her in peace?
Whatever she suffers from in her sleep, I can only hope it isn’t as horrible as my nightmares.
My eyes shut, and I stand there—empathizing with her pain—until her whimpers die down a few minutes later. One of the pixies buzzes down the hall, flitting nearby. When they spot me, they freeze, fluttering in place.
“Hi,” they squeak out.
“Get out of here,” I hiss. “Stay out of this wing entirely.”
They buzz off immediately, flying down the hallway and around the corner. I don’t need the nosy creature flapping its lips about the girl’s night terrors.
Normally, it’s not something I’d spare a thought on, but I have an unrelenting drive to protect her. To ease her suffering.
I head back to my room as quickly as possible, not wanting to engage in conversation with any of the night servants.
Exiting onto my balcony again, I glare up at the night sky.
“Why do I care so damn much?” I yell at the hiding moon, as my eyes search the night sky for answers I won’t find.
