Pretty Little Flower

Pink taffeta swallows her whole, a sea surrounding the island of her fragile frame. 

She is seated in her cell, perched delicately on the edge of her bed. The walls and filthy stone are at least a comfort, but she is not comfortable like this – clothed in a lovely dress that lends her appearance a doll-like sheen. That had been what her last visitor had desired. But it is wrong. Slaves do not deserve fine things. 

They deserve nothing.

She almost fills the whole space, so large is the skirt that circles her waist. It would have been an almost pretty scene, were it not for the red pool of blood on the ground, swallowing her ankles. The vampire had enjoyed his meal.

“One, two, three … little mice, come closer.” 

He never asked why a prisoner was in there, if they were friendly, and if they looked like they needed help, he would take them from the cells for a few hours. Which is why he stopped at the girls cell.

“Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay, but he wasn’t going to presume anything. He knelt at the bars and smiled to her the best he could, though his concern shone through the expression. 

He looks strange kneeling there. That should be her position, so she mimics it, sinking softly to her knees, little bones pressing against the comforting cold floor. The mice are ignored now. She no longer cares for them.

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Pink taffeta swallows her whole, a sea surrounding the island of her fragile frame. 

She is seated in her cell, perched delicately on the edge of her bed. The walls and filthy stone are at least a comfort, but she is not comfortable like this – clothed in a lovely dress that lends her appearance a doll-like sheen. That had been what her last visitor had desired. But it is wrong. Slaves do not deserve fine things. 

They deserve nothing.

She almost fills the whole space, so large is the skirt that circles her waist. It would have been an almost pretty scene, were it not for the red pool of blood on the ground, swallowing her ankles. The vampire had enjoyed his meal.

“One, two, three … little mice, come closer.” 

“Yes, Sir.” She lies. Who is she to feel discomfort? That is not her privilege. So she strives to ignore it, setting her mind onto the fact that someone will surely soon tell her to discard the dress. “I’m watching the mice.” Pointing, as one patters through the bloody puddle. 

Maximus frowned, something inside him suddenly no sitting well with her answer. “Did you just lie to me? Why would you lie about a sample question?” He couldn’t understand why. “And that dress, do you like it?” He looked down at the blood, deciding she might be a bit insane. It didn’t bother him.

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“Hello, there. Would you like me to serve you?”

Natalie had been visiting some old friends and was heading back to Erebus’ when she heard the voice, turning she saw the girl sitting there and shook her head. “I’m an escort, you don’t need to serve me.”

She has no idea what she’s ordered. Having been told to fetch a drink, that is what she’s done. It had taken a good deal of concentration on her part to remember the command, but she had been determined to succeed, and so she had, despite the anxiety that is almost consuming her whole. 

She doesn’t like it in the light.

             She doesn’t like it outside the Chateau’s strong stone walls.

The man’s comment makes her falter, uncertainty a noose around her porcelain neck. Perhaps she’d failed, after all. It wouldn’t surprise her.

Slaves were doomed to fail.

“Thank you,” she replies, because he’d told her to say it. “Yes, I ordered it. But… I must have got it wrong.”      

He opened his mouth, before closing it again. He eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “What makes you say that?” He asked, forever the psychologist. “I’m sure it’s not wrong, I’ve just got no sense of taste.”

Fred smiled kindly at the small woman. He took a note of her posture and expressions, cataloguing them away for later. “Is the drink for you? Let me get you a new one. You don’t want one that I’ve spread my germs on.”

“I’ve been down, down, down the stairs, Sir. In the dark room with no windows.”

He stood off to the side as he scrolled through the notifications on his phone. There were way too many appointments this morning, he would need to bring that up with her. But he had been considering replacing her anyway, she had run her course. When he heard something that sounded vaguely like his name, he wasn’t really listening to begin with, Fred walked over to the counter and grabbed the cup. He took a sip before he realised that it wasn’t his drink. He looked up from his phone to the real owner of the drink in his hand.

“I would say sorry, but I just saved you from a terrible drink, so really you should be thanking me.” He half smiled at them. “Did you actually order this? It’s disgusting.”

She doesn’t like it in the light.

             She doesn’t like it outside the Chateau’s strong stone walls.

The man’s comment makes her falter, uncertainty a noose around her porcelain neck. Perhaps she’d failed, after all. It wouldn’t surprise her.

Slaves were doomed to fail.

“Thank you,” she replies, because he’d told her to say it. “Yes, I ordered it. But... I must have got it wrong.”