Nine Days

Dusk took its place in the sky. Now, it's candles that provided us with the necessary illumination. A shadow gently enveloped Raya, but I still saw her smug grin, clear as day.

I sighed and glanced at my wrist; a habit I got into, even though I had never owned a watch. The corners of my lips rose. "All right, let's go." I turned back to Allard's room.

"Go? Go where?" she asked. "Wait, you couldn't possibly be thinking of re-entering?" she asked more and clasped my waist. "I was joking! I was joking!"

"Raya, stop resisting," I told her, and she did, like a well-trained dog. Vive la magic. 

She stared at me with puffed cheeks (turning her eyes crescent) and sulkily pursed her lips. With the girl still clutched to me, I went back to the room. What returned to my sight first was the golden chandelier. It looked like an arrow pointing downward. The prince, Allard, hadn't left yet. He was seated at the long table, to his right a sheathed sword and in his hand was brown paper.

Again, he wouldn't meet my eyes. "Did you enter the wrong place twice?"

I felt Raya shivering, so I pried her off me. "Actually, I never did." I walked forward, hands clasped, back straight, and steps spaced evenly. I kept my eyes sharp, relaying my dignity. "In truth, I wished to meet Your Highness."

He continued reading the pages without care for me. "I don't believe we know each other well enough to meet at night."

I stood in front of him. "That's why I came earlier," I said. "I'd come earlier to see you." I knelt down, the way a knight would in front of a king, and placed my hand on his. It was cold to the touch, almost icy. 

My sudden action caught him off guard and he finally found it in himself to look at me. He had dark, maroon irises, like burnt char. His eyelashes, as red as his hair, fluttered lightly when he squinted. Then, he swiftly pulled his hand back.

I went even lower, into a squat. My dress—pressed between my thighs and stomach—was warm to the touch. "You've got nice eyes," I said. "Is it true you killed your own brother?"

Allard placed the papers down. He twisted his head left and right; both times, soft cracks resounded in this spacious vestibule. He swallowed, his Adams Apple bobbing up, then down. His sight falling down on me cut like a blade. "So what if I did?" the prince asked me with a raspy voice.

"Well, that wouldn't be very nice," I reprimanded him, my palms on my hips. "I'd be against it."

"Agnes!" Raya—coming from behind me—screamed in disbelief. She, once again, pulled me up while repeatedly lowering her head to the prince. "I apologize, I apologize for her behavior. She usually isn't like that. Oh, Agnes, you too, plead for forgiveness. Come on now." She kept pushing my shoulder, urging me to repent.

Allard shoved the papers to the side and stood up. Raya quickly flinched back, her hands up in vigilance. Then she held me in her arms, ready to fight-or-flight. However, the prince only walked away. His crisp tread rang in this vast and lonely hall—until they didn't anymore.

I ran forward, out of Raya's embrace, to the already closed door. I shouted, "The weight of your heart, I shall carry it if you cannot. Seek for me, I'm sure I can help." Right after, Raya carried me through the door.

"What was that? That's not in your character," she asked me in confusion. There was a tinge of restlessness in her tone. "Do you want to get both of us killed?"

"It's acting, dearest. That's what I do. You have to be bold with these types of people." I raised my index finger to her lips. "No worries, it's just the beginning."

She clutched my shoulders and stared deep into my face. "I'm serious. Stop messing around, this isn't a joking matter." Raya didn't trust me, but she never did, so it was fine for both of us. She brushed me aside. "So what now?"

I walked to the nearest window. I saw nothing. Night, devoid of color, had approached this capital, slowly swallowing it whole. Here in the medieval times, there was not a single flickering neon sign, no lamps peeking through curtains, nor any cars still driving, all light came from nature (the stars) and ultimately returned to nature (the earth). It gave a feeling much different from the busy darkness in a city, hardly describable, like a firm shadow flickering behind candlelight; a grand cloth, with only astral light, draped over the capital. 

I turned around, wiping the innocence from my expression. "Now that I've had some fun, it's time to do some real work." I took the mantle I lent Raya and placed it on my shoulders. It swayed gently with every step I took forward.

"Huh? You were just having fun the whole day?" She stopped me. "And what do you mean real work? What work do you have?"

I breathed out and shrugged my shoulders. "You know what? You ask too many questions for my liking. You stay here, I'm going to do it alone."

Raya took my hand. "Do it alone? What do you mean? Wait, are you leaving me here? No, no you can't just do that!" She wished to walk forward, but fell, her feet glued to the floor. She stayed, as I commanded. What had been apprehension in her eyes changed into worry. "You can't, right? What if His Highness Allard leaves and sees me standing here? Agnes? Agnes?" 

I left, her voice steadily fading into the darkness of the night. I glanced over my shoulders—just a quick one—and she was nowhere to be seen anymore.

"Will it be the princess, Irene?" 

My attention shifted to Agnes, who had remained quiet the whole time. She had a rare serious facade. "Yes," I said. "For now, it's best if our cousin does not follow."

She replied. "It's late for a visit."

I strode away. "I'm not visiting." 

Passing door by door, I went to Irene's room. Her place wasn't hard to find. People like her had different stays, befitting of their status. Even within the nobility, there was discrimination and judgment.

I took a peek through the keyhole. Her room was as dark as the abyss. No sight of any person. Just as Leila predicted, the princess wasn't home yet. I turned the knob, it rattled, it turned, but the door did not budge.

"What now?"

I made sure nobody was close, and from my mantle, I withdrew a thin knife—dull to the touch and rounded at its end. "Now we break-in." 

The keyhole was ancient, a type I've never seen before, reminiscent of one found on the wardrobe leading to Narnia. Who knows, maybe it would. Maybe, in this world of magic, this was the one leading to wonderland. Yet, it didn't matter if it was, for I would not leave without entering. I knelt down and took a pin out of my hair and twisted it into a thin rod. Together with my knife, I slid them both into the lock. Licking my lips, I forced my way in by shoving the pin in and out. The keyhole shook and every time I heard a click, my pin ventured deeper, and the knife turned right. 

I grasped the doorknob once more, the pin bent, close to snapping. "Whoops, not yet," I whispered and immediately let go. Everything returned to its rightful place. I leaned on the door again, now coming closer and this time I worked with more precision. In the end, as all the bumps in the hole aligned, the door swayed open, wishing to creak comfortably, but I held the knob firmly.

Agnes clicked her tongue. "Another one of your dubious abilities?"

"You bet."

A sudden rustle resounded through the halls. I jerked back, looking for the noise, and felt the sink of my stomach, a horrible feeling. There was nothing there, except the winds brushing past the window curtains. I promptly jumped into the room and closed the door behind me (the lock acted on its own and rewound), lest a new noise arrived, and this time it would not just be the wind.

Having entered, I got a closer look at the interior design. I saw her over-sized bed adorned with silk sheets (some on the mattress, others dangling down from above) a pinkish carpet with a wardrobe of similar color and a marbled desk.

Agnes also floated around, taking everything in. In this black night, her appearance was indistinguishable from a ghost. If only she wore white.

"Enough thinking, move with the plan," she complained, and I agreed. Though I had no watch,  I still felt time ticking.

I reached for my dress, taking something else out again. Seeing as there were many pockets, it was hard for me to find what I searched for. At some point, I even worried that I had forgotten to take it with me, which would have been devastating. Still, the moment I felt a soft squish—and my hand instinctively recoiled—I knew I carried the item.

Agnes's face scrunched in disgust. "Ugh, is that not the vile thing from that night before?"

"Correct, it's that flesh-pawn Louis left behind. I thought I may need it." I squeezed the piece; It was bouncy. How interesting. "I'm going to place it in her room. If she really is someone from the chess organization, she will definitely show a reaction."

I searched for a podium to showcase my work. I wanted her to see this grotesque thing the moment she entered. Positioning myself squarely on the doorway, I found my attention caught by the desk in front of me. I assumed it would be the same for her. On the desk, there was only a giant mirror, full of a narcissistic personality. As expected of such a vile lady.

I held Louis against the moonlight when I heard light footsteps approach. They seemed distant at first, but a moment later they felt incredibly close—as if they were in this very room—and I somehow knew it had to be her.

"You've got to be kidding," I mumbled, my words falling short.

Agnes' eyes shot wide open and she screamed, "Hide!"

But I couldn't; not before I did what I came for. I jumped forward and rested the piece on the desk. The thing, amidst my shaking, tumbled over, rolled around, and planned on falling. I watched it dazedly, then swiftly placed it back . . . and it rolled again, not following my will. "Come on!" I felt my grip tighten, and threw it at the mirror—almost hitting the mirror with my fist—and the desk caught the piece again. seeing it drawing circles and threatening to fall another time, I took the bent hairpin and struck through the piece, nailing it still. A dark-red liquid escaped the puncture wound and dripped to the ground. I pushed the pin further in with my thumb, and I felt the same resistance as a syringe entering an arm.

The steps slowed down as she got nearer. I heard the keys jangling in her hands.

Moving faster, I groped around my mantle, looking for the dull knife again. In my haste I almost let it slip out my hands. The knife was juggled twice before being caught. I placed the blade to my wrist and slit it. No blood came out; not hard enough. I pushed harder, the knife lodged into my skin and I winced. Sweat left my forehead, and with great force, I ripped the knife through my wrist, and blood spluttered out, the same way liquid in an opened wine bottle did.

The keyhole clicked and I waltzed forward, pressing on my open wound. With my bloody hand on the mirror, I painted the only word I had learned: 'Agnes'.

I listened for the doorknob and heard it turn. I made my way to the wardrobe but stopped myself. What if she looked in there? I moved my head around, quickly searching for a place to hide, wishing I was only a fly on a wall. At last, I decided to lay underneath her bed.

The door swung open, yellow light dispersing the darkness. Entering was the protagonist of our little story. Without a doubt, Irene's red hair fell to my sight first. She wore them as twin-tails, long enough to reach past her waist. Her eyes were sharp, but not like the crown prince, who held pride above anyone else, nor like Agnes whose glint came born from hatred . . . no, they seemed like a cold blaze, as if she were carrying something deep inside her, wishing to burst out.

My wound screamed and I changed position. It was hard to get comfortable while a bed frame pressed on me.

She took her first steps, then stopped. As expected, the message I left behind brought her to a halt. Her eyebrows knitted in surprise and she cautiously moved closer. When she could make out what it was, her expression went frigid. Taking a handkerchief out her dress, she wiped the blood off with annoyance and blanketed the chess piece. She did not acknowledge it besides that.

Agnes, standing right in front of her, said in trepidation, "It's not her."

"No it is," I rebutted in a tone so low, not even the wind could carry it. "Without a doubt it is."

Irene continued by undressing; she walked to the wardrobe (as expected!) and from then on, I only saw her pale feet. 

"Think about it: It's the darkest hour, she sees a bloody mirror, with the name of her antagonist and a chess piece made from flesh, stabbed, in her own room. She should have been repulsed, frightened, or feeling vulnerable, but instead, she only remained calm. That's because she is hiding something. Showing no reaction is in itself a reaction, and she had inadvertently revealed the most crucial information to us."

I clenched my fist. Hate clouded my thoughts. At last, I found her. Blood seeped out of the fresh gash I made, feeling more like a burn. In my mind, I rapidly made my plans. I found her!

Her clothes fell to the ground, and after a while, she went to bed, and I saw her in a nightgown with her hair loose. She sat down, twirling her toes and stretching. I smelled a rich rose perfume emitting off her. If I wished right now, I could grab her ankles and yank her down—and, oh dear, did I wish. She had not an ounce of suspicion that the culprit was still in her room. She went to sleep, but not without worries, as I felt her tossing and turning for a torturous amount of time. I only dared to leave my hiding after hearing her light snoring.

I looked at the girl curled into a ball, my shadow looming over her, and traced my fingers around her neck. "You know . . . I could kill you right now and there'd be nothing you could do. I'd hold your mouth and stab you repeatedly with my dulled knife. It would hurt at first, you'd wake up from the jolting pain, and maybe I'd miss, piercing your chest. You'd suffocate, feeling your lungs never fill with air, living your final moments in agony. If you were lucky, if I chipped an artery, you might drown from your own blood. Within your last breaths, the adrenaline would wane, pain and fear would creep in, and you get to see death for all its eternal terror." I retracted my hand. Irene slept peacefully. "But where was the fun in that?"

With nimble steps, I left this princess's room. I did not look back.

There's no way I'd let this end so easily. Not in such inelegant fashion. She needed to suffer. For Celestia, for Estella, and most importantly—for Me. A wave of excitement overcame Me, covering Me in gooseflesh. I counted down the remaining days: Nine left.