HBHM (hiatus)

thirty-five

a/n: hmm, not quite sure if i like this or not x]

| honest

Evarose sat by the open window, the icy winds numbing her cheeks. She'd only been in the castle a few days, but already the weather was significantly colder, just a breath away from winter. The trees were starting to strip their leaves and color, and the air smelt rustic, like old blood and stone.

She just sat there, breathing it all in.

After slipping out of the tunnels in the castle stables, the four of them had ran as far as they could. There was a curfew rule, meaning that all gates were sealed from nightfall to daybreak, so they took refuge in the outskirts of the kingdom, near the east gates. The owner of a barn and his wife were more than willing to take them in, right after seeing Lilura.

It was suspicious how they treated the witch like royalty, but no one questioned it—well, aloud—and Lilura didn't give them any chances.

Not that Evarose wanted to. The moment she was given her room, she'd shut the door, dragged a chair and crawled up against the window, her legs against her chest, her cheek against her knee. Even when the wife had come in to give her clothes, she didn't speak, didn't move from her spot.

Not because she needed isolation; she just needed time to think.

I simply cannot let you go.

Why not? Evarose asked herself that over and over again for hours. She was a prisoner, a map. But maps can be redone, and if Vladimir really valued the Elixir, then he'd have the map memorized, so what was she for? Why imprint it on her back, instead of paper? Why, why, why . . .

"You know, your thoughts are too loud at this time of night," a voice groaned.

Evarose jumped, startled, and twisted around, her blood stirring.

Lilura stood at the doorway with a blank expression. Her blue eyes drifted over to the pile of fabric on the bed, neatly folded but untouched. "Why haven't you changed?"

"Well, I think I look nice in this dress," Evarose said impassively, suddenly finding the sky very interesting.

"You're covered in blood."

"It fits rather well with my demon side, doesn't it?"

Lilura's voice sounded amused when she said, "You're not fooling me, Evarose. Come on. There's a bath downstairs; I'll even make it smell like your favorite roses. And don't say you don't feel well, I know exactly what you're feeling and it's not sickness."

Evarose rolled her eyes but stood. Her skirts, now flat, hung limply against her legs. "What is it, then?"

"Angst. Doubt. Self-pity," was the cool reply. "Every growing human wallows in it. For some reason they use it to torture themselves, as if that would solve their problems. That's the issue with humans. Always so destructive, even when they don't realize it."

"I'm one, too."

Lilura smiled. "No, you aren't. You're more."

After grabbing her clothes, Evarose reluctantly followed her down to a small room past the kitchen. A round wooden tub sat in the middle, already filled with steaming water, enclosed with several old, stained changing screens. A big candlestick was half melted on a small stand by the side of the tub. The water pump sat in the corner. The entire place smelled like dirt and slightly like manure.

"Well, it is a farm," Lilura added, shrugging. "So enjoy your bath, my little rose. If you need anything, I'll be outside."

"You did this for me?"