Tavern of Witchita

6 | Royal Family Origin

Narra's coal eyes peer through the dimly lit crevice leading down to an array of cold stone stairs. A high-pitched squeak emits from beneath, possibly from bats. She waits a bit, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness.

The stairs below are twisted in a perfect spiral like a spring pulled from both ends. Each slab is a group of stones cluttered into one structure with a thick layer of dust. If the queen is down there and the dungeon is underneath the kitchen, it can be safe to say that she's been fed well.

Narra lets her hand rest on the stone wall encircling the staircase and she places her weight on the first step.

...

There is no rubble, nor any pebbles that broke off. It seems stable enough.  Despite there being no lit torches at sight, she walks carefully to the bottom, leaving her faded shoeprints behind, along with the disturbed tracks of the other maids. A cold chill makes her shiver.

As she reaches deeper into the staircase and more and more light fades into view. Orange and red hues are shown by a bit below torches.

Step after step after step, she finally reaches the ground, the floor tiled with more stone. Examining the room with only three torches at best, the corners are still dark and an arrangement of metal cells alined. 

Narra swallows hard, sweat beading down her forehead. Torches make her feel uneasy, whatever the reason. Dismissing her minor problem, she looks around in search of the queen.

A cough emits deeper into the dungeon– with a female voice, nonetheless. Narra gains her composure, her hands trembling slightly as she forces herself to grip and take hold of a torch.

The more she holds it, the less scary it is. With a flaming torch in her hand, she saunters deeper into the dungeon, where her eyes meet…with a woman.

A woman leaning on the metal bars; pink skin, horns and all. Her hair is relatively long and resembles the color of peanut butter. It's shaggy and unkempt. The clothing that hung her body is merely a dusty yet refined of cloth that takes the form of a dress.

Her appearance is rather youthful as expected from a demon. Though while her back faces Narra, her head is tilted sideways, enough for the young witch to see her cold eyes. It reminds her of…

Narra's features soften at the queen's state. Unintentionally, she calls out to her.

“You're highness...”

The woman raises her head, turning to the direction of the voice. A pang of guilt and pity hits Natta right in the chest. This woman's eyes are pale and faded up close. She's blind.

“Hello, are you...a new maid around here?” Her soft-spoken voice lingers and echoes through the hollow dungeon. Narra replies,

“No ma'am, I'm a friend…of your son's…” Her sentence trails off. Surely after that small scenario, they are still friends, right? He was so angered at the time.

The queen smiles gently in mention of her son, maybe so “sons”. Most likely, it's been a while since they saw her.

“I see…” How ironic, her sentence is.

“A human, eh?” Her tone isn't intimidating, it's soft and welcoming.

The queen, much like the maid from earlier, doesn't despise humans, which gives Narra a sense of reassurance. The witch hangs the torch onto the wall and goes to sit against the metal bars, back alining with the queen.

A hoarse cough emits from the queen's throat, causing her to hunch over and cover her mouth. It sounds painful. Narra turns, reaching her hand through the crevices of the bars, she rubs the queen's back as the lady coughs.

Narra's eyes trail around. There is no other light source than the torches nearby. No windows, nor crevices, only a long and hefty stairway.

What a dark unforgiving place this is - a dungeon, a prison; a lonely cell, its only charcteristics is a creaky bed and a springy mattress, with nothing more to hold, except the former queen or Lucérr.

Her gaze settles on the queen once more, the woman smiles at Narra. The former-ruler mumbles an apology and returns to sitting back-to-back against the witch, Narra returns position.

The queen, in person, is nothing like the king– Narra thinks. This wonderful woman is as cheery and bright as her son, though Horns doesn't act like it as much.

“You sound quite young. I assume you're a friend of Kylos?” The queen inquires, interested in how her children are doing.

“Yes, I'm not the only one either,” Narra replies, mentioning Norman. Hopefully, the young boy is doing alright up there.

A comforting silence wraps the two females. The dim lights of the dungeon somewhat creating a comforting atmosphere. The queen speaks up.

“Why…and how are you here?”

Narra replies with ease.

“I'm here to talk to you; see how you've been doing the past years. As for the second question, I came through the entrance.” She chuckles at her lame joke and the queen smiles.

The rest of the day continues with the two merely having simple and nice conversations. Narra learns that Kylos used to be a very quiet kid, along with his elder brothers. The reason is that they never talked whenever their father is around. Narra also learns the following names of the brothers: Baron, Raum, and Kylos – which is Horns.

The queen is a nice and kind person. It's a pity she's been trapped down here all this time. Imprisonment leaves you with yourself. All alone with insects for company. It's sad.

“I never had an affair with another man, nor did I commit any sort of treason. I wouldn't do that to my sons…” She explains, evident sadness lacing her tone as her eyes narrow in guilt. Narra grimaces and the queen continues.

“We merely got into an argument and I fought back for once.”

…

“It was self-defense?” Narra asks a question.

The queen smiles sadly and answers the younger woman.

“More or less, I wasn't focused on protecting myself,   he's just so unfair to the children…”

It's truly a pity for her to be down here. It must be lonely as well. She hasn't seen the faces of her sons in years, let alone has she spoke to them. Every day, the nagging worry consumes her. Are they all alright? Is their father being too strict on them? Have they been eating well?

Indeed, the queen is lonely, but over the past sixteen years, she learned to lessen the pain. She uses her imagination. Persé, the cracks she feels on the floor are canyons that have been caused by a mighty earthquake.

She gets the freedom to create the story behind said mighty earthquake. Most species are born to need social bonds. They are born to need a sense of others, even if we are alone. It's terrible knowing she's been living solitarily in a dark and cold prison.

“You see, after all these years of being imprisoned…”

*“I probably won't very last long.”*

“What's your name, young one?”

“…Narra Stockholm.”