South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|Wash|

[after Logan is given a bath and haircut by Yashida's servants, he follows Yukio to meet Yashida. He notices her smiling] 

Logan: What? [Yukio continues to smile] Logan: What?

Yukio: You look nice. 

Logan: I feel violated. - The Wolverine

After helping me to my feet, rather ungracefully mind you, my Aunt started on a war path to turn me into a decent royal. Or rather she handed me off to Craven's evil hand.

"Clean her up, and do get her something decent to wear? How about it Craven," my Aunt says indifferently. I long to roll my eyes, but from reading pretty of decorum books I know this is not a princess allowed act. Craven bows in anusual solemn manner, and beckons me out into the foyer. We walk in silence for a while that is until I decide to make chit chat. It doesn't go so well.

"So," I laugh. "We're we going?" I'm met with stony silence. A few minutes pass and I take the plunge and speak again.

"Come on Craven. Yeah, I get it that I kicked your ass in fencing and magic, but I'm not trained or anything. I bet you've had years of training. You're more..." I search for the right word. "Prepared," I finish with a lopsided grin and downright scared on my face.

Without warning,Craven spins pushing an accusing index finger in my face. "Just shut up you little royal. You served me my ass on a silver platter, and if you think that trying to butter me up so we can be best buds or something is going to get you "queenly" brownie points," she spits quoting queenly in the air. "Then your dead wrong. I hate you. Lets get that straight so that later on we won't ever have a,"why didn't you ever speak to me," conversation. You won. You should be happy. You're the Queens new favourite. It'll make life a whole lot simpler. So be glad for it," she finishes and storms along down the hallway.

"Ooook..." I answer hesitantly. 'Geez. I've never been hated by anyone before. It's sad,' I think.

The rest of our journey is encased in nothing but the silent tread of our boots on the plush carpets. I take this prolonged time to study the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The walls are made of solid stone covered every few feet by a tapestry. Rich, lush fabrics that have me longing to run my hands over them to see if they're as soft as they look. The floor is the same stone as the walls, but tighter, smaller shards that look combined together with some sort of concrete sealant. The ceiling is a smooth, even run of sturdy brick placed one after another like rows of soldiers. The sheer size of the hallways we pass through has me gobsmacked. In my dreams I could only imagine a castle of this magnitude. After what seems like hours, we arrive at a very small door. Craven searches through the satchel slung over her shoulder, puts a key in the lock, and opens the door. She bows mockingly.

"Your highness," she says with a flourish of her hand.

"Why thank you oh rude one," I retort back lifting imaginary skirts as she ushers me inside. The moment I'm inside the doorway I stop. I'm entranced. Like the throne room, only more oval in shape, the room is graced with towering ceilings of immense height. Two skylights placed strategically so as to let in the optimum light at any hour grace the ceiling bathing the room in a soft glow. Light of many colors dances around with the white sunlight as sunlight streams through the most elegant stain glass window I've ever seen. It appears as though a fairy has made it. I have no doubt now that that exact option could be possible. The thing that has me the most awestruck is the shelves.

Every available wall space is lined with sturdy oaken shelves interspersed with various clocks and paintings. These shelves are filled to overflowing with dozens of items. Ruby red apples, corks, darning needles, sugar. Four long wooden work tables stretch the length of the room, each table top worn to a silky perfection. Gathered in mounds on the floor are paintings and work plans. Paper that contains scribbles of a latest potion recipe curls upwards with moisture. Anything I could have possible thought of.