The Point Of Exile

° evangeline

Across the hall, a thin glass window remains unhinged, open just enough to allow a gentle fall breeze through the castle. It beckons her, a small ray of sun peeking through the clouded thoughts and adrenaline-filled frenzy within her mind. A glance over her shoulder confirms the hallway within eyesight to be void of any soul aside from her own, and so she rushes towards the wall to peek at the brush far below. The delicate combination of pearlescent white and pink roses line the perimeter below, only a ten-foot drop or so - less if she were to dangle from the ledge beforehand. However, the landing is sure to hurt, no matter the distance.

She bites her lower lip, brows furrowing as she weighs her options.

One option leaves her bruised, scratched, and possibly mangled in a rose bush; but nearly home free. The second option is relying solely on fate, and a fate that has yet to prove its kindness. There could be a guard around the corner, or it could be another empty hall. Which means one hall closer to the way out.

As she stares in contemplation, the clicking of a guards' boots resounds through the hallway. They approach the corner, successfully throwing her mind into a frenzy.

Clearly, the decision is made for her, as most have been. 

Moments pass by like hours as she grips the stone ledge and tries to shimmy through the open window. The basket loops around her neck snugly, making it awkward to squat down and grip the ledge. Only a mere ten feet away, a burly man's shadow passes by a different window. Without another moment of hesitation, her hands grip the ledge, feet dropping down so that she dangles above the ground. Her teeth are clamped together in concentration as the window above clicks shut and the boots begin their retreat, her fingers cramping from supporting over a hundred pounds of bodyweight. 

"Gah-" a gasp slips out as her fingers fall slack and she free falls into the bramble. Clutching the basket to her bosom, her back makes contact first with the bushes, and eventually with the solid, damp ground.

The world blooms with more stars than there could be in the night sky above. It spins furiously around her head while the ground seems to pound on her back as she lie still, unable to take a breath. The stars swirl in the most taunting manner, as if attacking her without so much as laying a finger on her skin. It feels like death and fear and unpredictably until.. it stops. Mind reeling, she tries to roll onto her side to take in a breath of air, but her back aches all over. Slowly, however, the essence of death loosens its grip and air floods her lungs once more as she forces herself upright.

The world refuses to stay still.

It spins, and spins, and spins.

Taunting her.

Frustratedly, she pinches her eyes close and grips her head, willing the sensation to be gone. Her body seems to fight every step as she staggers out of the brambles like a drunk from a fantastic night in the bar.

True to her earlier assumption, she escapes the roses only slightly scratched and barely bruised. Still, the time to dwell on her injuries is not now; within the walls of the palace and the sight of the guards. Shaking off the haze, she scrambles across the courtyard and in the direction of the palace stables.

Her heart races inside the confines of her chest; it swells within her throat; and it pounds in her skull. Adrenaline numbs her body to any and all feeling, a sensation that she welcomes amidst her scattered thoughts and dull aches. Far in the distance, a yellow glow illuminates the silhouette of a barn that works to house several of her country's top steeds.

One of which she is begrudgingly familiar with.

The interior of the barn is narrow but long, with golden lights spread throughout its entirety that serve to illuminate only the golden plaques with the names of the horses and the faintest shade of the animal's coat. It smells of fresh hay and the scent unique to only equestrians; a mild blend of leather and sweat. Snorts and stomping hooves greet the Princess as she strides down the length of the barn, reading each name until she spots one that strikes a chord of familiarity. 

Evangeline.

The stunning Gypsy Vanner seems to light up at her arrival, tossing its incredibly long mane out of its eyes. The horse's dappled grey coat doesn't shine in the barn as it usually does in the natural morning light, but the flowing mane and tail compensate for the lack of shine. A smile graces the Princess's face as she gently strokes the horse's snout. 

Although she never enjoyed riding lessons because of the crude little man who never seemed to stop judging her mistakes, being near the mellow horse brought a sense of security and peace. However, as she grabs the reins hanging beside the stall door, she understands that the endeavor soon to come will no longer allow for a sense of security or peace.

But it is an endeavor that she has deemed necessary, and those are securities that have been tossed aside as unaffordable luxuries. 

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