South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|I'll See You In Tartartus|

As I follow Craven down the hall, I nearly bump into her back, so eager am I to see John again. If anybody has hurt him, there is going to be some serious pain going on after I am done with them.

"Where did you put him? The stables? He's not an animal you know?"

Craven snickers gently under her breath. "Evidently you get the meaning of the B.E.A.S.T. acronym." She turns another corner at such a quick pace, I have to jog to keep up.

"I understood the whole meaning," I grumble, draggin the word out with a side of air quotes, "but however animalistic they are, they are still human."

She grunts.

"Somewhat," I concede. "So," I prompt, "any information you'd like to impart on where we might be headed?"

Craven sighs and tosses her words over her shoulder at me. "If you must know, we're headed for the dungeon."

The hall is quiet and vacant of any servants. The must all be hiding from my Aunt's wrath or something. I would be too except now, she doesn't scare me anymore. The castle is different from the Beast's outpost because each personal area has its own theme. The fairies workshop was crammed full of nicknacks, with bright colors edging the windows and a thread of sparkling magic seemed to run through every bubbling goblet, shiny plate, and evene the furniture itself. Everything had a diminutive looks to it as if the plush chair in the corner might just shrink along with its glittering occupant to the size of Tinkerbell.

My room was the exact opposite. Dark browns, muted greys, and dusky blues were crammed into every corner. When I had first occupied it, I'd disliked the colors, even though it was the room I had grown up in. However, after living with the Beasts for so long, it felt homey, even comforting. And the smell made me feel peaceful and calm. That's what I missed the most. The Mesen Castle was falling down around the Beast's ears, but they didn't care. They invested just enough upkeep to make sure the place didn't fall down on their heads but made sure it had retained that sense of desertion. I missed waking up and being drowned in the smells of decay and history.

Out of my room, each place in this castle reflected only one person. My Aunt. Every color was either black or red. I chuckle at the thought that my Aunt might actually consider using a pastel color. Seriously. My Aunt wearing a pastel pink dress would be hilarious. Thick tapestries hung on every other wall, and for the first time since visting the castle, I actually looked at them. Only then, did I realize they portrayed a story...which all started from my room. The story followed three royal sisters, and the war that tore their country apart.

I'm too focused on the story to keep track of my feet, so when I clumsily stumble and land on my hands and knees, I rub them gingerly and then, stand up without complaint. Except, something on the wall stops me. It's a tapestry of a woman, tall and willowy, seated at a small table in a small room holding an equally small baby with wispy blonde curls that ringlet about her face. The woman looks down at the baby with such tender love that I feel tears prick needle points into my eyes. I'd know that smile anywhere. It's the same smile that I see every morning when I wake up and look in the mirror. It's my mother's smile.

Craven's stopped and is staring at the portrait with me, a wistful expression on her face. "Those were simplier times," she murmurs. "Times when we didn't have to choose loyalties and sides." She sighs, and I hear the sadness ring like a clear bell.

"I'm sorry," I say as though it's my fault this country is in such a mess.

We pause a moment longer and continue on our way.

..............

As we get closer to the dungeon, the air becomes thicker and more stifling, and you can practically smell the rot and decay leeching out of the slimy brick. "Well, this is pleasant," I comment sarcastically to hide my discomfort and fear. Fear that they've beaten John to a bloody pulp, and Craven has just been trying to spare my sensetive feelings.