Princess And The Thief

Arabella a year later

Today was the day. For the past year I had planned and schemed while being cooped up in the round room. I had long ago given up the hope of being rescued, if I wanted to be freed, I had to do it myself. I stepped off the straw bed and prodded over to my 17th birthday breakfast. I hadn't seen the witch since our encounter a year earlier. Other than the meals, I didn't even know if the witch remembered me. I had even written notes to her trying to figure out why she had brought me here and why she was keeping me prisoner. All I knew was that she and my mom were not exactly friends.

The chair squeaked as I lowered myself into it and began to dig in. The food was as delicious as ever. I wiped my face off and turned my attention toward my hair. My hair had already grown so much that it grazed my ankles when it was down. I brushed through my hair a dozen times and separated it into three strands. I then braided it so it would not touch the ground. I only knew how to braid since the witch had left instructions. She only left the instruction until after I had taught myself how to read.

Since my hair had grown so long and things started getting caught in it, I had made it a habit to sweep the room three times a day. It was hard labor, but it did pass the time rather efficiently. After sweeping the room I turned back to where the dining table was moments earlier, but was now gone. Just like I had expected since the same thing happened every day. I sighed and went over to the window where the sun streamed through.

Birds flew above the treetops and sang to their families. The sky was clear except for a few wisps of clouds. Everything seemed happy and free. Except for me. I just hoped my plan would work and in the next hour I would be free. 

A few months ago I had been brave enough to actually lean down out of the window to see the side of the tower. I was surprised to see that thick, strong vines had climbed up the tower. The witch probably didn't think I would have been brave enough to lean out of the tower enough to see the ivy. The vines would help me climb down the tower and towards freedom. There was a problem though, it had occurred to me that since the window protruded out of the tower, I would have to dangle from the window until I found my footing on the vines. Which meant if I wasn't strong enough, I would fall to my death. That wasn't exactly on my top list of priorities.

I decided to fix that by growing my hair long and left the witch a note asking for a swing, which she provided. Let's just say I make a very compelling argument. To hang the swing the witch put in two hooks in the ceiling. All I had to do was attach the swing to the hooks and I was finished. I decided to position the swing right next to the chair in front of the window so when my hair was long enough I could loop my hair through one of the hooks to hold myself up with until I got a good grip on the ivy.

My second problem was traveling. My flats from the ball had long since worn out and I now just walked barefoot. Which I was pretty sure would not be fun after experiencing the forest ground with Jack. I had already asked the witch for shoes, she refused saying that they were not necessary, and even if I did know how, I don't have the materials needed to make them myself. I just hoped that I would make it to soft ground before my feet died of pain.

It would probably take about a hour before I actually reached the bottom of the tower. And I had to wait for about 20 minutes after the witch drops off the supplies for my regular day bath, plus, I needed to do it fast so I could find help before dark.

I walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out an unfamiliar book. All of the books on the shelf I had read at least twice. The book's binding was read velvet with zintangles etched in gold. The book was an absolute master piece. I opened the book, hoping to find what it was about, to find that the page was blank. Frowning ever harder, I flipped through the whole book to find that the book didn't even have a hint of ink on any of the pages. However, at the back of the book was a sharp quill feather. I took the quill and examined it. I had never felt a feather like this one. Or seen one, but then again I haven't seen many feathers in my life. 

I wondered why the witch would give me a quill to write with, when I didn't even have any ink. I carefully scrutinized the feather and realized the words, the palest ink is better than the best memory, were carved into the small shaft. I took the quill and started to write my name into the cover. Even though the quill had no ink, gold ink came from it and onto the page. I smiled as I started writing about my plan of escape and the ink changed to black. 

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Hi! I'm sorry for the long wait. I unpublished all the parts so I could really think about how I wanted to write what happened next. This was probably the hardest chapter to write in my life. I know it doesn't look like it, but I seriously spent like a month and a half thinking about how in the world I would write it :P depressing, right? Well, I hope you guys like it! And thank you so much for the votes and comments!:) and I'm sorry its short!