His Mortal Bride

♱ Chapter 8 ♱

I shook my head in response to her comment, not knowing what else to say. She smiled pitifully at me.

"Come on," she beckoned, "my room is just down the hall a bit."

I nodded and followed her, letting her lead the way down the hall. We approached one of the many sets of double doors and stopped. She opened the door to reveal a marvelous room, probably more incredible than the first room I had been in.

Instead of being red, black, and gold decor, it was silver and black. The white walls had swirling patterns of silver that barely let the base coat show. The windowsills were painted silver, as well as the trim around the walls and doors. Although there were dressers everywhere and another set of doors that lead to her own closet, clothes were everywhere, splattering the room with blacks, reds, golds, and silvers. Maybe a couple of other colors of clothing, but this girl obviously liked her black and red. I guess it suited her dark hair and makeup.

I followed her through her messy room and looked around, making sure I wasn't stepping on anything.

"Sorry for the mess, the maid hasn't been here in two days," Two days? That's all it took for this many clothes to get everywhere?

I followed her past her enormous, unmade bed and followed her into a bathroom. It was similarly themed to match the silver room. She was looking through her cabinets and pulled out a rag but no gauze. I furrowed my brow and watched as she wet a rag.

"Here," She took a step away from the sink, "you can sit on the sink."

I did as she asked and sat down beside the sink on the marble countertop. She gently grabbed my hand and I flinched away.

"There's no need to fear me. I don't want to harm you," She said gently and gave me a small, gentle smile. I kept my eyes on her and stayed silent as she turned my hand up so she could see my cut palm. I looked down at it and I bit my lip. She held the wet rag and I sucked in a sharp breath as she dabbed the cut with the warm washcloth, making its white fabric turn crimson.

"I'm sorry if this hurts. May I ask what happened?" She apologized and asked the dreaded question.

"Uh..." I started, not knowing how to tell her I had just planned to kill that guy Alec. I decided to just let it out there. "I smashed in a glass case and hoped to persuade that man to let me go home," I told her flatly. I almost expected her to be shocked, but she just laughed.

"A sudden burst of fearlessness," she admired, "I like it, yet I hate to admit that I'm not shocked it didn't go quite as planned."

"What do you mean?" I asked her, confused by why she wasn't shocked.

"It's something anyone in your position would have done. Yet it never works out," She explained. I looked down at my hand and avoided her eyes.

"I couldn't bring myself to do it," I murmured ashamedly. I wish I did. I wish I had the strength to do it. But he had been right when he mocked me. Even if I did kill him, I'd never get out.

"That's because you know your own strength, not because you're weak. It took more strength for you to not do it than it would have to do it at all," She stopped cleaning my hand for a second and looked me dead in the eyes. For a second, I could feel myself relax and trust her.