The Caged Bird (Under Reconstruction... Not for reading)

08.

"Good lord girl, what have you done?"

Light blinds me as my eyes flutter open, and a groan escapes me as the grimace causes shooting pain to flare across my left cheek.

I glance up to Aggie as my hand cradles the sore cheek carefully.

The sight sends a new sort of fear through me.

The old maid stares down at me, fury alight in those aged blue eyes, and as she continues to stare me down I take in the wrinkles that line her face. They are deep lines, gouged into her skin around her eyes and mouth. They note her age, and her worry. And her anger.

And then I take in the hands pressed firmly to her chest as she crosses her arms.

"What did you do?"

She glares at me and I stare back up at her, dumbfounded. The ache in my cheek takes my attention until she grabs my hand and pulls it away, hissing at the sight.

"What did you do?" the words are repeated, a frantic edge hardening her tone. I groan in response.

"What?"

Aggie doesn't respond. Instead she stares hard at me and I duck my head, not sure if it is shame that makes me nervous of her response, or if I simply can't meet those calculating gray eyes, like coals covered in the finest layer of ash.

It is as I look down at myself that I realize the mistake I had made in my exhaustion last night.

My training clothes, covered in gouges and sand and torn to shreds, lay unceremoniously across both my body and the bed. Sand clings to my skin, falling off and dirtying the sheets.

I sit up quickly, moaning as my body screams in protest, but when I'm sitting the realization that there is nothing I can do to fix this now flicks through my mind. And then we rest in the silence, her fingers tangling into my hair and twisting it into some intricate braid that I couldn't hope to accomplish without her, and I stare down at my hands.

Habit helps her to work quickly, and though sand and flecks of blood fall to the sheets, I can imagine the elegant look she is creating.

We both know the motions are useless. I could never leave my room like this. Skin coated in sand. Hair tangled by grease and dirt. But it is that same habit that forces her to move, knotting her hands into the oily strands.

If I could imagine the braids she works onto my head, I would still be too distracted by the look on her face to care.

Heat burns my cheeks, but instead of pooling up inside of me as it had when I had been trapped by Captain Linthian yesterday, it spreads to the back of my neck and burns the words away from my tongue as I try to think of anything that will get a response from the woman staring at me.

Don't make me think about last night, I beg her internally, and yet the fire in her eyes tells me that that is all she can think about.

Of course she knows I was up to something. I never get anything past Aggie. The best I can hope for is that she will let the subject drop without too much detail.

The sheets underneath me crinkle as I shift uncomfortably. Light shines, too bright, through the open windows, and I squint at her face once more.

"Aggie?"

The space between us grows so quiet that I imagine I can hear the steady sound of my heart beating, and when Aggie's hands finally fall from my hair and she turns from me, I still can't find the courage to take her in face to face. Instead I keep my head angled, looking to her for any cue that we might be able to talk.