I stand in the middle of my room, hands on my hips and blind as a bat in the dark as I try to gather my thoughts.
First off, fuck Yeji for not coming back to wake me up.
For attendants who nag me at every opportunity they do a pretty shitty job themselves when it counts.
What am I going to do now that the Prince thinks I ran away? I was supposed to make an appearance at dinner and redeem myself.
I was hoping that we might get a moment and l could a̶p̶o̶l̶o̶g̶i̶ze talk about what took place earlier.
More importantly, how late exactly even is it anyways?
I move towards the sliver of moonlight peaking through the curtains and draw them back to look at the sky.
The moon is full, and the stars are out. I push the window open and shudder at the cold bite of the wind that rushes in immediately.
The cold air stings my nose, reminding me of the stark contrast between my life at home and my life now.
The air is warm at home, close to the ground, and smelling of dry wood and tall grass—natural due to our proximity to the dead forest.
Up here, the air is devoid of scent, starkly contrasting home's warm, earthy aroma. It's not just cold; it's freezing, and the dryness is so intense that I find myself swallowing hard, a futile attempt to moisten my throat.
For a moment, I'm overwhelmed at the prospect of elongating. How could cone stay in these conditions? How does anyone breathe comfortably up here when the air is so dry?
But I know staying is only right, Jisoo's right, though I'd probably never admit that to her face.
I look towards the capital and lean my weight on my arms against the ledge.
From this height, you can see the span of the capital, and it begrudges me to admit that it's pretty beautiful.
Little dots litter the ground like embers dropped from a burning log and are soothing to stare at. Yet, those feelings disappear when I remember exactly where the glittering lights stop.
At the entrance to the lower levels, starting at rank five.
The realization sours my mood and leaves me with a sick feeling in my stomach.
Mere paces away from the gates, and you're immediately greeted with shabby houses that are worn down and have little electricity.
The further you go, you eventually come across those that have none at all.
I lean forward and draw the windows back in, locking it once it's returned to its original place.
A shamelessly lazy part of me wonders if I can ignore the hunger gnawing at my stomach and force myself to sleep through the night. But my body betrays me, growling loudly in protest.
With a groan, I go to the drawers to look for socks I could layer. I made a mental note to let Yeji know that I needed slippers because these cold marble and stone floors threatened my health, and I stood on them barefoot every passing second.
Pulling the third knee-high wool sock over my kneecap, I approach the door.
I vaguely recall where the dining room was and how the servants carried food from a door hidden off to the side. Either that's the kitchen, a pantry, or a passage near a kitchen.
Once layered perfectly to protect my feet from the ground, I move to the heavy door and draw it back.
Using my body as a wedge between the door and the post, I stick my upper out, freezing for a moment to listen to anyone approaching or nearby.
Nothing but white noise.
Confirming that the coast is clear, I slip out of the room and into the dark hallways. All candles have been put out, like night lights for kids, which are turned off once they fall asleep to save resources.
Definitely efficient in the grand scheme of things, but dreadfully inconvenient for me now for providing me with little to no visibility.
The moonlight provides me with enough light when I'm around the widows, but the dorm hall has none.
I'm forced to either hold on to the wall like a sick maiden seeking support or walk with my arms outstretched like I'm possessed.
I choose the first.
I set out, and I immediately freeze.
Is this how we took it when Yeji and Jisoo escorted me to breakfast? Wasn't it the other way around?
I spin around and head off in the opposite direction but freeze again after a few paces.
This can't be right; it was definitely the other way.
I head back to my original route.
Another pause.
No, it had to have been the other way.
I realize that I'm going nowhere and getting nothing down.
With a restless huff, I spin on my heel and commit to one direction—the right. A nagging feeling tells me I'm going the wrong way, but I ignore it.
I'd probably get the same feeling again if I turned around and enter another cycle of flipping directions.
Bracing my hand on the cold stone wall, I walk alongside it in the darkness.
Because of how quiet it is, my breathing and cotton-covered feet rustle against the floor and bounce off the wall obnoxiously loud. I let out a parched cough due how dry the air is and nearly scare myself with how loud it sounded.
If I didn't know any better about how sound works, I would have thought I had woken someone up.
Eventually, I leave the dark halls and end up in the familiar passage full of windows and polished marble floors, the same route I took with the girls.
A sense of relief washes over me, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
I let my gaze linger on the massive windows, which still have a lot of natural light pooling in. I thought it looked beautiful in the morning, but it was a different level at night.
It made the castle seem enchanted.
The pale moonlight highlights tiny specks of dust dancing about in the air, making them look like white bouts of pixie dust falling mythically. The light illuminates the glossy floor, somehow distracting me from the cold of it under my feet. The layers of socks can only do so much.
At the end of the hall is a familiar oak door; I understand that beyond it is a long winding staircase that takes me a few levels down to be on the same floor as the dining room.
The only difference was that it was open before; now, it stands firmly shut, with the door rapper glistening in the light.
My stomach growls one more, urging me to hurry, and who am I to deny myself the desires of my flesh?
I pick up my pace, doing so comfortably now that I can see.
The size of the gargantuan door alone makes it impossible for me to pull it open from the handle.
I stand before it momentarily before a brilliant idea comes to mind.
I grip the rapper firmly with one hand and twist the door handle with the other.
Once I hear the click of the door opening, I throw myself back, using all my weight to pry open the door.
Once I feel the door move, I abandon the handle and grip the rapper with both hands.
I balance my weight on my heels and throw myself back entirely, using my whole body to draw back the door.
It creaks loudly.
Too loud.
So loud that it makes me nervous that someone can hear.
I freeze and immediately regret it when I do because the weight of the door drags me forward with it, and I stumble into it with a painful impact on my temple.
I curse out loud, both from the pain and frustration of having to repeat the whole process once more.
Rubbing my head and biting my lip to stifle any noises from escaping, I shoot a glance over my shoulder.
No persons approaching, no distinct noises, nothing.
I was paranoid; it cost me my progress.
With a newfound vigour rooted in my anger at the wasted time, I repeat the process, but it is rougher this time.
I grab the handle and the rapper, twist the handle, lean backwards, wait for the door to move and then secure both hands around the rapper while violently throwing myself back.
Again, the door creaks loudly, and I wince as it does.
Once it's open enough that I can slip through the crack, I eagerly move to do just that.
My weight from before must have caused the door to move slower because when I moved to slip through the crack, the speed at which the door swung shut caught me off guard.
I scramble through quickly, but in my haste, I'm careless about my hair and feel a violent pull at my scalp as the door shuts it firm between its clutches and the post, yanking my neck back.
A shriek threatens to erupt up my throat, but I choke it down so no more than a high-pitched wheeze, followed by a choking sound escapes. I clasp one hand over my mouth, and the other schoots up to my scalp. Wet breaths and whimpers of pain fill the room as I palm the expanse of the door helplessly.
I try to tug at my hair, but that does nothing but cause a small sob to spill from my lips. I sniffle as my eyes water, and a sense of dread fills my stomach.
"Oh..oh no," I whimper weakly as I attempt to tug at my hair once more.
Again, an intense heat flashes through my scalp, and I let go with a hiss of pain.
Anxious breaths escape my lips as I reach my hand for the handle. A prickly sense of hope fills me when I can feel it and as I grip it.
I twist it hastily as I push my weight against the door, but the angle at which my body stands doesn't allow me to put enough weight behind my pushes.
That doesn't stop me from trying, using my feet to tug off my socks and moving my feet to gain purchase on the cold marble.
I dig my heels into the ground and push against the door with my head and hands. I raise my hands above my head and go, my eyes screwed tight, holding my breath.
The door whines but doesn't push, so I stop moving and take greedy breaths before trying again. The awkward angle has my arms screaming in protest, but I ignore the burn and fatigue developing in my upper arms.
My eyes screwed, my breath held and drilling my head into the door, I dig my heels once more and push. A strained noise escapes through my gritted teeth, and again, the door whines but doesn't move.
Laboured breaths escape me, and my arms burn as I try again, small cries of frustration spilling from my lips. With each attempt, my arms tremble under pressure, and the strength behind my push decreases.
I lose my footing slip downwards slightly. It's not far enough to worsen my situation, but it was enough to deliver yet another violent blow to my scalp and fill my eyes with tears again .
Small huffs and tears of frustration fill my eyes, and I cry.
And that's all I do for the next minute.
Just cry.
I cry at the pain, at the ridiculousness of it all, at the embarrassment of someone possibly finding me like this; all of it causes fat globs of tears to spill over my cheeks as I whimper pathetically and try to keep my voice down.
Such an embarrassingly compromising position.
Hair snagged up and inadequately dressed, cold, head bent at an awkward angle that doesn't allow me to look down, nipples standing at attention and over-sensitive from the friction of the nightgown and the cold, practically naked and leaving nothing to the imagination as the moonlight makes the already thin material practically see-through, feet stinging and rubbed raw against the cold textile.
Vulnerable.
I'm completely vulnerable.
The realization causes more tears to flow. My mind immediately starts filling with worst-case scenarios.
A guard could be doing his runs and take advantage of me, a maid could find me and gossip, a contestant could find me and humiliate me, and if I'm stuck until morning, multiple contestants could find me.
The outcomes are endless and cause me even more despair.
The sobs rack through my body and start picking up in volume, stinging my scalp with every jolt and shake from my cries.
Just when I thought that things couldn't get worse, I hear quick footsteps accending.
This does nothing but make my cry even harder, not caring anymore if im heard. Being caught like this so soon is even worse than many seeing me. At least I'd have time to accept my situation
I haven't even calmed, and yet I'm already about to have an audience.
Whoever it was freezes upon hearing my cries and stays like that before continuing to climb, but slower.
I screw my eyes shut and cast my gaze upwards, not wanting to see who it is and make eye contact.
Each step sent another sob racking through my body until I could tell they were levelled with me.
I can feel a presence before me, and the smell of something putrid floods my senses.
Oh great, it's a man. No maiden would allow themselves to smell such a way.
I think to myself while trying to quiet my sobs and screwing my eyes shut while trying to turn my body away, at the expanse of my hair twisting, of course.
I bit my lips to muffle yet another sob that threatened to come up in a pitiful attempt to look stronger and preserve some dignity.
I sniffle and wait for what's to come, something, anything.
But nothing does; we stand together in silence, a blind one on my end.
My brain jumps to the most extreme conclusion.
He's quiet because his eyes are roaming, observing in lust what he could have.
This thought makes me turn my body away more, trying to make myself as small as possible.
"Are you okay?", the voice asks, sounding much too high to be a man but not quite feminine either.
I crack a puffy eye open and see nothing.
I sniffle and let out a soft huff. "Where are you?," I croak.
I can hear the person get closer. " In front of ya, gonna have to look down if you want to - oh- - oh, okay". The voice says with an air of realization.
I'm assuming they've grasped the situation as I hear them mumbling to themselves and moving around me.
I shift my body away uncomfortably once more, aware of the fact that my clothes are see-through.
They either don't care or fail to notice my state at all.
"How does this even happen?," they mumble to no one in particular.
Rather rude if you'd ask me.
As they approach, a smell stings my nose, causing it to wrinkle in disgust.
Their scent is nauseatingly strong up close; it smells more like it is outside and something spoiled. It's the type of smell parents desperately wash off their kids after playing outside in something they shouldn't have.
But there's a hint of what smells like something burning.
"Ma'am ?" they call once more when I don't respond.
"Can you help me?" I ask hoarsely, ignoring whatever they asked beforehand.
I hear them make an inquisitive sound and what sounds like them circling me.
" Not sure, I could give it a try. Imma need a hand though. S'not easy moving that door, M'ma said so herself,". They pat the door next to my ribs as they speak and then squeeze in closer next to me.
I stiffen and can tell they notice by a pat on my stomach that is meant to be reassuring. "'Scuse me, ma'am," they sing as they crowd my space. "Gotta cuddle up, if you wanna get free, that is."
Once I feel their head, about armpit level, I immediately feel less tense. I can tell from the dry hair that pricks my skin.
I've concluded that it must be a young boy, a young peasant boy. He's not from the capital; I can tell by the commoner's dialect he uses, clipped and slurring some words. He's not a commoner from my rank; it's too fast to be the speech of a five; he might be a seven. If he is, what is he doing here?
That stench stings my nose again, and I hold my breath. What the fuck is that?
"Can you push, ma'am? Needs some force to get it moving."
It took me a second to process what he said because the stench interfered with my brain chemistry.
I shake my head and gather my wits. I dig my heels into the floor again, preparing to push. "I think so," I reply, bracing my hands on the door again.
"Count of three, my count, got it?" definitely not a five. The speech is too coarse; maybe he is from a more rural area.
"Yeah," I squeak as I'm still holding my breath.
On three, we push together, and after a few moments of straining, the door begins to creak open once more. The second it starts to move, I'm already pulling my hair from between it, hastily fisting it and pulling it through.
After the first few handfuls, I jump away from the door and accidentally leave him to deal with it closing.
He lets out a surprised yelp at the force and stumbles a bit, almost getting pinched in the door.
He huffs and turns to face me angrily once he regains his footing.
"Could've warned me, ya know! Almost pinched my prick off! ," he hisses.
I was right; a rural boy.
A filthy rural boy.
That stench I was talking about earlier floods the whole room. It's rancid.
I can't tell if his hair is brown, black or dirt-covered blonde. It's matted and wild, with chunks of dirt and debris. His skin is coated in a layer of grime, and soot is smeared across his hands and face. His hands are full of callouses and nails long with a yellowish twinge.
His shirt is a gloried washcloth, raggedy and filled with tears and holes. His pants, if we're going to call them that, are torn off at the knee and a size too big. He's secured them around his hips with a rope that looks frayed and ready to snap. On his feet are—well, for starters, there's nothing on his feet.
His toenails are long and have dirt underneath them, and when I look up a bit, I see a partially healed wound on his leg that looks like it's been infected on numerous occasions.
He's filthy.
I don't mean that in a degrading manner, simply as a fact.
I must have been staring at him for too long because his face twists into a scowl, and he folds his arm over his chest, prompting me to do the same to preserve some dignity.
"Not even gonna say 'thank you,' huh?", he chides. "Couldv'e left you for the rats, ya know, have 'em chew your toes off and leave ya bloody".
His choice of words makes me grimace.
He is definitely from the rural areas. So crass.
He looks no older than thirteen. His balls haven't dropped yet, and he still has the face and body of a boy.
He sneers, " Still not speaking, eh?" He moves to walk past me. "So be it! That's what I get for not minding my business, ungrateful gals dressed like abandoned brides on the bed night".
My face burns in shame and embarrassment as I gawk at him.
"Who leaves their room in undergarments and gets their hair caught like that anyways? I always ignore the cuckoos at home, why start paying them attention to em now?".
I meant to stop him as he passed me but his comment left me stunned.
"I should've left you to be someone else's problem if I'd known you'd be so ungrateful; plagues upon you," he rants as he pushes past me and heads for the dark, winding staircase.
"Um!," I call, causing him to stop in his tracks before turning to face me with an unimpressed look.
"So she speaks," he says sarcastically.
Brat.
I swallow my pride and don't engage.
"Thank you".
He studies me in silence. "I mean it," I add.
"Thank you".
He continues studying me before a bright smile breaks across his face.
"Well why didn't ya say something earlier," he says, spinning around to approach me happily.
That smell again burns my eyes.
"Whatcha doing in the middle of the night anyways?", he asks.
Still smiling brightly at me, his proximity allows me to notice his chipped tooth next to his canines that are noticeably sharp.
He's teeth are good and his eyes are clear so he doesn't appear to be diseased, albeit a bit malnourished, evident by the spots in his eye whites.
He stares up at me expectantly. While studying him I forgot respond.
"Midnight snack", I say, sounding more like I was asking a question than giving an answer.
He makes a face. "Why didn't you just get your slaves to do it?".
I make a face back. "You mean attendants?," I say pointedly.
He rolls his eyes and rests his arms behind his head.
"Sure treat em like slaves, beating em and having them run through the tunnels like rats doing shit for y'all".
'I mean, he's not entirely wrong', I think as I recall how Jisoo and Yeji first acted when we met.
"I've never beaten my attendants," I say confidently. "Nor have I really ever asked them do do anything".
He gives me an unimpressed look like he doesn't believe me but doesn't push.
I'm slightly offended my that.
"Why'd you come out here looking like that when you could've sent them out," he says while looking me up and down, audacious considering how he's dressed himself.
"Well aren't you delightful," I say sarcastically as I move to walk past him, deciding to end our conversation here.
"Hey! Where are you going?,"he exclaims as he runs to follow me.
"I asked you a question, rude to walk off like that after I saved you", he chides while speeding up to block my path.
"No pleasantries? A coin? Token or gratitude," he says with a frown.
I narrow my eyes at him. " Whats your name," I ask.
He opens his mouth to reply immediately but quickly closes it as if he's remembered something before pinning me with a suspicious look.
"Why? Gonna snitch on me? That's a pretty cruel thing to do considering I helped ya, ya know".
I make a face. "Snitch on you for what".
"For not taking the tunnels, that's what!", he yells, his volume sending a surge of panic through me.
"S'not my fault ya know! There's leaks and puddles that keep getting us wet and ain't nobody here care to fix it! Besides, You wouldn't have caught me if you weren't sneaking around yourself anyways!," he says loudly, making me panic and grab at him to pull him close and cover his mouth with hopes of shutting him up.
I shush him frantically while he wiggle in my hold. "I'm not going to tell on you, shut up!," I hiss.
" I was just curious. What are even going on about, tunnels and water?".
He pulls my hand down from his mouth and glares at me again, something he's been doing a lot in this interaction.
"Geez, lady! Ya tryna murder me?! Some thanks I get after-!", I smother him again to get him to shut up.
"I'm not trying be ungrateful, I just really need you to stop being so loud!," I whisper shout at him frantically as I fight the urge to strangle and shake him.
He pulls my hand downs again and shoots me an annoyed look, but doesn't speak.
We still for a moment, making sure that nobody is approaching after the commotion.
Pulling my hand away, I don't fail to notice the dirt and grime staining my palm and wrist where he grabbed me.
Looking down at myself I see smudges of dirt that rubbed off of me and a moist spot on my chest from where his head was.
The sight and feeling of the slightly damp makes me itch.
The smell again makes me light headed. I'm trying to be be respectful, but every moment I spend in his presence makes my feel like the smell is making me sick.
He sees that I noticed and looks at the stains he left behind.
A sad vulnerability flashes through his face before he quickly masks it with anger.
"S'not my fault," he shoots quickly with a glare. "It's you who grabbed me, did it to ya self".
I hold his fierce gaze for a few moments and think about how to respond.
I don't want to agree, because that reaffirms the implication that he's dirty and therefore blameless because he didn't grab me first.
But he is dirty. It's a fact.
But I don't want to solidify that idea in his head.
If I deny the fact that he's filthy however, it looks like I'm pitying him and trying to spare his feelings, and I know he's self aware.
I can't imagine that going over well with him considering the temperament I've seen so far.
I find myself simply saying nothing.
An awkward silence fills the space between use.
An embarrassed one on his part and conflicted on on mine.
Not knowing what do in this situation, I simply to to walk past him once more.
I'm a couple paces ahead before I hear his voice from behind.
"Promise you won't snitch?", he calls, a hint of fear evident by the way his voice.
I look over my shoulder and stare at him.
He holds my gaze with a confident look, but I can see the fear lurking behind. He feigns confidence nonetheless.
So young, and dirty. An uncared for child in this massive palace probably filled to the brim with resources. I'm sure someone here— anyone for that matter, could've made sure he taken care of.
Again, I have no idea where he got here. He's obviously a low lank rural boy, yet, he's prancing about in the palace.
I know now that he's not supposed to be, but then, what is he supposed to be doing? What could possibly get a young boy so dirty? What makes you smell like that?
He stares back at me waiting for a response, gaze flickering between my now dirty dress and my eyes.
Shamefully I find myself doing to him the very thing I hate others doing to me.
Pitying him.
I'm ashamed at myself.
I turn to face him completely and huff with a small forced smile on my face.
He looks shocked at the sight but narrows his after, bracing himself for whatever I'm going to do.
He run a hand through my tender scalp and huff while looking up to the ceiling.
I'm such a hypocrite.
I look back down and this time smiling genuinely at the look of confusion on his face.
"Feel like keeping me company for that midnight snack?".
He looks stunned for a few moment and studies me intently.
He finds my gaze with an expressionless look before breaking out in a brightl, toothy, innocent smile.
"Geez, ya had me scared there for a moment!," he laugh as he runs towards me.
The sight makes my heart throb painfully.
He's just a child.
He immediately starts chatting my ears off as he walks ahead of me down the stairs but I hear nothing because all I can think about is the countless children who are in this state and even worse.
And what's the Royal family doing to help care for them?
Absolutely Nothing.
To be continued...