I was in the darkness
--so the darkness I became
The days since the elimination had drifted by like snowflakes in winter. She had been chosen of course, and while she felt a small pang of sorrow for those eliminated, she did not dwell on it. Less competition, after all. A part of her couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it was about those girls that got them send home. Clearly it would be best to avoid whatever that thing was, so as not to get sent home herself. But she would never know that information; the elimination had been an extremely simple process. Those selected were named, while those eliminated were named. Cut and dry with absolutely no beating around the bush. She admired Francis even more when he spoke to them all, assuring them that the elimination process had been no easy task. If anything, the other girls could maybe cling to that little tidbit. That was a silly thought though; Topsail knew without a doubt that if she had been eliminated, she would have thrown herself into her bed and refused to rise for at least the next week. Dramatic, perhaps, but Francis seemed to have that effect on her. Common sense was less common place where he was concerned.
Minutes turned into hours, hours blurred into days. The rising and falling of the sun had lost all of its grandeur, unless Francis was a part of the day. They saw each other several more times, and each time Topsail wondered if he was getting more and more handsome. Each time she grew more and more comfortable, and before she knew it she was sharing deeper parts of herself. Such as the few times she had gone hungry when she was a child. She told him of her mother falling ill not long before the Selection and how scared she had been, and how that was the only time she had seen her father cry. He was sympathetic to her sufferings, maybe even compassionate. It was so refreshing to know that he wasn’t at all like the royals were portrayed to be ; insufferable selfish pigs who cared only for themselves. She had heard all of the rumors, and how a group of individuals were planning a rebellion. Unfortunately, their secluded moments were not there’s alone. There was always another applicant waiting in the wings for her chance to woo the Prince, and more than once Topsail felt envious eyes boring into her back as she strolled with Francis. Tensions were running high in the palace and friendships were soon thrown out like yesterdays trash. But with Francis, she could shed the tension like a second, toxic skin. With him she was free to be herself and to speak her mind; for his part, he was free to share with her his doubts and fears about the kingdom goings on. She couldn’t speak for the other applicants, but she herself shared his worries. No matter where they came from, at the end of the day, the worries of the kingdom were worries to be shared by all.
Despite how hectic the palace had become, Topsail managed to seek out places of solitude. The stables were her first choice of refuge, followed closely by the library. Often times she combined the best of both worlds, sneaking some bit of literature from the palace and hiding herself in the loft. Below her the horses rustled in their stalls, while her mind was free to wander onto the pages of her chosen book. It was so easy to lose herself to the words and the serene atmosphere. If not for her other obligations, she would have spent every waking hour (the Francis free ones, of course) tucked in the hay. But the royal staff would not be thwarted, for they were under strict orders to keep tabs on the hopefuls. It would not due to have some wild, unlearned woman take the throne beside the Prince. A Princess was required to be a certain type of lady, the type of which did not have blacksmiths for fathers. Therefore, more than a few of her daily hours were spent learning some thing or another. From written word to spoken word, geography, and everything in between. Topsail had received modest schooling as a child, the same type of schooling any girl from her social class received. She was by no means stupid but she wasn’t scholarly either. She knew very little of the world outside of her little kingdom and that simply would not do for a potential Princess. A potential princess should be one who was well-read and well-spoken, who possessed a strong posture and a delicate handshake. She should appear demur and be attractive always. In short, a woman as unlike Topsail as was possible to be. But the instructors seemed to enjoy a challenge, and quite soon they had her moving gracefully and speaking eloquently. Whoever said an old dog couldn’t be taught new tricks simply hadn’t tried hard enough.
Her first lesson of the day was the history of Illea; it was a mostly beautiful thing, though bloody in places, as kingdom histories so often are. Francis was one in a long line from his family who had ruled here in one capacity or another. In Francis’ case, his mother had been the true heir to the throne, being the eldest of several daughters. She had married the king, who came from an affluent royal family of a neighboring kingdom. Despite his parents trying for several long years, Francis was an only child, and as such sole heir to the throne. If something were to happen to him, or if he were to remain single, the family line would die with him and as such, their long rule of Illea. After kingdom history came a bit of geography; this lesson reminded Topsail just how common she was. Half of the places she had never heard of, let alone visited. Horses and carriages were a luxury her family could rarely afford so their travels were limited. Then came grammar (who knew there were so many wrong ways to say hello?) and then spelling. She was decent at spelling, thanks in part to the many hours she had spent tucked away in some book. Last but certainly not least were her etiquette lessons. These lessons took up the largest part of her day, and covered everything from which fork to use first to when the proper time to curtsy was. At first, these lessons had made her feel like a simpleton. In all of her life, she had only been offered one fork for dinner. Now, she was offered at least three, and there was a certain order in which the forks were to be used. It all made her head spin a little bit even though she was growing used to it. What would happen if she were chosen and she and the Prince were attending some royal function and, God forbid, she use the wrong fork? A stupid thing to worry about, but here in the palace it was supposed to come as easily as putting ones socks on.
When she had curtseyed and smiled to her instructors content, she was allowed to leave. It had been a long day and she was rather looking forward to the solitude of her turret room and a nice long soak. It had become her habit to take a warm bath every evening, as if soaking in the scented water could wash away the tensions of the day. She knew without a doubt that if she were not chosen such a luxury would be hard to come by again, so she was going to soak up every last minute she could. She tried not to feel selfish when she did it, but she couldn’t help it. Her poor, sick mother had bathed with a lukewarm rag. Many people she knew went days or even weeks without a proper bath. Not because water was hard to come by, but because bathing in cold water during winter was a death sentence. “Stop it.” she muttered to herself, shaking her pretty head. Feeling down on herself would do no one any good, and it certainly wouldn’t help her. With a sigh she turned the golden lock on her door, smiling when it slid home with a resounding click. It hadn’t taken her long to learn to lock the doors behind her, as the castle staff were not the most considerate lot. More than once she had woken up to them bustling around her room, dusting and tidying up as if she were nothing more than a fly on the wall. She had also learned not to sleep in the nude anymore, no matter how glorious she thought those sheets would feel against her bare skin. There was only one person she had any interest in letting see her naked.
It did not take her long to undress. Reaching behind herself she undid the laces on her corset. As she did she felt her lungs expand properly and her breasts fall from their elevated height to hang heavy on her chest. If only she had known glamour was so heavy, she wouldn’t have been nearly as eager to experience it. Pulling the clasp from her mousey brown hair it fell to her shoulders, curling attractively around her face. As she made her way across the massive bathroom she caught sight of herself in the mirror; young, beautiful, with hopeful eyes. But there was something else there, something she had never noticed before. It was a kind of fierce determination in the glitter of her eyes. It was an attractive hardness in her mouth; it did not lessen the pout of her lips, but it made them much more womanly. It was if she was putting the girl she was behind her so she could emerge as the woman she would become. As she often did she touched her reflection, as if to remind herself of that fresh-faced girl. When she had satisfied her inner self with that small acknowledgment, she stepped into the clawed tub As always, the servants had made it just to her liking, from the water temperature down to the mingled scents of jasmine and vanilla. “Should have went with lavender this evening..” she thought to herself, but it was little more than a passing thought. Smells completely aside the hot water was like heaven, and she was content to close her eyes and lose herself in the gentle crackling of the bathroom fireplace.
A pounding at the door woke her with a start; the water was cold and she was shriveled up like an old woman. Somewhere, she thought she heard a scream. The pounding continued but Topsail didn’t answer, though she quickly (but quietly) removed herself from the tub. There was clearly no time to lounge about in her robe so she grabbed a towel and dried herself hastily, missing most of her back but dry for the most part. Again there was a scream and this time, Topsail knew without a doubt what it was. Her heart began to pound along with the fist at the door. Quickly, she threw on a dressing gown, tying her dripping hair up into some kind of knot. This was obviously not the time for her to be concerned with her looks. With a glance at the bathroom door (which she had also locked, thankfully) she tiptoed to the small bathroom window. From so high up it was hard to get much of a view of the ground, and despite its fire-red glow, the sinking sun was not of much aid either. But what she could see was more than a little unsettling. Storming up the drive, there appeared to be a ragtag group of villagers. From what she could tell they carried no weapons, but they did have torches. From the light of the torches she could see the malice on their faces and their angry cries reached her turret. Gasping, realization washed over her like a bucket of ice cold water. “Rebels!” she whispered, raising her shaking hands to her face. Somehow, they had breeched the castle boundaries, and if she was correct, they were beating down doors even as she stood there and shook. But how? There was no time for questions though. Somehow they had, and if she were not much mistaken, there was one pounding on her turret door as well.
Quiet as a mouse and hardly daring to breath, Topsail stepped into the main bedroom. Thus far the locks seemed to be holding, but she could see signs of splintering around the gilded hardware. “Come out come out, wherever you are!” cried a man, his guttural voice sending chills to the very base of her spine. Despite being an actual damsel in distress, now was not the time for her to lose her wits. As her eyes swept the bedroom they landed on something most promising; a fireplace poker, with its dangerously sharp prodding end and perfect hook, used mainly to turn logs in the fire. Now, however, it would become her sword. Another pound, more splitting wood. Like a flash she grabbed it before throwing herself onto her belly and scooting under the four-poster bed. Just in time too, for her feet had barely been concealed when finally, the door gave way. The man all but fell into the room, looking around it with wild eyes and a disgusting sneer on his dirty face. Topsail all but held her breath, watching as the man slunk around the room. “I know you’re in here…mmmm, I can smell you.” His voice made her stomach clench, and everything she had eaten for lunch was threatening to make a return appearance. But she steeled herself, forcing slow (but quiet) breaths through her mouth. Now was not the time to act the part of a silly girl; now was the time for that iron-clad stubbornness her father had always admonished her for to show its gritty face. As he crept towards the bed her heart began to beat faster as an intoxicating mixture of fear and adrenaline flooded her veins. Finally he was standing just inches in front of her, though with his back to the bed. As hard as she could without much swing room, she swung the curved end of the poker into his leg. His scream of pain mingled with hers of rage as the poker slid home just above his shoe, in the area of his Achilles tendon. She jerked backwards furiously, effectively yanking the man clean from his feet as tendons pulled free from bone and muscle. Not from her spectacular display of strength, but because she had effectively rendered that leg useless, possibly for the rest of his life. As he fell, his great ugly head smacked the stone hearth, cutting off his scream quite effectively. Topsail waited beneath the bed to make sure he didn’t move; he didn’t, save for an occasional twitch. Disgusted, she scooted herself backwards and out from under the bed, her eyes falling on what she had done. She viewed him with an odd sense of detachment; clearly, he had meant to do her harm, and she had simply defended herself. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing and frankly, she didn’t give a damn.
She slunk from the room like a panther, her eyes cold and her mind focused on the task at hand. All around her the air was heavy with screams and yells, but for now they seemed fairly far off. She kept the walls at her back to protect it somewhat, while she held the poker in front of her like a talisman. Slowly, painfully slowly, she rounded a corner. There stood a woman rebel, her wild hair covering her dirty face and a feverish gleam to her eyes. The two saw each other immediately, the rebel and the lady in waiting. Whereas Topsail held a fireplace poker, the other woman held a broken bottle by the neck, with the jagged edges aimed straight at Topsail. “You must be one of the future princesses…fancy finding you here. If I get one of you, He will be most pleased!” screeched the woman. “You had better have brought more than a bottle, bitch.” Topsail growled back, not giving a damn who He was. The wild-haired woman charged but Topsail met her halfway, already drawing back the poker. Her timing was off though, and the broken bottle slashed into her chest, just below her collarbone. Immediately the blood began to flow but Topsail was high on adrenaline. She swung herself and the poker around, grimacing as the metal of the poker met the woman’s skull. It was an odd feeling, and immediately the woman’s eyes fell shut. As she crashed to the floor Topsail examined her wounds. They seemed to be shallow, and because of the area she had been cut there was little muscle to effect. But they were bleeding quite freely, and Topsail knew she would need help soon. Leaving the woman lying on the floor (still breathing, but definitely knocked out) she continued down to the main part of the castle. Surely that is where she would find help, and most of all find out the fate of Francis. She had almost forgotten him in her panic, and that simply wouldn’t do. She needed to know.
She met no obstacles for some ways, and it seemed as if the screams were dying down. But she refused to let her guard down. Despite her weakening grip on her poker, and the blood flowing freely over her white dressing gown, she remained on guard. Poised like a wounded lion just looking for an excuse to slash. She was almost to the stairwell when a man stepped out from behind a large statue, and something about the wicked look on his face made Topsail sick at her stomach. “My my, you’re a pretty little thing.” he said, his voice something like wheels on gravel. Hungry eyes swept over her body, lingering on her chest where her breasts were clearly visible through the blood soaked fabric. “He would like you. I bet the Prince does. There are other pretty ladies here too. Taking one of you would really show those royal fucks who’s boss, would it not?” Topsail didn’t answer, didn’t even see a reason to. The only way they would take her anywhere would be as a cold corpse in a body bag. Again though with the “He”. The man held no weapons, but it was clear he was a man who didn’t need them. There were muscles even along his jaw line and his hands looked like they could break her in half. “Now, why don’t you just bring your pretty little self along quietly, and I won’t have to hurt you.” Topsail opened her mouth and threw back her head in wild laughter. “If you honestly think I would do that, you are more stupid than you look. And you look like the type who wouldn’t have found your way out of your mothers womb had it not been for the contractions shoving you out.” His smile faltered, to be replaced by an ugly grimace. Etiquettes lessons be damned, she wasn’t about to come to him like some poor whipped dog. “If you want me, come and get me. But be warned; I don’t play pretty.”
Adrenaline was a strange drug, turning ladies into lions. Quick as a flash the beast of a man leapt forward, displaying far more speed than Topsail would have thought possible for a man of his proportions. Before she could react his arms were around her, squeezing like a boa constrictor and forcing her to drop her weapon. She screamed like a wild cat, twisting and turning and kicking and clawing. It was to little avail; the man had her in a human vice grip, slowly crushing the breath from her lungs. But all men had a weak spot, something Topsail had learned as a small girl. Screeching wildly she thrust her right leg backwards, smiling as her heel met the tender flesh of his nether regions. He squealed, loosening his grip just enough for her to wiggle free. But he was tough as a pine knot, and the blow to his manhood had only slowed him, not totally stunted him. Rearing back his left hand, he back handed her across the face. Immediately she saw stars, her world reeling as she careened towards the ground. As fate would have it, she landed almost directly on her poker. Like a hyena the man advanced towards her, dropping to his knees and straddling her body, one leg on either side of her hips. “You’ll pay for that, bitch.” he said, and Topsail was disgusted as she felt his spit land on her face. In their scuffle a statue had fallen, busting upon impact and leaving bits and pieces scattering the ground. His eyes left her face as he turned around, clearly searching for a piece large enough to bash her skull in. His mistake. As his weight shifted, Topsail was able to pull the poker from beneath her. When he wheeled back around, he was met by the sharp end right to his sternum. Topsail shoved with all her might while he choked and sputtered. He tried to pull it out, but the design of the iron meant that it was acting similar to a fish hook; one had to drive it further in to pull it out. His time was running short though, and Topsail was barely able to get out of the way of his great, collapsing body. He fell across her legs, propped upwards in the most grotesque fashion by the poker sticking from his chest. She could do nothing but cry.
That is how they found her. Bloody, bruised, cut, crying. Even though she knew it had been a “kill, or be killed” situation, the ramifications weren’t any less heavy. The maids had pulled her up carefully by the arms, their eyes concerned. “Oh, Miss Topsail…how brave you were! The castle guards have secured the palace once more. Come now darling, we’ve got to get you to the doctor. Those cuts need attending, and you’ve got a mighty bruise on your face.” they said, but their voices sounded far away. The effects of blood loss, a blow to the head, and draining adrenaline high were starting to effect her. “Please, Francis. Tell me how he is…” she mewled, her knees so weak that a manservant had picked her up. “That’ll be none of your concern, miss. Its you that needs attending to.” That wasn’t a sufficient answer, and Topsail very much wanted to protest. But her head was swimming somewhere above her body, and the last thing she could remember was the concerned face of the manservant as he rushed her off to the doctor. “Francis…please.” were her last words before her eyes fluttered shut.
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