Face Down
They were often away due to her father's work as an archaeologist, but they always promised to return for her birthday. There was no doubt in her mind that they would arrive and knock on the door of the inn room, most likely with souvenirs, new books, or perhaps even a cake. After all, sixteen was an especially important birthday. Though she doubted many other girls her age would be contented with the idea of spending the day with parents, they moved too often for her to make friends, which left her looking forward to their return.
"Don't let anyone in the room while we're gone."
She has listened to them and taken their words to heart, following through with them with steadfast determination. When maids came and knocked on the door, she would make sure that all the locks were fastened and would stay completely silent. Even when the food they left behind for her ran out, she still followed their orders and pretended not to be there when inn employees would bang on the door hard enough to shake the picture frames on the wall. Just to be safe, she propped one of the chairs under the doorknob to keep it shut.
"Don't let anyone in, they're after your father's work."
She started to wonder what happened to them as soon as they were late coming home, but it became harder not to let her mother's words echo in her mind as days passed. She reread her favorite books, tracing her fingers over the pages as she read through the most exciting parts. She'd read them too many times before to still feel the excitement she did when she was younger, but the familiar stories were still enough to keep her mind at least somewhat occupied. She couldn't worry about them every hour of the day, even when her birthday came and went.
"Just keep the door locked until we return."
The room had a double bed and a couch, but as her parents ordinarily slept on the bed, she stayed on the couch, even when they weren't there. It seemed to make it harder to sleep, but she was used to falling asleep in unfamiliar places. She had done it many, many times before.
When she was awoken by the sound of cracking wood, she was jarred into alert so suddenly that her mind was void of her parents' warnings. She pushed the blanket aside and scrambled to her feet, wondering if the chair would hold.
"This is the army of Auj Oule!" a soldier called out as the door was pounded on yet again. "Open the door or we will break it down."
Her heart started to beat faster and her mind started to whirl with confusion. She could understand if the innkeeper had brought a locksmith to try and enter the room, but the army? It just didn't make sense. The pieces didn't connect in her mind as to why the army would be so concerned with her father's archaeology.
Jill swallowed as she darted over to the window and moved the curtains by scantly an inch to look out. She was careful that the movement of the fabric wouldn't be noticed if anyone was watching the window, as unlikely as that seemed. Though she thought it was a needless precaution, she turned out to be wrong, as there were several more soldiers in their red and black armor waiting outside.
She turned back to the door as the wood let out another miserable cracking sound as the soldiers outside rammed into it. She grabbed one of her books, flipping to the pages on casting spirit artes. She seldom actually tried using them, but her mind was already weighing the option.
Her mind was back on the instructions she was left with, about the importance of keeping her father's work safe. She flipped to a page of water spells, glancing up as the blade of a lance was thrust through the wood. She looked back down to the book, about to attempt the arte, but then stopped.
Was she really going to make an enemy out of the army just to follow orders left by her family? Become a fugitive just to carry out her parents' wishes?
Before she could contemplate the situation further, the chair was pushed aside as the door was knocked off of its hinges. She held her arms over her face as splinters of wood scattered over the floor. Though she was on the floor on her knees, the soldiers saw the book of artes and reacted without any further warnings.
A man grabbed both of her wrists and threw her to the floor while another kicked the book aside. It didn't even matter that she stopped before casting the arte, they were treating her like some sort of criminal regardless. The man pressed his arm against her shoulder blades to keep her pinned with her cheek pressed painfully against the floor.
"Let me go!" she said pleadingly.
They ignored her and continued to speak amongst themselves. "Is this the wife? I thought she was helping the spy."
"They said they fled together," the soldier who kicked the book aside said. "Turn her over."
She started to cry out the word stop, but she was lifted up, rolled over, and slammed back on the floor so roughly that it knocked the air from her lungs. She gasped for breath as she was pinned down by her wrists as the soldier straddled her to keep her legs immobilized.
"No, this has to be the daughter," he commented. "She just looks mature for her age."
"Let go!" she gasped, though the words were weak from her shortness of breath.
Before she had even regained her breath, they tied a gag over her mouth to keep her from making too much noise. A third man pulled her up and yanked her arms behind her back to place her in arte cancelling handcuffs. She couldn't even voice her objections as she was hauled over yet another man's shoulder, who gave no regard to where he touched her.
Even when she was carried out of the inn, past a gathering crowd of nosy people, they looked at her with scorn. They regarded her like she was a fugitive already, like she must have done something horrible to warrant being captured and thrown in the back of a carriage cart by the military. Her head collided painfully with the wooden side of the cart, throbbing badly enough to make tears gather in her eyes.
She looked up at the sky as the soldiers gathered at the front of the cart and it lurched into motion. The air was cold, but of course, a prisoner was given nothing to keep warm. She started to shiver as the cart bounced over the uneven cobblestones of the town's main road. She felt every lurch and couldn't help but keep wondering and wondering where her parents were and why they weren't there.
Author's Note
Haha…I felt like I was writing about Wingul with the book parts, even though it makes sense that Presa was a bookworm too when she was young, given her knowledge of artes that we see.
Anyway, as there are less than 10 fics including Presa on AO3, I felt the need to remedy this with a short oneshot! =w= According to what I read about her backstory on the one Tales Wikia, when her parents left her before getting found out an abandoning her, they left her in an inn room that the soldiers broke into.
Everyone in the Chimeriad has such awful pasts…this is why we call it the Crymeriad.