PLAGUE ON ALL YOUR HOUSES
Chapter II
STELLA barely felt the earth beneath her bare feet, as she walked under the moonlight garden. In all her power, this was the closest she could get to running away, or, the closest she could run away before her will crumbled and the thought that she would never be able to get away unnoticed crossed her mind. Why was she so terrified of getting caught?
Perhaps because some part of her mind screamed at her that if she did run away, she would eventually get caught, and then her choice would be taken from her indefinitely.
She was only a woman, after all, and against a man, what could she do, really? She had it better than most women alive, having an actual education, a proper upbringing, being included with her brothers in everything but fighting and hunting. She had delicate hands, and wasn't supposed to have an opinion at all; she couldn't fight, and had been fortunate enough to be able to voice her opinion and have it heard. She was blessed enough to be able to do things according to her beliefs, but never had she forgotten that her father was merely humouring her, humouring her and if she ever were to push it too far, it would be a long time to come before he humoured her again.
Perhaps she should marry Denato Divum? If she did, she would be queen of the land there, and would probably be able to enforce her beliefs, to do as she wished without the feeling that others were laughing at her. In Tenebrae she would never have a chance to be Queen, only the baby princess whose all ideals and no reality.
Her eyes were becoming dead, she had noticed in her chambers, as she stared at herself in the mirror, trying to find some spark of life so that she can finally realize that she was looking at Stella Nox Flueret, not some doll replica.
Stella paused, her mind back in the garden; she had wandered into the maze, no, labyrinth, really. It didn't really matter, though, for she knew all that she needed to do was follow one side of the wall of brush, and she would find her way out. Even without that, however, she knew that she would be able to escape its confines; she had been in it so many times.
The leaves looked almost blue under the moonlight, in fact, everything seemed to be tinted a different shade, the grass, the gravel, and the bush walls. Her nightgown glowed, as did her skin and hair; if she ever were to escape, she would have to wear all black, she noted wryly.
Her footsteps became stretched, time began to blur as she focused on not thinking anything, and instead of thinking of the sites, the smell of the cool ocean air, the sound of her breathing and the light wing howling slightly overhead.
She only stopped walking when she had reached the centre, a small courtyard bathed in moonlight. In it was a trickling fountain, with cupids at its spout and doves on the outside of the basin. The water filled up, then gushed down in small streams thanks to the small groves in the top. The cupids held trumpets in their hands, and water spilled from those as well, in small streams. The water seemed to glow, almost seemed as if it had its own light; or that it was reflecting the moon like a mirror – which it was, Stella reminded herself.
There were two benches, pale stone matching in colour with the fountain, on opposite sides of the fountain. Flowers and floral trees decorated the rest of the space, making it very cosy during daylight.
Now, in the darkness, it seemed like a serene place, and Stella couldn't help but find she preferred it now, when the temperature was cooler, when the sun wasn't burning her eyes and retinas. It seemed so peaceful, almost… magical.
Stella decided she would berate herself for such foolish, flimsy thinking later, and to instead simply live in the moment. After all, time was short, one second passed, then it was to never come again, but, of course, there were an infinite number of seconds, so who would care if one went by? Truth was, if a second passed, one wouldn't really care unless something could have happened in that second, and it didn't.
Really, she shouldn't use that analogy. Who could do anything in one second? I minute, perhaps, an hour, a day would be better, but using those time frames didn't seem as impactful. If a second went by, and we needed to do something, but didn't, and then it was gone, that required split second thinking. One extra thought and you could regret it for the rest of your life.
It had happened once before, when a second went by, a second that she wished – a second that she would give anything for – a second that she couldn't take back.
Her mother was a noble woman, both beautifully stunning, and brilliantly charming. Her smile lit up a room; her singing hushed it. She had such a kind face, always speaking in compassion, so full of passion, her father had told her. A passionate, beautiful woman – he told her she made a fine queen. The best, so much so that she was the envy of painters, who vied her attention, her portrait. The beautiful and fiery queen, they would have titled it, had her father not told them to title it something different.
So they began to call her Queen Fay, for some reason, her father had told her it was because she was not like any other woman alive – so strong; a leader. So they declared her Queen of the Fay, people of magic. Others called her St. Peter's Gate, though it was not her father who explained the meaning, but a priest, who said it was a mockery of the Gate of Heaven, and scoffed, telling a young Stella that her mother had nothing to do with God.
He had also told her that she never reached St. Peter's Gate; she would never make it.
It took her two years to understand what he meant, and after that, Stella had forsaken the church that would dare call her mother impure, who would dare say that Queen Sidra did not deserve to go to Heaven, with the angels and saints.
Stella never knew her mother; the only physical evidence that the woman had lived was Stella herself, as her father's previous wife had borne him two sons, her brothers. She remembered, as a child, how her brothers would sometimes ostracize her, calling her names and such.
Then, the time came that she would forever regret.
Stella had a personal maid, then, and the woman was very gentle, and very skittish, jumping a flinching often. She was also very – very – shy and quiet and would console Stella whenever she came back to her room, crying because her brothers had called her and her deceased mother names again, despite their father telling them not to.
The maid's name was Claudia, she was young, and always wore long sleeves, despite there being hot summers. She was always so calm, almost doll-like, that when Stella had come into her room crying, after a very hurtful encounter, and when Claudia had talked to her gently, for some reason, young Stella had snapped.
"You're lying!" She had screamed, after her maid had tried to soothe her with comforting, sweet words, "You believe the same as them! You think I'm dirty! I know! They told me! And their right! You never say what's on your mind! You're faking everything!" The young child, so heartbroken that her beloved maid had faked her kindness – according to her elder brothers – that she didn't even allow Claudia a moment to speak.
"I hate you!" Stella continued, "I wish you would die! You're horrible! A horrible, horrible person!" She had screamed, and then ran out the room.
The next day, her maid did not show up, and another was sent to replace her, this one cold, almost like a wall. The day after that, Stella began to get worried, as it the maid now tending to her wouldn't answer her question as to where Claudia had gone.
On the third day, the young Stella had gotten fed up, and went to search for the maid herself. She knew where the woman's chambers were – she had gone to it before after a nightmare. So, when she went right up to the door, she knocked loudly. Claudia had her own room, a small, broom-closet in compare with the others, which fit ten servants together. Claudia, however, was her personal maid; she was special.
"Claudia!" She had yelled, and when a specific maid came bustling down the corridor, Regina, the head maid at that time to be specific, Stella turned her head and listened.
"That Claudia, so much more trouble than its worth – she was only supposed to be gone-" The woman then cut herself off upon seeing the young princess. "Dear, what're you doing here?" She asked softly. Stella, knowing the woman, as the person she thought was her mother, blinked at her.
"I wanted to see Claudia." She told the old maid quietly. "She won't answer the door." Tears began to spring up then, her young self, thinking that her maid had chosen to ignore her now that the truth had come out, about Claudia not caring about the young girl. Regina looked at Stella sadly, back then, and put her hands on her hips.
"I don't believe she's in there, Dear," Regina started, "here," She dug her hand into the pocket of her apron. "We'll open the door – she's not in there, you'll see."
Young Stella wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Then where'd she go?"
"To see her aunt, she told me," Regina answered, pulling out the master key for all the servants' rooms. The woman then put the key into the door, unlocked it, and swung it wide open, confident that the room was empty.
It was not.
Stella screamed, hiding behind Regina, who stood dumbstruck at the sight in front of her. A knife in a bloodied hand, wounds on both wrists and thighs, small scratch marks on her neck, as if the woman tried to end it by slashing her neck, but couldn't.
A pool of blood.
It was so thick that despite all the blood on the body being dried, the pool around her was still liquid. Dull, lifeless eyes, the head rolled back, the body slumped on the floor beside the bed, the tiled floor forever stained…
When Stella finally found out the reason for Claudia's suicide, the young girl had cried for weeks. The informant was Regina, though it was rather unintentional. It was merely an answer for Stella's question, a month later, 'why did she do that?'
Claudia had been abused most her life, her only sanctuary being this castle. Her father, sick as he was, would bed her, rape her, beat her, after her mothers death, leaving her traumatised and on the brink of breaking. She had run to the castle, where she told what had happened to her. Her father had been executed, but his presence.
Regina told her Claudia only started to get better when she began to take care of Stella, and was chosen because the woman was so gentle and careful with everything around her, as if she didn't want to break even the slightest thing. She was a perfect motherly figure, calm, quiet, gentle and loving.
Regina had then told Stella that she didn't particularly know why she did die, though Stella knew very well. She had yelled, said such hurtful things that a normal person would be strong enough to survive, but Claudia…
The woman was more fragile than glass.
As years went by, Stella began to accept the fact that she, in essence, had killed Claudia, all because she hadn't paused to hear what the woman had to say in defence.
It was all a split second too late.
Stella blinked the tears that spilled down her face away, not daring to wipe them away. Things could happen, and if something happened to early or too late, terrible consequences could be the price. She knew that, knew that very well. She knew the pain that Claudia's death had brought to her, so she swore to never to that to herself, so that those who care for her would never have to feel the same way.
So, why, at this moment, did the thought of death sound like a gateway to freedom? If she were to do it, there would be no fear, she could stop if she wanted, it wouldn't be like someone else doing it, because no matter who it was, everyone feared pain, even the slightest bit. Humankind would prefer to not feel it, so sometimes they went through even drastic measures so avoid it.
Claudia, she believed, treated everything as glass, because she was glass herself, one wrong word could shatter her, so she took care not to anger anyone, being kind and polite.
Stella had though on blaming her brothers, in fact, she had, so many times, she had even hit them. Strangely enough, it was when she had snapped at them that they finally became close. They had apologised, for once in their lives, and started treating her like an actual sister, rather than some pest.
She had begun to smile again, really, truthfully smile, finally basking in the light that her brother's acceptance had brought to her. However, sometimes, on rainy nights she would remember how she had killed Claudia, and cry, but only to herself.
The woman she was now, knew that true happiness couldn't exist without true pain, because without knowing what pain was or vice versa, then one could never really have a grasp on the opposite. So, after dealing with the most unimaginable pain after Claudia's death, Stella had, in turn, become happier, brighter that she used to be.
A dark thought crossed her mind, so dark that Stella's eyes widened, and a hand flew to her mouth in horror. How could she think of such a thing? The death of another person close to her? Even if it was a thought it was a disgusting one, one she should never have.
If that were true then if the death of another close to me should make me even happier.
It was a dirty, dirty, dirty thought. So dirty she felt disgusted with herself, even so much that she knew not even the worst death could make up in compensate. Wishing a death on a loved one was horrible, no, it was horrendous. Had she really fallen to the point where she was wishing a death on another for the cheap sake of her own worthless happiness?
Another death would destroy you.
That was true, truer than her first thought. Already she felt numb, so sick of the burdens placed on her, and tired of the life she lived, of the meaningless words and blood presents. She was guilty of killing another person, and guiltier still of moving on, barely sparing Claudia a stray thought every now and then. To think of her and then such morbid thoughts… it was unforgiveable.
She was a horrible person. Unable to see the light in the day, thinking of running away due to her own personal incentives. She was selfish and pathetic because she found fault in a life others would wilfully and gladly kill and die for. How many have already wished to be in her shoes? Probably countless numbers; she had it all, all except freedom to do as she wished, but even then, perhaps freedom was a fable. It was a fool's errand. Who could really define the word?
The freedom she was thinking of, she supposed, was a selfish freedom, a freedom that didn't exist. Everyone had responsibility, even peasants, and really, every single person in existence, in every class. Did she want false freedom? Did she want a freedom that would never exist as long as there was a society? Or did she simply want the freedom to live as she pleased?
None of the freedoms she cogitated on were plausible. In fact, they were impossible. She couldn't stop being a princess, not as long as the Fleuret family was in power. She couldn't dash away her upbringing, which had bred her into a noble. She couldn't if she tried; it was hopeless if she tried.
With a sigh, Stella stood, and began the winding way back into the main garden, to go back to her bedchambers, where she would eventually fall asleep. Of course, Isola would then have to wake her up too early for the amount of time she had actually slept, and the pattern would continue.
"Lady Stella?" An incredulous voice called out when she had existed the maze; she recognized the owner as the Keeper of the Grounds, an elderly man she had never spoken with much. She turned her gaze up to him, taking in his wiry but very well built form. "Is it not too late to be taking a stroll, Milady?" He asked, and Stella, exhausted as she was, almost pointed out to him that he already knew the answer to that question, but instead changed her forethought.
"It probably is; I just couldn't sleep well, thought a stroll in the gardens would be nice – after all, its safe here." She said, the end of her sentence worded in a way that was almost a challenge, a question, she stated that it was safe, and he would have to reply accordingly.
"Yes, yes of course it is," he started, Stella couldn't help but feel as if he were lying, "but nature is nature, Milady, you could have fallen and hurt yourself." In response to his concern, she raised her hands, letting him get a good look at the heels of her palms and hands.
"See?" She smiled at him, this one feeling more real than any in a long time. "I haven't fallen; I'm alright."
"That's a relief. Should I escort you to your chambers?" He asked, holding out an arm for her take, which she did and was slightly glad he hadn't noticed she wore no footwear, and hopefully wouldn't fret over the obvious cuts on her feet.
"Why are you up so late?" She asked him, noticing the fact that he was looking around nervously around the grounds.
"Oh, I have my rounds; wouldn't want any trespassers." He explained, though it seemed very rushed, so much so that Stella frowned.
"Is there something that you're not telling me?" She asked, sounding gentler than she felt, she needed to cajole him into telling, if he would ever. "You can be assured no secrets escape my lips." She stared at him fully, noting how he refused to give her eye contact.
The Keeper of the Grounds was an elderly man, though not elderly enough for him to stop. He had a full head of hair, much unlike her father, whom was balding. This man however had many more wrinkles set deep in his face. They looked like laugh lines, they way the wrinkles were, his face was very tanned, and his arm was as hard as a rock. He was thin though, perhaps that was a body type, and not that tall, either, only coming up slightly taller than Stella herself.
"I'm afraid I'm the same, Milady," He told her, and Stella withdrew, knowing that the response likely meant that whatever he was not telling her was information that came to him from either her brothers or the King, for no one would withhold information to her unless those three were involved.
The Keeper of the Grounds, whose name she learned was Leon, left her at the door to her chambers, and wished her a good night, telling her he hoped she would rest well this time. She asscented, telling him that she would.
"I'll be leaving now then; I have to get back to my rounds." He had told her, though he did not turn, probably waiting for her to dismiss him.
"Yes, thank you, Leon, you're help was greatly appreciated." She told him, smiling. He returned the smile, but still, he did not move. Almost as if he had spontaneously became a scarecrow. Stella watched him for a moment, before realizing he was waiting for her to retire. Why, she could only guess, however, she did guess, and that guess was that his inertia had something to do with how skittish he was about her being on the grounds.
"Well, good night." She said finally, opening the door to her room and shutting it. She pressed an ear against her door; she couldn't hear his footsteps leaving.
Pulling back with a frown, and a sense that he wouldn't leave until she had actually retired, she pulled back, walking to her bed and getting in it. Distantly she could hear his footsteps leaving, and wondered why he hadn't left sooner.
What exactly was going on?
A/N: Sorry for the delay, the computer where I have this story has had internet problems, but, obviously, its all better now! This story SHOULD be updated weekly, so... every monday from hereon. Okay? Read and Review Please!
