AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Woah, it took a while, but it's finally here. The second chapter. I must admit I'm not as happy with this one as with the first one, but I've honestly had enough with modifying it. My beta-reader, poor guy, has been busy as hell, so the grammar may... fail here and there. Feel free to point out any mistake you find, I'll fix them in no time.

About the content... this one is pretty safe, compared to the first one, but there might be some hints to violence, nudity and bad language. Not much dialogue or action here... just memories and reflections on the people around Eris. Let's just call it the calm before the storm, with a little explanation on the side about how Eris started walking on the rogue's path.

As always, I hope you'll enjoy this. Thank you for your time!


The Painful Aftermath

I was greeted in my awakening by a loud ringing noise, cold shivers and a sense of utter helplessness. This time I could actually wonder what had happened, where I was, how had I gotten there, and the more I stared at the still blurry images around me, wide eyed and devoid of energy, the more I felt the nausea creeping back to my guts, and my temples starting to pulsate with dull, ancient pain. The rest of my body felt numb. I was terrified of moving just to awaken more pained, strained spots, and even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't have lifted a finger, at least at the moment. Everything that had happened until then… it had been too much, both for my body and my mind.

Now I was awake and most definitely not dreaming, in an unknown place. Someone was holding me to his chest, and I dreaded the thought of discovering who it was enough not to force my heavy head up and check. I had a very clear idea of who it could be, anyways. Those rough hands, scratching, tainting my skin… I focused on finding out where I was, and eventually how to escape.

I discovered myself to be in a warm room, which to my eyes, far too accustomed to luxury, looked dreadfully poor. Only partially covered by the stranger's cloak, I shivered when I realized that I still wasn't wearing any clothing, and that another man was in the room, examining me with a serious look in his eyes. I struggled to fight the numb apathy and cover myself with my hands, clumsily, still finding it difficult to move. They were speaking, but in my dazed state most of the words were unclear. Forcing myself to pay attention, I realized, with a deep sense of horror, that they were discussing my fate. Mere… commoners discussing my future in front of me, as if I was nothing more than a steed to be sold!

Before I was able to open my mouth and demand an explanation and some clothes, though, I crossed eyes with the other man. That man… was going to be my blessing and my curse, and I think that even in that moment, the instant I allowed his eyes to find mine, I suspected the importance he was going to have for me in the future. How he would influence me, though, I could never have imagined. He was an elder, but his eyes were those of a man with no age, too mature for a boy, too steady for an old man. He looked at me with a stern, blunt frown, and I think I spotted something very much alike compassion in his eyes for a second. It was impossible to believe that a man with such eyes would be able to sell me to the Dhorn. I can't remember what he said, but it didn't matter to me at the time, I only stared at him as I slowly managed to get a grip on what had happened to me until that moment. His name was Nathan Geigers, and following his shadow I was to walk a long way into the darkness.


I was entrusted in the hands of a tall, big woman, after the elder – Nathan, Master Nathan - stated that I would be working in the kitchens of that place from that moment on. I would've never guessed it was an inn or a restaurant, but then again, I had never seen one in my whole life. The idea of spending my next days scrubbing pots and washing dishes was revolting to me, but did I have any choice? I didn't want to be seen from the enemy, not so soon at least, while the memory of the attack was still fresh in their minds, and I had been lucky enough to have been brought there… by that…

I hadn't caught his name. My teeth clenched as I thought about him, and, despite my best efforts, I found myself sobbing as the woman bent over me and soothingly spoke to me.

"There, there, child, it's going to be alright… You poor thing…" I proudly sneaked out of her arms, not used at all to such displays of affection and pity, and only then I realized that she had brought me to a room with a large wooden bathtub. I turned around, a questioning look on my face. It was… weirdly sweet of that woman. That wasn't my wonderful golden bathtub, or the marble pool, or the pretty lake in the courtyard… but the water was still water, and I needed it so much. I felt filthy. More. I felt as if I was rotting from the inside out. I stopped crying.

"Chella will take care of you, don't you worry about that", she continued, guiding me to the tub and urging me to enter. I obeyed, passively, thoughtful, allowing her to wash my body, as I felt too tired to even move a finger. Her fingers were rough too, but her touch was gentle, and her voice was, too; still, there was something intimidating in the way she acted, the pose and tone of a woman used to giving orders to people, somewhat similar to my own. She had an expressive face, and round cheeks that would still look plump on a body as fragile as mine. I allowed a little time to pass in silence, as she looked at me with anxiety and helped me get clean, before I decided I had to speak. I had to know more about my situation.

"Who was that man?" My voice was hard, maybe a bit too much. Lost in thought, I had looked away from the woman standing at my side, and I probably surprised her with the coldness I displayed, because she took a little while to respond. Enough time to make me realize how silent everything was. I would've never imagined the city after such a terrible battle would be so silent… of course, assuming we were still inside the city and not at the outskirts. Not that I'd have known. I had been unconscious the whole time I was being carried there and… I chocked a sob even before it reached my throat at all, surprised by how detached I could act while everything was going in pieces around me.

"Who, Nathan? Oh, don't worry about him, child. That old bear is a good man. He's not going to allow anybody to hurt you, you're safe with us". I felt a thumb pressing in my cheek, shoving away a tear I hadn't realized shedding. I felt so tired…

"Not him". The bastard who had brought me there wasn't a good man. I turned my head slowly, finally staring at her, and seeing the look in her eyes made me want to scream, to cry. What was happening to me wasn't right. It wasn't supposed to be that way. I was supposed to go my way, and nothing, nothing was going my way, nothing at all, and…

And I was tired. Gods, I was so tired.

"You mean Vico, then? He is…" She gasped, and I realized that I had started shivering. My voice was as cold as ever, my face as blank as ever, but the rest of my body was screaming in horror, and nobody would miss that even by just looking at me. Wearing a mask wouldn't change what had happened to me. "Oh sweet heavens, dear, did he… ?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Just… his name", I hissed, without letting her finish. Now I knew his name. I had no idea about how that was going to bring the day of his painful demise closer, but deep under my faltering body, my numbed emotions, my dull resignation, I felt the tiniest glimpse of triumph. Everything was silent for a while more. There wasn't much else to say. The woman by my side, Chella… poor Chella was probably trying to decide how to handle me, and I had nothing more to ask. I just wanted to sleep, to stop thinking, and the water was helping.

Now I wonder how many times I had to die that night, and the day after it, and the day after that too, and every day since then. Looking back, it's either as if a piece of the person I used to be died with every new trial I was to face, or as if the Princess, the Future Queen of Betancuria, Only Heir to the Glorious Throne of Alastor and so on, and so on, and so on, was slowly agonizing until all that was left was a ghost.

I am a ghost, now. I could be behind you, and you probably wouldn't even notice unless I want you to. I could be right in front of you, slipping poison in your drink, and you wouldn't suspect a thing, and as soon as you turn away I'd be gone forever. Locked doors don't stop me anymore. I am more comfortable in the darkness than you could ever be in the daylight, and I've bonded with more shadows than you could count, haunted more rooms than you could imagine… but I digress.

What I meant to say is, there was yet another thing I had to leave behind, and as silly as it sounds, it was painful. Chella sighed before standing up, looking through a set of drawers, turning her back to me, and spoke again, this time sounding more… domineering, more determined. Given time, I'd hear more of that tone, and I'd learn to love it, but the part of me that was used to commanding others found it irritating. "We're going to have to cut your hair some, child. Dye it, too. I do realize not many have seen you up close, dear, but we can't take this risk, it's for your own good".

I widened my eyes. Of course, I hadn't thought about it. I had never showed up often in public, but how many women in Betancuria had hair like mine? Long, reaching my mid-thighs, wave after wave of copper hair. Even my personal maids, whose duties were hardly more difficult than brushing my hair or turning my music sheet while I played the harp, never allowed their own hair to grow too long. It would require too much care, and they hadn't got the time for that, while I had that, and the time of several servants, and the most refined ointments. I slowly nodded to myself. That had to happen, too. The pretty locks had to go. Heavens, my maidenhood had been brutally violated, my home stormed by enemy soldiers, my loved ones slaughtered, my whole life destroyed, and now I was busy feeling sad over a few locks of hair! Thinking about that, some kind of resignation muffled everything else.

Chella's hands held the scissors that cut it. Chella's fingers rubbed the dark, thick blend that soon caused my head to feel slightly itchy and my hair to look as black as the night sky. I didn't speak much after that. I slept the whole night, even though the bed wasn't mine, even though the sheets felt like sandpaper and the mattress was hard.

I was going to get used to it with time.


The next few days I spent there… I don't remember much of them. I do know that I first touched a pot, though, and that the sight of it, still encrusted with the remainders of food, so dirty… it made me feel repulsed, of course. I don't remember ever mentioning it though. It took me a while to learn how to do it, but soon I was very glad I could scrub and wash pots and dishes. They looked much better when they were clean, and with my arms aching, my fingers soaked to the bone and wrinkly, my eyes focused only to the task at hand, I didn't have to think.

Heavens, I had never worked in my whole life! Even holding my arms up to the sink was a hard job to me. I didn't speak for days, though, and Chella didn't mention the night I arrived. Never again. She helped me out, taught me how to do my job, and spared now and then a gentle word to me, a smile. They were sad smiles, but they were… encouraging. For the most part, though, she was busy with running the kitchen, giving orders and keeping the cooks focused on their work.

Then I started to notice the discussions of the others who worked around me. They reached my ears, even though I ignored everyone that wasn't Chella, and soon I was torn away from that comfortable state of numbness. Those voices… those rumours…

The Queen has killed herself, they said. Some said she drove a knife through her heart, some others said she used the sword of the officers who were threatening her life and virtue to cut her own throat. Some said she had spoken hard words to her attackers before doing so, some said she screamed in terror, and some said she had cried. I knew my mother well enough to be able to see the scene playing in my head though, or maybe, like a child, like a daughter, I still liked to idealize her figure. Mother is sitting at her writing desk, her eyes closed. The moment the Dhorn enter the room, breaking the door down, she presses her knife, her beautiful knife to her heart. She doesn't even change expression, doesn't even open her eyes. She doesn't slice her throat open, she doesn't want to bleed all over the dress, she's too clean for that. Mother wasn't heroic, but she was brave; she probably had it planned the moment she understood we were going to lose. That scene played in my head again and again before I fell asleep, and because of that… I couldn't sleep through my life anymore.

They had put the heads of the royal family members on display, they said another day. Those mornings when you wake up to the soft daylight, and still pretend to be sleeping until someone shifts the curtains, until you can't ignore the light anymore… that was the shifting of the curtains to me. I was wide awake, now. I started speaking again, and I remember well the first words I said.

"Chella… may I go to see them… please?" The others weren't listening to us, and so nobody noticed the surprise on her face. We stared at each other, and she patted my cheek briskly but gently, shaking her head. The fact that she was refusing didn't bother me, and deep down I knew she was right. As nauseating as the thought was… their severed heads were probably rotting under the falling rain… and I didn't want to see them like that. And even then, as far as I knew, it was only the heads of my parents. Then how did they explain the fact that my body wasn't found…?

Of course, they probably suspected I had escaped. I shivered, and decided that, after all, waiting a while more before going out in the city wasn't that bad.


I'm not sure I'll ever get used to the kind of clothes I was forced to wear by the circumstances. The… uniform of sorts for the kitchen girls consisted in a dress with a short skirt, stockings and shoes, and I think I've spent the first two or three days I wore it pulling the skirt down. The fabric never seemed enough to cover me up, and I definitely wasn't used to showing my legs to just anyone. Still, it was comfortable, and the kitchen was usually far too hot to wear anything more. I didn't have a mirror anymore, but in the room I shared with the other kitchen girls we were allowed to have a wooden tub. It's funny, because it seemed a great luxury to the others, while I found it slightly annoying that the water was never warm enough, never clean enough, and once or twice I had to remove a splinter from my fingers.

I looked at my image reflected in the water, now and then, and I could barely recognize myself. My face had lost radiance, there was something stiff in it that wasn't there before, something tight and dark. My hair was messy, and would probably never be as soft as it used to be before. My skin was as pale as wax and dry. My hands, strained by the hard work I had never known before, were starting to get less delicate, more calloused, and the many cuts and burns seemed to harden my skin. I felt ugly, which annoyed me, I felt clumsy and inappropriate to the role I was playing, and more than anything else, I felt trapped.

Now that I could think properly, I certainly hadn't abandoned my plans for the future, and I was getting restless waiting for the moment to act.

The first thing, of course, was to get revenge. That man… Vico, he was going to suffer. He may not have been the one who caused me the most harm, I can see that clearly now, but he was the only one who had dared to do that directly until then. I wanted him dead, and I wanted to be the one to kill him, I was more than ready – or at least I thought so – to be the one to give him the fatal blow. Somehow, I would've found him and killed him. It sounded easy at the time.

Then came the hardest part. I wanted my reign back. I had to travel, to get allies, maybe to stir a rebellion… that would keep the Dhorn busy while allies from the outside attacked and… that plan had more flaws than anything else, but the more I daydreamed about it, the more I added details, and the more details I added, the more it felt possible.

The problem was, of course, that I wasn't allowed to even get out of the kitchen, and while I've always been a patient woman, the only thing that kept me alive and breathing, the hunger for righteous revenge, was also making me increasingly restless.

But apart from plans, apart from dreams, there's another important thing I have to talk about. I haven't spent my whole time at the Bear Pit plotting the deaths of a thousand men. There were people too… people I loved, people I despised, but most of all, people who never deserved what happened to them. I wasn't the only one hating and suffering, and I'll never be. That's what that place, as much as I disliked it, taught me. The Bear Pit was only the beginning, but without that, I would've never become the thing I am now. I may not be the Princess anymore, but when I scream for revenge, when I get my hands sticky with blood and my eyes filled with dying faces I'll see in every nightmare, I want to scream for the revenge of my people. No… I want to scream for the revenge of my fellow citizens of Betancuria.


When I started plotting again, I also started looking around again, observing other people, trying to understand them better. If I had to pretend to be a kitchen girl, I had to learn how to act like one… that was my excuse. The truth was, I was curious. I had never been around commoners. The maids at the castle were certainly not nobles, but they had been taught to act with a certain grace and refinement, to look away and shut up at the right moment… commoners were unrestrained. Sometimes I found them laughably simple, and some other times I envied a little of their strength.

Laughable or not, they taught me a lot more than I care to admit.

Take Silia and Kellia, for example. The twins. How old were they, fourteen? Fifteen maybe? They were sickly thin, and those blue eyes of theirs were too big for their tiny heads. They looked awkward, always, like one of those big birds with huge wings and a body too small. Clumsy, without a shred of elegance. That's what I noticed first.

Then I took a good look at their eyes. It doesn't happen often to understand a person by just looking at them the right way, but it had happened with Master Nathan, and it happened again with them. Those huge, blue eyes were empty. They were numb. Like me. They rarely spoke, just like me, and I think I spotted signs on their bodies that… told a story. I was never able to discover what had happened to them, but everyone at the very least suspected the cause. It was the same for everybody, anyways.

Kellia and Silia, with their golden ringlets, always running around the kitchen, never stopping for even a second, never allowing the thoughts to take over. They spoke even less to each other than to the others, and that… seemed less strange to me than I would've thought. It seemed right. They knew each other so well, they knew what had happened and what would their life be in the future, and that was enough. They didn't allow themselves to hope. Hope for what? For a decent marriage, maybe, a husband that would treat them with the slightest trace of respect? What could they hope for?

That's why I… acted nicely to them. I never asked them any question, I never told them anything important, but we tried not to be in each other's way. There was, between us, the silent understanding that might form amongst the survivors of the same shipwreck. We may not have anything in common, and may want to live our own lives, as far as possible from each other, but we know that we went through the same trials, and so we just say "may I pass", "have a nice day", "of course, here it is", but we don't ask questions.

Nobody wants to be reminded certain things.


Men take it differently, but not necessarily better. Take Danny and Wally, the cooks, for example. Wally… Wally scared me at first. He's one of those men who, when things get hard and the others start to lose hope around them, try to liven up things, crack up a joke, and fail miserably at lightening up the mood, because maybe, deep inside, they're just as tired as the others. I didn't understand it, felt mocked at first. Then I knew him better.

Wally had lost someone too, in the attack. I never knew whether it was a wife, or a son, or a daughter, or all of them, but he had. Just like everyone else. He had been working there for his whole life, and now the kitchen was all he had left. He was delighted when I started to greet him back in the morning, even though I never managed to be cheerful when I did. I've been told he looked at the kitchen girls lecherously, but I think he only wanted some company. He was simple like that, and cared about simple things. If he couldn't find happiness in the warmth of a family, then he had to look for it in the smile of a friend, and if it wasn't that, at least in his own job or in the short skirt of a kitchen girl.

Danny was the opposite, so it's no wonder they kept fighting, but I think that deep inside they were grateful for that too. It made them feel alive. It was some kind of routine, even I looked for a new routine when mine was broken. It made us feel safe. Danny was silent unless you spoke to him first, and rarely ever laughed, always hiding behind the wall of gloom, but he was nice to us. He, too, knew we were victims, just like him. All survivors of the same tragedy, all with at least one relative, at least one friend who was gone forever thanks to the invasion.


Trissa… it took me more time to understand Trissa, and I'm honestly not sure I ever will. She was a pretty girl, probably older than me, and looked much more natural and much more at ease in the same situations I felt so clumsy in. Even with a dirty dress and ruined fingernails, I could tell she was pretty. She probably could, too, and took full advantage of it… if I hadn't gotten the distinct impression that they had been her downfall, I'd say her good looks were her salvation.

She didn't seem to work hard at the dishes, instead seemed to pay a lot more attention to the people who worked around and in the kitchen. She always had a raised eyebrow for anyone who annoyed her, and a loving smile for any man who paid attention to her. At first, she probably saw me as a threat, but seeing that I had little to no interest in what was instead the target of her greatest efforts, she started ignoring me.

Trissa may be the kind of woman who needs protection, always. She wasn't dumb at all, knew that the attention of the right man could mean a lot in the future, but her mistake was to spread the efforts in all directions, never focusing on one in particular. I've seen what she did with men, hiding behind the crates, every sound hushed as if they were committing a crime. I walked in to see some errand boy or another busying himself between her legs, and quickly disappeared, the sight startling me. It puzzled me how any girl could actively seek something like that, especially after what Vico had done to me, but she… enjoyed the attentions. To me, it was quite ridiculous from the outside, and disgusting to think myself in her position. Then I remembered that night, and forgot about Trissa and her precious boys, and started daydreaming again. We didn't care for each other, to put it simply.

But she had her share of bad memories too. Every single one of us did, we just… showed in a different way. She may have been an annoying wench, and I'll admit I found her every bit as irritating as she grew to find me, but she didn't deserve what had happened. Not even her.


There's still one person missing.

Caron.

I'm not sure I feel comfortable talking about him. So many things happened, and they still hurt… they still hurt too much to think about. I might be a masochist, but I don't want to forget him. I don't want to forget any of the things that happened, not even a detail, even when they hurt to even just remember. And he deserves to be remembered. But yes, I suppose I should speak about him.

He started showing up a while after I started my new life, and at first I wasn't sure what exactly his business around there was. He moved crates, did some errands now and then, and then spent the rest of the day fooling around with the maids and the kitchen girls. Chella and the cooks seemed to know him well, so I immediately assumed that he had been working there since well before the siege. He didn't seem very preoccupied with working, though.

The first few times I hadn't paid much attention to him, but I had… noticed him. He was so loud and lively, how could you miss him when his laughter filled the whole room? Plus, he was about my age, and that made me curious about him. The other men I had known until then were all much older or much younger than me. I think he had noticed me too, but Trissa kept him busy enough. Then, one evening, she was still working, and we spoke for the first time. He asked me my name, and I replied to him while I washed my hands, tired because of another long day spent working.

"Eris? Eris like the princess? It suits you." He smiled at me, and I turned around, sighing.

"No, not Eris like the princess. Just Eris". He laughed at my words, recognizing the dry sarcasm in them, but clearly missing the melancholy. I can't blame him for that. He didn't know. There were so many things he didn't know. I didn't walk away from him, and he took that as an invite. I suppose it was, after all.

"I'm Caron", he introduced himself, cleared his throat, and instead of asking me where Trissa was as I expected him to he just smirked, gesturing towards a small table where people working there used to chill after work. "You're not busy, are you?"

I wasn't, and I sat with him. That evening, when Trissa came, she was a little disappointed, but didn't mention it the morning later, and just sat with us. We spoke of what happened around the kitchen, and Caron kept joking… and a few times I smiled along with them.

He was too bold, and maybe that's why he made me smile. He had the dirtiest mind, and rarely managed to speak a pair of minutes straight without embarrassing me, but he was never vulgar. Before I knew it, I got used to his presence, and to spending the evening around him before going to bed. Caron utterly lacked tact and restraints, wasn't courteous or attractive, and those little metal rings he had on his earlobes looked fairly gross to me, but… suddenly, I cared for him, and started looking forward to the light hearted conversations I could have with him. I was still detached, still found it difficult to feel close to the people around me, but he made me smile, and the mere fact that I wasn't shying away from him was enough to show him that I appreciated his presence.


Then one night he called me closer to him, alone, looking sneakier than usual. I silently approached him, questioningly looking at him, and the sight of his bold grin confirmed my suspicion. He had something to share with me, and he seemed to find it quite interesting. "What is it?" I asked him, and arched a brow when he looked around before speaking. We were alone.

"Say, Eris. Do you have any experience with… sticking your hands in… places… where they really, really shouldn't belong?" I widened my eyes, with no idea about how to interpret his words, and shook my head in disbelief; noticing I didn't catch up with his double entendre and instead just stared at him without saying a thing, he burst out laughing. "I mean pickpocketing, just pickpocketing! Well, do you?"

"Uhm, no, certainly not. Why would you even ask me?" I was a little outraged, wondering whether I should take it as an insult. He just smiled, and I relaxed a little, but I felt still on edge, not knowing what to expect from him.

"I'm just asking! You have… dexterous fingers, alright? And it would do you good to learn".

"I seriously doubt I'm going to need that, but thank you for your compliment", I briefly concluded, trying to excuse myself. Instead, he stopped me, amused by my suspicious reactions. I would've never guessed he was a cutpurse, having always imagined those as ugly, dirty, despicable fellows… the books, at least, had taught me so. But Caron? Caron was nice, he was… funny, too, and he didn't act like the kind of person who'd kill a man to get to his wallet.

"Oh, come on! I swear I'm going to make this fun, alright? It's just to play around, you don't have to go in the street and rob old ladies. It's just… to do something fun together, something different". The look on his face was honest, and I sat back down. I was willing to try.

A princess turned kitchen girl, learning how to pickpocket from an errand boy. That had to be one of the weirdest things possible, and the idea still makes me smile. It was all so innocent back then…


It turned out that he was mostly doing that to get his hands down my skirt, but he didn't insist... much. I was more annoyed with him than offended, and he laughed it off, playfully mocking me before dropping the topic completely. That's how I begun learning things that most noble ladies shouldn't know… as a joke. After the first time, a second one came, and after a while, it wasn't just pickpocketing anymore. He taught me how to open locks with a pin, how to recognize different kinds of locks and safety mechanisms, and how to move swiftly enough to grab something in another person's pocket or at their belt. All in all, it was entertaining, and at first I didn't really think it would help me, just thought of it as a way to spend time while I waited for the moment to go outside to come.

Caron and I were growing close, too. Him and Chella were the only ones who could cause me to smile, and soon enough he was the only one I felt really comfortable speaking to, even when he mocked me or made me flush with embarrass with one of his dirty jokes, even when he dared to assume I wouldn't mind his hand on my rear end while he tried to distract me by talking about the weirdest things he had ever found in a man's pocket.

"… And he had these weird finger puppets… Who walks around with finger puppets in their pockets? Especially someone as shady looking as that guy! I bet he was one of those bastards who like them… young, you know? Oh, and there was this other man who…"

"Are you seriously… stop that, Caron!" I moved away from him, briskly, just to meet his smiling face. I should've slapped him, but I didn't. Still, I should've. Every single time.

"Sorry, sorry. I got carried away", he apologized, though the grin threatening to escape his lips warned me that he didn't feel sorry at all, and the heat running to my cheeks warned me that I didn't feel too sorry either. My upbringing and what had happened to me in the past prevented me from wanting anything more from Caron than a warm smile and nice conversation, at least consciously, but…

I will admit it. I liked Caron. I liked to know that he'd be there almost every evening, even just to talk, and I liked to know that even though I wasn't wearing a wonderful velvet dress and my hair was messy, he still kept telling me I had the prettiest smile he'd ever seen and that I should laugh more often. I liked to know that he didn't know who I was, and he still found it worthwhile to spend a whole evening just speaking with me. I liked to know that even though I had caught him now and then with Trissa he'd always come back to talk to me. I wasn't jealous, I didn't envy her… not much at least. What was important to me was that Caron liked to be with me just as much as I did.

At the same time, though, I felt more and more the need to run away from that place. I had to move on, to free myself… I had to chose. Would I end up spending the rest of my life working in the kitchens, hiding from the Dhorn, maybe irremediably falling in love with someone who would've been hanged for even trying to look lustfully at me if my parents were still alive? Or would I run, and fight to get back what belonged to me by rights of birth and merit?

Then one night I noticed that I could easily pick the lock of the window downstairs, and without thinking too much, I tried my luck. I just wanted to see whether I was capable of doing it…

It turned out that I still had a lot to learn.