Chapter 3.
Rifiuto: Non Miriena
Thanks to lizziemagic and MissWickedWitch for reviewing 2.
She gathered her skirt, and rushed through the halls, passing servants as she went. She knew Nanny would be looking for her. Instead of going to her room like she normally would have, she raced off to the west wing of the mansion. Finally coming to the head of the stairs, she hurried down a corridor, and pushed open an old oak door, disappearing inside and closing it behind her with a click.
Once inside, she turned, finding herself in a room filled with extravagant furniture and clothing, everything covered in dust. White sheets covered some of the furniture, and cobwebs formed in the upper ceiling corners. She moved slowly through the room, her skirt trailing dust along the floor. Hesitantly, she moved to the oak vanity, where a brush, comb, and hand mirror set in silver lay on the vanity table, along with makeup and hair acessories. Taking a deep breath, she reached out, picking up the hand mirror. Her reflection stared back at her.
After a moment, she set it down, before picking up a tortishell hair comb with diamonds set into it. She held it up to her head, looking into the vanity mirror. For a moment, she saw someone else reflected in the mirror; instantly, she set it down. Turning, she walked on, going to a dresser, where perfume bottles sat. She picked up a small bottle, and pushed it down, spraying some into the air. Her eyes closed; the air smelled like rosewood and lilies. After setting the bottle down, she turned to the clothes press.
Going to it, she took a deep breath. As she pulled the door open, she took in the scent of mothballs and dust. Once the door was fully ajar, she reached out, running her gloved fingers along the clothes hanging inside. Blouses and dresses, vests and coats. Her fingers grazed a dress, and she pulled the fabric towards her; the dark green was faded and worn, small holes had appeared due to the moths. The black lace along the hem was eaten away. She pulled away, going towards the bed. The colors were faded, and she moved on.
Finally, she moved to the writing desk near the window. Paper and ink sat on the desk, envelopes and wax, stamps and matches sat with them, along with one small, ivory dove. Quickly, she reached out, picking the dove up, and looking at it. Then, she lifted the purse hanging around her wrist, and pulled out another, small, ivory dove. She looked at it, before gently, clicking their beaks together in a kiss.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the door, and she froze. They seemed to move on, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Too soon.
The door handle turned, and stopped for a moment, the sound of keys being put into the hole and the turning, activating the tumblers, therefore unlocking the door, left the girl shocked into silence. It was pushed open, and a man entered. His eyes landed on the young girl, and he moved towards her.
"There you are! What are you doing in here? You were told not to come in here! How dare you disobey your father!" He grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the desk and towards the door. The force knocked her against the desk, causing the second dove to tumble from her hand and hit the floor. The fall had broken the beak, and she gasped, reaching out to grab it, before being yanked away.
The man dragged her downstairs, back towards the ballroom.
"You were given specific orders not to go up there!"
"I didn't know!" She cried.
"You knew very well! What were you doing up there?"
"Nothing!"
"Nothing indeed!"
"I told you! I was doing nothing!" She cried as he pulled her into the ballroom. Her long black hair had completely fallen out of its do, except for two stubborn strands. They stood on the edge of the ballroom, in view of the guests. One guest in particular watched the exchange.
"Now, you are not to return there! Under your father's orders! Do you understand? Do you?" The man asked, shaking her roughly.
"I told you, I wasn't doing anything!" She said.
"If you go up there again, I'll box your ears! Understand?" He asked, shaking her one more time.
"Yes." She whispered, as he pulled away.
"Good." He excused himself, leaving the young girl by herself. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked down at the ivory dove still clutched in her hand. It was alone, its mate broken and alone on the floor of the room in the west wing. Gently, she brushed a finger over the dove's ivory carved eyes, and looked up.
Fiyero had seen the whole exchange, and now, didn't know whether to go to her or not. She looked up and their eyes locked. Tears swam in her aquamarine eyes, and she sniffled, before gathering her skirt, turning, and fleeing.
All Fiyero could do, was watch her go.
