Chapter III - Coldstone Castle

Everywhere I look, I see blood. It's dripping off the walls, it's mingling with the hay, it's sloshing around the horses' hooves. And at the centre of the stable he lies; a lake of red; a sea of death.

I jolt awake. I grab my neck and rub it, almost as an instinct. Cold sweat coats me. To my right sleeps Edward. A breeze dapples with his snoring, and I pull back the skin on my face.

Watching us, the gargoyles loom, lichen covered and menacing. But it wasn't their presence that woke me.

Why does my brain keep playing the same dream? It's like a demonic tapestry, where the artist continually sews the horrors for all to see. Do I hate myself, and therefore relive that moment solely to hurt me? I'm sending a path to whoever manages my brain to cease; stop showing me John's neck wide and red, a view into a veiny mess.

Sunlight soon met the land after my awakening. It hit the skeletal trees, casting shadows of spiderwebs over the ruin. I discerned, on the bumpy horizon, a tall mass of black. It rose to a nasty point, a knife penetrating the sky, and sloped down gradually.

As the day progressed, I reached this spectre. What I saw, hewn into a slab of weathered stone over the gate, were the words: Castle of Coldstone 310 AD

But my attention on this was transitory; I was swiftly escorted from Edward and throw into a dungeon. The man who did this seemed pleased to handle me; a firmness grew in his trouser that knowingly shouldered into my leg.

I cast him a sharp look. He merely grinned. When I shoved away from him, he said, through the rusted iron bars, "You're a feisty devil. I'll be paying you a few visits."

My eye drew from the dim room and fell on his devouring face. I sped up to the bars and spat directly into it. An incredulity possessed him, until he began to chuckle. He wiped his chin and said, "You'll be doing more than spitting when I'm done with you."

"Begone, vile man," I hissed.

"Very rare that I come across a lass with a bit of life in her."

"Hopefully I'll be rid of that life when my trial is decided. Or do you hanker after dead girls, too?"

He paused at my words, before a look of boyish wonder painted over him, "Oh, you're the maniac? All the lads have been chatting about you," I felt my face retract angrily at his words. "The girl that brutally murdered her stable boy lover."

I didn't respond. I dragged myself to the far wall.

"Why did you do it? You can tell me, you know; I'm your friend," Venomous sarcasm peppered his voice.

I couldn't resist saying, "I didn't. I was framed."

"Aye? By who?"

I shook my head in disgust, and turned away. A tiny window met me, breathing a fresh breeze into the cell. The man's words dissolved into the steel sky outside. Despite the size of the window, my view was panoramic; Coldstone Castle sprawled from one edge to the other. Despondence embodied the architecture. I spotted statues of angels and saints, lonely in their manner, standing on the battlements; a symphony of neighing flowed from a stable unseen; high above, I discerned a tower standing on the far side. Is that Alice's tower?

It was ensnared by algae and opportunistic ferns. I leant on the window's edge to get a better look. On doing so, my hand met a shallow pool of cold water. The windowsill had collected the rain from the preceding nights, as had the rest of the dungeon, it seemed.

I stayed in this hollow state for 24 hours. I left the window and tried sleeping on the hard bed. Ultimately, my thoughts were focused on something entirely different.

I couldn't get rid of John's corpse from my mind; it was dyed a stark red. The knife lies by his face; a pale betrayal glazes in his eyes until they lose all life. How I vividly remember the look he had; such horror and distress. Who did this to you, I screamed.

Apparently I did.

I was broken from my reverie by a pair of footsteps sauntering in the room. Gloomy as it was, I saw Edward.

"How was your sleep?" He asked.

I managed to laugh, which soon turned to a yawn. "What time is it?"

"8 in the morning."

I jumped up, only now noticing it was light outside. Had I mulled over my John for so long?

Edward continued, "Do you hear the birds outside? They're the native bird of the Castle."

All I heard were crows, cawing in the dreadful rain. Behind Edward, a dimly lit passage snaked up somewhere; this was the dungeon's entrance, and it was where that lascivious guard retreated a few hours prior.

Edward folded his arms. I saw his frame much more clearly now, in his loose attire, "I'm going to escort you to the trial at 9." A twang of some emotion slithered about his voice, but I was too tired to realise it.

He paused. We stayed still for a moment. A ray of grey light transcended the window and fell on my brown hair. He said, "Your mother is here."

I recoiled in horror, "What?!"

"She arrived in the night, weeping," His face had a look of 'what's the problem' on it. "She said she was so sad to be in such a predicament."

What? Savage claws scraped in my head, birthing fresh scars. The blood that poured from these was a silver chrome, and in its reflection I saw I was stumbling, beheaded, in a room full of wealthy men. My neck bubbled blood that made them all laugh. At the end of the room was a roaring fire; it was dying. In waltzed a flamboyant man with a bit of fuel for the flames. What he threw in there made the entire room roar with laughter. My head, my brain, smouldered in the fire.

Snapping out of this, I screamed. It roared out of my like a bolt of lightning. Every emotion related to rage was mixed with it. "My mother is a liar! A deceiver!"

He stared at me quizzically, "What are you talking about?"

"She framed me! She put me in this mess," I heaved out my fury in quick breaths.

"I don't believe that," He returned. "She seems so sweet."

I cast him a sharp look. "What? That woman is ruining my life, and you don't trust me? "

He pursed his lip, "Why would I trust you?"

I laughed derisively, "Sure. It's not like I saved your life or anything."

"Can you blame me for thinking that, Bella? I mean, why would she frame you?"

My eye averted from his. I felt his sear into my flesh, "People do evil things."

Nine eventually tolled. The courtroom was a tiny space with four people present: the judge, myself, my mother, and Edward (as witness and guard).

Lucy Swan's face had significantly aged since I last saw her. A week of madness creased her skin, turning it an insipid grey colour. Hair, neat and tidy, had lost the lustrous shine she passed on to me. Her clothes were black and gloomy. Her eyes, studying me as if I were the culprit, retained the same soulless mask I'd grown up with.

After a babble of legal nonsense from the judge, she was allowed to cast her verdict. To the lovely reader who desires a swift lowdown of the courtroom's appearance, let me tell you it did not contrast with my mother's attire. Actually, the freezing room, windowless and dim, would be a brilliant manifestation of her heart; she proved this by opening: "My daughter definitely did it, your honour. I remember it so vividly, I do. Blood everywhere; her body smothering his corpse. I think she sucking his blood," She said in the most dramatic voice. "But you were always a vicious child, weren't you, Bella? You loved killing little puppies, and setting things alight. Even my dead mother's letters did she burn!" Oh how she poured with tears and wobbled her wrinkly lip.

"Ms. Swan," The judge said softly, affectionately. "Perhaps we should move onto the victim. The latter topic is clearly of some distress to you."

"Yes, yes, you're right," Composing herself, " The stable boy John Shadow was a lovely lad. A handsome lad, too; would do anything for you. When I found him swimming in his own blood, I knew my devilspawn was the murderer. Your honour, his neck was nonexistent! Vessels and veins spilledout of it like a waterfall."

"You poisonous witch," I cried from across the room. "You killed him. You and Andrew murdered him!" I couldn't stop the tears falling down my cheeks; I fell to the chair. "What was it, mother, that made you kill him? Was it his low birth? Or was it your hatred of me?"

She put on a distraught face, "This is what she does! She blames it on her family. How can you say I did this, and how dare you bring your brother, Andrew, into it. He is not a corrupted freak like you! He does not delight in causing sorrow everywhere he turns!"

"Yes!" My eyes were a bloodshot mess. My face burned, "You'll always defend dear Andrew. After all, he's married the rich girl. He's got the degree. He's got the manor in the hills. But he's a murderer, too; he killed your puppies! He set the farm on fire! He used to hurt me, too; he used to touch me," I croaked and dropped my head.

"Refrain from bringing in other affairs, Miss Swan," The judge said without thought or reason. "It seems you have no evidence of this, whereas many pieces of evidence are stacked against you. Let's take a look at the knife: your fingerprints were found on it, no?"

"Yes, sir," Lucy said eagerly.

I said, through gritted teeth, "That's because you asked me to chop the carrots for the dinner. Oh I see how meticulously you planned this. All a set up." I looked at Edward briefly, stoic as a stone. "I bet you and goldenboy planned my marriage all along, but when I gave you the rejection, you got the knives out."

On the far side, Lucy cried out, "You tell me what motive I had for killing John Shadow, then! Let us hear your theory! I want to hear your lies!"

I rose. I tried to remain strong, though I knew my hands were shaking, "If I tell lies, then the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." She scowled at me. "I'll tell you that I loved John, mother. I truly did. You hated him. And why? Because he had no money. Let me tell you, your honour, that I intended to marry that man while she intended me to marry one William Hornet. Two days after John proposed, I found him dead. And it so happened that Mr. Hornet arrived by ornate carriage two hours later to 'console me'. What a pile of shit!"

"Miss Swan," The judge sighed. He cast Lucy a look, "You have no evidence of these claims."

"I had to flee, your honour. I had no time to collect evidence."

"Why did you flee?" Lucy said. "Running from your crime?"

"Running from you more like. I ran onto the moor, where I met the most benevolent lady. The kind of person a mother should aspire to be. You know what," I said quietly. "If I am sentenced to death, I'll be glad to finally be rid of you."

The judge shook his head, "Let us get to that verdict, then." A pause ensued; he perused a pile of papers with his eye retracted under that studious brow. When he looked up, and a concluding bang of the gavel hit his desk, he said, "This case is decided. I find Miss Isabella Swan guilty of murdering John Shadow. The judge decides Miss Isabella Swan will be executed tomorrow morning. Court dismissed." He flourished out of the room in a black blur. I felt a darkness enclose about me.

Lucy rose, a victorious smile on her face. She cast a look at me, then left.

Edward left, too. But before he did, he walked past me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

Seconds later, I was borne by strange arms up a spiral stair. He pushed me up and up. The more I ascended, the more my spirits descended, as if the stairway to Heaven was a disguised stairway to Hell; I faltered on the 200th step. "I'm not going any further," I wheezed. But the stranger's arms wrapped about me and I was carried to my lair.

A door was kicked open. He gracefully lobbed me into the room and left; the latch rattled, and I was alone. Alone, that is, except for the spiders lurking in the corners, or the incomplete statues under moth-eaten sheets. With a quivering hand, I lifted one of these to meet the face of a beautiful lady. Her eyes were encrusted with a mournful sapphire. They stared into my soul and reflected it.

The room was circular. High beams met in the centre to form a coned ceiling. A bed lay beneath the lattice window. From the latter my view could not be overrated.

Down my cheek a tear fell, then another, and another. The next thing I know, I was crying full fledged. As I lay on the bed, I felt my heart shatter, as if the sun was made of glass and set too fast.

Beneath my low sobs, voices far below the window met me. On looking out - and adjusting to the ridiculous height - I saw Edward and a blonde lass talking in the deserted courtyard.

"She's being sentenced to death. The trial was dreadful."

"It was?"

"Just dreadful. I pray for her. She's got talent; what a waste."

"Talent?" The girl responded; a sweet, smart voice. "What do you mean?" They're sat on a bench beneath a tree.

"She can fight is what I mean," Edward laughed. "She saved my life, y'know?"

She gasped, "Don't make me laugh. You're surely joking. I saw her escorted to the tower and she was a tiny thing."

"You'd better believe it, Rosalie. She's agile, dexterous...Fun."

"Fun?" Rosalie asked teasingly. "What happened on your little trip to make you say that?"

I blushed. Edward said, "Nothing! She's just fun to be around."

A pause. The twilight sky above painted the castle a grey, still scene.

Rosalie began to speak, her eye fixed on the tree's branches, "Do you think we'll see a tree again after all this?"

Edward hesitated, "After all what?"

"After the tomb. I can't help feeling we're walking to our doom."

"We'll be fine, I'm sure."

"You're sure?"

"Not really," He let out a short laugh. "But we've been through worse; seeing Jacob naked is by far worse."

They chuckled. Rosalie's head rested on his shoulder; she said, "I beg to differ."

"Oh right; you love him."

She shifted and slapped him mockingly, before returning to the shoulder, "Can't a girl love?"

"No. She must knit and breed. That's the code."

Rosalie - and myself - shook our heads, "And what's the code for men? Play with your swords, stabbing people?"

He grinned, "We're talking about fighting, right?"

"Boys are brutal. Sometimes going into a tomb is more appealing than going into a heart."

"But a tomb may lead to your death."

"As may a heart; a soul's death."

Another pause. I stared at Rosalie with wonder. Her words touched me.

Edward said, "C'mon, let's find Jake. I'm in the mood for some training."

And so, they scattered away, hand in hand. I watched their lively figures disappear into the main-hall, then turned from the window, to a room that was anything but lively; just a bed, a door, and a bookshelf.