Word Count: 897
She was all dressed-up to run away.
...
...
Calista thought that today was a perfect day to make her escape.
The dress she'd chosen for the occasion was new – as blue as the bluebirds that were nesting in the trees in the courtyard. She paired it with the leather, knee-high boots that people around her had never deemed appropriate for her to wear. They were right through; they definitely didn't match the dresses they wanted to see her in.
The dress was very her. Intricate design, yet in a form of simple lacing and ribbing, with a high neck and long sleeves. It rode mid-thigh and perfectly showed off the boots she'd always wanted to dance around in.
Except, at this point, she didn't think they would be very easy dancing material. Since this was the first time she'd ever put them on, the leather was stiff and rubbed at her skin. She'd never experienced blistered and rub marks before, so she was willing to endure the pain.
She was a little stubborn like that.
There were many people coming in and out of the castle today, for the event tomorrow (she refused to acknowledge the true meaning of the 'event'). She put on her soft cloak and milled in with the people, trying to keep from looking into passerby's eyes while also vying to look inconspicuous.
Blending in was a trait she had learned when she was younger, when she was shy and able to disappear by hiding in a corner of a ballroom, against the prying eyes of people sizing her up and down for 'marriage' material.
It was her teen years that took that out of her. She became much more talkative seemingly against her will, started to enjoy hearing about stories from other lands from the visitors to the balls and her wooers from afar. She talked, and talked - until her practice of talking became an art. She could talk smoothly to any social status, nearly about any subject. She could strike up a conversation, revive a dead one, and make awkward bantering fun.
She phased once more in her late teens. Again, it didn't seem like it had been a choice on her part. She had become wiser, in a way, more aware and knowledgeable of the quizzical problems of the world. Plus, she was now able to understand the political game of the royalty.
It all made her become quieter, lost in thoughts that she wasn't able to voice with anyone, for no one would listen to her. They would tell her she shouldn't be thinking about such heavy topics, anyway.
She went to being more secluded in reading her books, strolling through the courtyard, or wandering the castle. Her voice was pleasantly soft whenever and whoever she talked to, but she dropped out of her practice of speech, and she suddenly wasn't the social butterfly that they had remembered from years before.
Calista had become the perfect little princess – quiet and demure, but if only her suitors knew what was really going on in her head. They wouldn't be able to catch up with her thoughts, and would be startled by the understanding and the intelligence in her words.
Although she couldn't blend into a crowd when she was the Princess - with her grandiose gowns and her silver hair splashing down her back - but she could fit in when she just Calista, in her simple, yet elegant, clothing and hair tucked away.
No one noticed her when she was 'just' Calista.
She walked by guards, maids and servants. She kept her eyes down, shoulders slumped, hands loose - like any good actor playing the part. She knew better than to be strutting down the steps with her head held high.
The only people she worried about passing were her Uncle, Sir Therius and General Asthar. They were the only people that would be paying enough attention to see through her disguise. Perhaps another would have been Jirall. She didn't have to worry about him, though. He wouldn't denounce himself enough to be walking amongst servants.
She held her breath as she walked out the door, giving off a carefree air and letting her wandering eyes bring in the scenery of the castle. The guard never even gave her a second look.
Calista couldn't really help giving herself a minor smirk when she walk out the doors, and yet at the same time, she realized that her legs had been shaking and she'd been holding her breath.
She didn't stop walking. She could see all the high housetops from here, and she wanted to be closer to them, as fast as possible.
The haste in her more stemmed from common sense than anything. She never wanted to head back, never wanted to be in those stifling walls called 'her home' ever again. And yet… she knew for a fact that she had to enjoy every moment of her planned freedom, because it wouldn't be forever until they found her.
Until they took her back to Jirall and her birdcage.
He would clip her wings first, making sure she'd never fly off again. Pull her bars closer and cut the leash on her leg shorter.
She felt an aching, numbing dread in her chest, but she surged forward anyway.
Because if that was all going to happen, then she was going to make this day count.
