Shards of Stone
By SarahFish
Chapter 4: A Harsh and Present Reality
Every morning – or what passed as morning in the eternal twilight of the Tower – Kamalla dressed in front of the large mirror in the antechamber of her bedroom. The glass was dark, and her image, though reflected true, was trapped in nighttime and shadows.
Some mornings, her choice of clothing was left to her own devices. But most, such as this, she arose to find a gown already waiting in the chamber. Often new. Always elaborate and horrifyingly beautiful.
At first she thought the dress a new one. But as she picked up the heavily beaded blue-grey garment – it was the color of stormy seas – she recognized it, and screamed. Shaking, she hurled the dress to the polished stone floor as though it were something alive and dangerous.
Oh she knew this one. It had been years, but she had not forgotten. Oh yes. She knew this dress, and hated it. The very thought of letting it slide along her flesh again brought bile burning up her throat.
A knock at the door, and it opened, a petite dark haired girl scurrying in, eyes lowered. " Forgive me," she said, "But I heard you cry out. Is there something the matter, lady?" She risked a glance up at Kamalla, and her dark eyes were filled with apprehension.
"I cannot wear this dress," Kamalla said. "Misao, I cannot!"
The servant looked horrified. "But, lady…the Lord Annatar was most insistent that it be this gown. He said that I was to tell you to keep mindful of the date."
Kamalla let out a choked laugh. "I know the date. I need no reminder of that."
Misao continued. "He said also, lady, to keep mindful of the freedoms you've been allowed. And that if the lady wishes to taste freedom of any sort, she will wear the dress as he demands."
At that thought, Kamalla's stomach lurched. She swallowed. "Go, Misao. Tell the lord that I will see to him shortly. Just…leave me, please. I need nothing else."
"As the lady wishes," Misao replied, bowing. The door closed behind her soundlessly.
Turning, Kamalla stared at the crumpled heap of fabric on the floor. To her more threatening than anything with fang or claw. With heart racing, she knelt, reached out for the dress…hesitated…then, laughing bitterly at her own fright, snatched up the garment.
As she stood and let her robe drop to the floor, she made a quick list of her possible tasks for the day. She would be lucky if she got an hour's time alone.
The gown slithered over her skin as she pulled it on. It was far heavier than she remembered. There would be no time, she thought, straining to reach the hooks that fastened the back of the garment, to check the dungeons. Kamalla did not like that idea. Melia had been in and out of lucidity for the past week. For three days, she'd been coherent, recognizing Kamalla, her speech growing stronger each day. Then on the fourth, she was gone again, lost inside her own head. Her speech disjointed, jumping from one time and place to another. The fifth had brought no change, but yesterday she had been back once more.
Kamalla finished with the hooks, and stared into the mirror.
The blue-grey fabric echoed some of the color in her strange eyes, making them stand out from her reflection. The gown swept low across her chest, leaving her shoulders almost bare. The hem pooled around her feet, and the thousands of tiny gemstones on the fabric glittered in the candlelight. The worst, she knew, was yet to come. Slowly she turned, looking over her shoulder to see her back reflected in the mirror. The gown plunged low, leaving her back completely exposed, save for her shining curtain of oil-dark hair. She shuddered, and turned back around. Her hair would have to go up. Lord Annatar would have it no other way. Oh no. Not in this gown. Not this day of all days.
There was a knock and her door opened once more. Tevildo strode in, moving with his strange cat-like grace.
"Kamalla, you play with fire," he said. "Annatar grows impatient."
She ignored him, her body moving of its own accord as she picked up the brush and worked her hair up atop her head, pinning it carefully into place. Stray pieces kept escaping her grasp, and she fought back tears as she struggled to put it into place.
Tevildo made a move as though to come forward and help, but stopped, catching himself mid-step.
A moment longer and Kamalla managed to pin everything atop her head. Finished, she stepped back, examining the final product. At the sight, her stomach lurched again, and she knew she was going to be ill.
She made it to the washroom, thankfully, before being sick. When it had passed, she forced a sip of water down her throat. She had been far too long this morning, and she knew she would pay dearly for making Lord Annatar wait.
Tevildo was waiting when she returned. He sat in a polished chair before her mirror, playing with a jeweled comb. It was a pretty thing that Kamalla did not recall having seen before. He came to her, and carefully placed the comb into her braids before reaching to cup her cheek. He stopped a hair's breadth from touching her skin.
"I touched the comb, not you," he whispered. Kamalla nodded. She understood. It was a fine line they had trodden for years. "Come," he said. "Lord Annatar awaits."
Her steps were, as always, coldly determined as she followed Tevildo across the antechamber towards the heavy double-doors. She pointedly avoided looking at her reflection again. Yet…as she opened the door, she paused, some terrible, bitter curiosity taking over. She glanced over her shoulder once more, meeting the gaze of her reflected self, before dropping it to her back.
The Eye, burned into her flesh, spreading red and black across the entirety of her back and shoulders, returned the gaze.
Sick at heart, Kamalla turned and left, the slamming doors echoing coldly through the dark stone halls.