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Chapter 13
Gwen
"Aw! Poor lady," said the smallest girl, cradling a teddy bear to her chest.
"What's it like to faint?"
"Who cares?"
"Yeah, shut up!"
"Watch your manners, young man."
The next morning found Gwen curled up under the covers, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to convince herself that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in her lumpy bed back home.
She peeked out through her lashes and saw pale sunlight streaming into the room through the violet drapes. Heart sinking into the region of her broken ankle, she scooted over to the edge of the bed and very carefully slid off of it, grasping one of the bed pillars to steady herself.
There was a sudden whoosh besides her as if a gust of wind had burst through the window and she was suddenly offered a crutch by a glittering mass of floating dust.
The young woman reluctantly took it and watched as the powder drew her attention to a small table in front of the fireplace set for breakfast for one. She hesitated and gasped as the shimmery bits of…sand?... gently wrapped around her wrists and led her to the chair.
There were fruits in a ceramic bowl, a plate piled high with French toast, a pitcher full of syrup, another pitcher of milk, a teapot and pots of sugar and honey.
Gwen stared at all. This kind of spread was only ever seen in her village for the great feasts of Christmas and New Years, and here these people were offering to a prisoner for breakfast!
"Absolutely not. I don't want any of this. I'm not hungry," she said loudly to the…dust?... that was floating about her.
The sand whisked to a cup on the table and offered it to her, much like a child would shyly offer a bouquet of flowers to his mother.
"No thank you!" she said with forced politeness, pushing the tea away. "I don't want tea."
Immediately, the first cup was replaced with another filled with milk.
"No thank you."
Whoosh
Another filled with hot chocolate.
"No thank you," she sighed, turning away to look for her clothes.
And was confronted by a cup filled with… something that smelled utterly delicious. Faced with such a delectable scent, her stomach loudly protested.
"Is… is that… coffee?"
The sand gently pressed the mug into her free hand. Despite the fact that the liquid within the beaker was steaming hot, the container showed no inclination to get any hotter than the warm ceramic already clutched in her hand.
Gwen had tasted coffee only a few times and each time it had been bitter, made all the worse by the knowledge that it could be so better with the addition of some horrifically expensive sugar and milk.
But now… there was a pitcher full of milk and a pot full of sugar with her reach!
She bit her lip. She did not want to accept anything these people – animals – whatever – offered her, but now…
The young woman stared for a long moment at the cup in her hand before finally squaring her skinny shoulders. There is no point, she decided, in trying to outwit a bunch of oversized turtles and their rat-father on an empty stomach. I might as well use this stuff they're giving me against them.
With that comforting thought, she hobbled back to the table, trying not to spill the precious beverage on the carpet or herself – why should I care if this carpet gets dirty? – and sat down.
She had been wrong; this was not like the spreads in her village for great holidays, it was better. Far better.
The French toast was light and fluffy, made by hands that knew what they were doing and did not have to skimp on anything, and topped with generous helpings of syrup, honey and even a few cherries it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.
It took her a few tries to get the coffee just right. Though she was generally not a wasteful person, the thought that these people were holding her prison loosened up her scruples enough to go through cup after cup of coffee and spoonfuls and spoonfuls of sugar and milk. At about the seventh try, she lifted the mug – which had magically cleaned itself after each experiment – and tasted heaven.
"Mmmmm!"
Note to self: two spoonfuls of milk and three spoons of sugars make the best coffee.
She was nursing her third cup when the thunderous chime of an unseen grandfather clock informed her that it was now ten o'clock in the morning.
Shocked that she had wasted so much time sitting and munching on food fit for a queen, she tried to stand, forgetting about her ankle, and ended up in a painful heap on the floor.
The sand was instantly there, helping her to her feet and giving her her staff and ushering her over to a silver bathtub sitting in front of the fireplace in the exact same place that her breakfast table had been.
"Well, I guess a bath wouldn't hurt."
On the contrary, the warm water poured into the tub by jugs held up by the magical sand was sinfully warm, the soap was soothing against her skin, the shampoo smelt of lavender, and somehow the bandage around her ankle didn't get wet even after she had submerged it. It was heaven.
When she was done, the sand assisted her out of the tub, good thing too or she might have ended up in a naked tangle on the carpet. It then gave her a fluffy white towel which she wrapped herself in, before the grains whisked around her as though she was caught in a dust cyclone.
As quickly as it had started, the sand dropped away.
Gwen was no longer wet or naked.
She now wore a soft, velvet dress. The main body of the dress was light violet while the shoulders and the sleeves were a much darker, richer shade of violet. The sleeves were very full, comfortably loose down to her elbows and then opening up wide at her hands. It was very elegant and would have been very plain too if not for the silver embroidery at the throat, elbows where it fanned out, and everywhere the two shades of violet touched. A headband sat just behind her bangs, holding her hair back from her face, and she was willing to bet this fancy dress that the headband matched the dress.
Now a silver necklace, made of delicate filigree as slender as thread, was winding around her neck and a slender slipper appeared on her uninjured foot over the clean linen stockings.
A soft "whoa" escaped her lips.
She quickly shook her head firmly. She was not going to let pretty clothes distract her. If these people wanted to dress her in nice clothes – Nice clothes, my foot! These are clothes for a… a… she didn't let herself finish the thought.
Instead, she gripped her staff and hobbled toward the window. What kind of a building was she in? What floor was she on?
The sand was just finishing tying back the drapes when she looked out.
And gasped.
A castle. She was in a castle!
What else could have three floors and such magnificent gardens? They were perfect even under two feet of snow!
Gwen eyed the fresh powder that covered the ground. It was a good thing that she had not been out there when it had fallen. It was a good thing that Don-
That's enough! She told herself sternly.
Yes, he had saved her life by bringing her here and had helped her by bandaging her up – at least she thought that had been him, hadn't Master Splinter said there were other people – turtles – in the castle?
Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the window and made her way over to the door, which was set on the same wall as the desk.
It took her twice as long as it should have to reach the door and then a moment to balance on the staff and open the door.
She stepped out.
Another gasp escaped her.
Plush carpet covered beautiful hardwood floors, tapestries and paintings covered walls, and statues, priceless vases and other treasures sat in the niches. Despite the lack of windows in the hallway, the rich passage gave the appearance of being very brightly lit because of the abundance of candles and lanterns.
With immense trepidation, she stepped out into the hall and looked left and right. Which way?
"Ummm…"
Bang
Left it is.
She hurried down the hall towards the loud bang which after several minutes happened again.
And again.
She passed more rooms and more incredible works of art, following the shouts that had replaced the loud thumps.
Just as she was fairly sure she was getting closer to the source of the commotion, a yell loud enough to shake the floor rang out.
"MIKEY YOU IDIOT WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!"
Gwen spent several minutes standing stock still after that explosion, trying to decide if the risk to go and see exactly what was going on would be worth it.
Of course it was.
She limped along, very grateful indeed for the cane, listening carefully.
The voices seemed to be coming from somewhere below her, which meant that she needed to find some stairs.
The young woman took a right, and then a left, took the middle course in a fork, turned left, and right, and finally came upon a spiral staircase. She stared at it in dismay; Gwen was clumsy on two feet, on one foot and a cane she was sure to be a walking disaster. She didn't even want to think about what kind of state she would be in if she tried going down these steps and tripped.
Sighing, she turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction.
"Ummm, you don't have to walk away, Miss Gwen. I would have gotten out of your way."
She turned and saw the turtle climbing up the same stairs she had just abandoned. Judging by the purple mask and the quiet voice, she was sure that it was the one she had met last night. "Donatello?"
"That's me," the reptile said with what must have been a smile – she was fairly sure the expression was rather strained, despite her lack of experience with such faces. "You can go down the stairs now, if you'd like."
The girl lowered her eyes, embarrassed, then quickly whipped her head up. What did she have to be ashamed of? Nothing! "I can't go down those stairs."
"Oh," his eyes flickered to her ankle. "Right."
There was an awkward pause.
"Would – would you like me to help you down them?"
Her hand firmly gripping her cane, she reviewed her options. She could of course refuse and spend the rest of the day wandering around this castle, searching for a flight of stairs she could safely navigate. And if, as was likely, she failed, she would be stuck here on the third floor of this strange castle until someone came to help her. On the other hand, letting him help her would signal helplessness, something that she did not want to convey.
She was not helpless or weak! So she was not beautiful or strong, she more than made up for it with her mind! She had outwit everyone in her village!
The turtle was still looking at her. The brunette tried to look him over as she did with other boys, but had to give it up.
Oh what the hell, she had to see the rest of the castle anyway if she wanted to formulate an escape.
"Yes, please."
"Okay."
She shrank momentarily away from the big green hand he offered, before gripping it with a fairly steady hand. His hand was cool, leathery, and calloused from hard work.
As he slung her arm around his shoulder, letting her lean her weight on him even as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, she could feel the muscles and strength beneath the green skin and shell. There would be no arm-wrestling with him for her.
Donatello very slowly and gently helped her over to the stairs and then down them.
It was a good thing she hadn't tried to go down these things by herself. She could just picture herself tumbling around and around like a rag doll. With him, every time she began to lose her balance, which was every couple of steps, he would tighten his grip around her and hold her steady.
"You know…" she said at last, unable to bear the silence anymore. "It wasn't very smart to drug me after I got a concussion."
"What are you talking about?" he asked, not sounding the slightest bit out of breath even though he was basically half-carrying her down the stairs.
"In the latest edition of the Journal of Modern Medicine, Dr. Grafton states that allowing a concussed patient to go back to sleep, risks that patient suffering more permanent damage or even death," she stated, promptly tripping.
"Hmph," Donatello mumbled, catching and righting her. "That sounds like a bunch of crap to me. Dr. Malinks states in his "Theory of the Human Mind" that sleep is always the best to heal injuries!"
"That was published almost two years ago! It's been disproved three different times!"
"What?!" he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. "When was that?"
"Last year," she answered, rather startled by his abrupt change in demeanor.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course! It was a major medical discovery!"
Now he was the one who looked startled and after a long moment, he continued guiding her down the stairs.
"What did you say that article was called?" he finally inquired when they reached the bottom of the staircase.
She took her cane and leaned on it carefully. "It was in the Journal of Modern Medicine and it was called… 'Sleep the silent killer' by Dr. Grafton."
The turtle nodded. "I'm going to have to look for that in the library. I can't believe I've never read it."
"You have a library?" Damn, that had come out far too eager and excited.
"Of course," he said, looking surprised, then smiling politely at her. "Would you like to see it?"
It took every bit of her self control to keep from squealing 'yes, yes!' over and over. "No, thank you. Maybe later."
"Alright," he shrugged. "See you later."
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Wait!"
"Yes?"
"Um," she fiddled with her skirt. "I just wanted to apologize for last night."
"Oh, don't worry about that. You were upset, it was perfectly understandable –"
"What? No! I meant, I'm sorry for fainting. I said I wasn't going to get upset and as soon as I get a look at you I immediately faint. It was very inconsiderate of me and I understand if you…"
Oh no, she was babbling, something she was prone to do when she got nervous. Gwen only hoped that he would interrupt her before she said something really embarrassing.
Donatello chuckled lightly, cutting her off. "That's alright. I only asked that you didn't scream and you didn't."
"Well, that's what I wanted to say. I'll see you later, I suppose."
"Bye."
***************************************
Well, on the plus side, one of the turtles wasn't a complete jerk. Sure he had told her that she couldn't leave, but it didn't seem as though it was his idea. Besides, he seemed nice enough and definitely had potential to be someone to talk to.
But now it was time to start looking around for a good way to escape.
There was a loud bong from below her feet, telling her that it was now noon.
She set off down the hall, opening every door she came across. There were drawing rooms, a room with a magnificent grand piano sitting in a pale puddle of sunlight – her fingers itched to try out the keys – there were rooms filled with art supplies, there were studies with handsome desks and regal fireplaces, there were rooms, parlors, nurseries crammed with toys and all sorts of amusements for children, there were elegant washrooms and bathrooms, luxurious bedrooms – though none as incredible as hers. There were rooms for playing cards, rooms for playing billiards, informal dining rooms with one wall completely made out of glass window planes, and rooms full of hanging plants and slanting light, music rooms, tea rooms, and countless rooms she couldn't open because they were locked.
By the time she came upon another flight of stairs, another hour and a half had passed, and she was sore from the many times she had fallen and getting hungry.
She tried another door and a cry of delight escaped her.
She had found the library. Shelves and shelves of books covered every inch of the walls, from the floor to the ceiling with rolling staircases to get to the higher shelves. There were other rooms branching from the main room, which was big enough for her entire old house to sit comfortably inside. There was a balcony above her head also crammed with books. On every wall there was a huge fireplace, and groupings of big squashy armchairs and long tables designed for studying were placed at comfortable intervals around the room.
It was a dream come true.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Hello?"
Gwen spun around so quickly, that she lost her balance and her cane and ended up banging her injured foot on the floor. Through the stars that were not dancing across her vision, she saw a slender, beautiful human face gazing concernedly at her.
"Oh my! Are you alright?"
It was a girl the same age as herself, though Gwen felt like a child beside this blonde. She wore an elegant blue dress that perfectly set off her pale blonde hair and silver-grey eyes. "Who are you?"
"My name is Angela of Verity. Are you alright, Ms. Gwen?"
Her brown eyes met the silver ones. "How do you know my name?"
"Leo told me that you had arrived last night. Now please, tell me. Are you alright?"
"Yes. Who is Leo?"
"Leo is one of Donny's brothers," Angela explained. "There are four brothers, Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and of course Michelangelo, and their father Master Splinter."
The strange young woman kindly pulled her to her feet, showing an astonishing amount of strength.
"Thank you."
"Not at all. Now tell me, how are you feeling?"
She blinked. "I said I was feeling –"
The blonde waved a negligent hand. "Not physically. I can see that you aren't. What about mentally?"
There was a moment of silence as Gwen took in this other girl. Seeing a normal human girl – even one as gorgeous as this one – was relieving beyond words.
Before she could even begin to form the words, hot tears seared their way down her cheeks.
"Poor thing," Angela soothed, wrapping a graceful arm around the distraught girl's skinny shoulders. "Come on, let's go get some lunch and talk."
**************************************
That night at dinner, Gwen sat rather shakily between Angela and Donny. Her head still ached from sobbing but she felt better now that she knew that she had company in this 'enchanted castle' as Angela called it that was actually human. Though, she thought timidly, glancing around the table, the rest of them seemed very nice.
Michelangelo was very cheerful and friendly and pumped her hand up and down excitedly, babbling about how it was so cool to now have two human friends.
Leonardo was very courteous and respectful and told her that they would be happy to help her with anything she needed.
She did not mention wanting to go home.
Raphael spoke coldly to her, and stiffly shook her hand. Even now, he didn't meet her eyes, or Angela's for that matter, as he stabbed moodily at the potatoes, beef, and vegetables artfully arranged on his plate.
Master Splinter had smiled kindly at her as he asked her how her day had been.
Looking at the others around the table, her eyes lingering on Angela's bright smile and Donny's shy brown eyes, Gwen smiled at the rat. "It was okay. I think I'll be fine."
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