Marco wasn't sure how long he'd spent pacing, wracking his mind for a solution. By the time he'd come back to his senses, his room was flooded with natural light. He was physically and mentally exhausted. His legs ached and the tightness from his high ponytail had begun to give him a severe headache. He needed a new perspective. In the newfound light of dawn, he paused to examine the room around him, especially keeping an eye out for anything he might've missed in the dark.
The room itself resembled that of the other princesses. It could have even been cozy, he thought, if in reality it wasn't just a glorified prison cell.
The main difference was that this room was much smaller than the others he had seen. The ceiling was much higher, too. Still, it seemed to have everything he imagined a princess could want; a large vanity fitted with skirts and silky ribbons sat to one side of the room, and on the opposite side stood a lovely, powdered pink wardrobe. In the middle sat his mahogany blanket chest, and behind it, the queen-sized bed Marco had slept in, its rose-colored canopy matching perfectly with the drapes around the window above.
Marco wanted to kick himself when he laid his eyes on it. How could he have missed it before?
A scary thought crept into his mind. Was all this time in captivity making him lose his edge? He quickly shook his head of the thought. Anyone would have missed it, he told himself, especially given the circumstances. Last night was very dark, and even though the room had lanterns, they were very dim. It could have easily been hidden in shadows. What was important, he supposed, was that he could see it now.
The single window, high up on the wall behind his bed, was the source of the light that illuminated the room now. It was much too high for him to reach without a stool, and wrought iron bars formed a cage around the outer side of the glass. Still, he was filled with hope.
I can work with this, he thought.
All he needed was a tool that could cut through those bars. Then, he would be free.
Tap, tap, tap
The sudden sound of someone knocking pulled him from his thoughts. Quietly, he distanced himself from the window, not too keen on giving away his plan. A muffled voice floated in from the other side of the door.
"Your breakfast, Princess."
Was it seven thirty, already? There wasn't much time left before he'd be swept away by the guards.
Calm down, he told himself, taking a few deep breaths and swallowing the fear that had begun to bubble up inside. Without his fighting skills, he had no choice but to be patient. His body was weak, but he had a sharp mind. He could find a way out of this place. He would.
He had to.
In the meantime, he'd be sure to avoid the conform-ment chamber, even if that meant cooperating with Miss Heinous.
With luck, it wouldn't be that way for very long.
Standing straighter, he steeled himself for everything that was to come.
"Come in," he said, ignoring the crack in his voice to focus on maintaining what he hoped was a neutral expression.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the strange man who walked inside carrying a large, covered tray. He'd seen this man before, with Miss Heinous. He was even creepier up-close.
He almost reminded Marco of Frankenstein's monster, but Frankenstein's monster was huge, and this man was barely four feet tall. His bony spine arched so profoundly that Marco swore he could've counted every vertebra. His bald, misshapen head was much too large for his body; it almost seemed that at any moment, he might topple over. What frightened Marco the most, however, was his face.
On the left side, a large, nasty scar ran down from the brow to just below the cheekbone, sealing the socket where an eye should have been. His right eye was covered, or perhaps replaced, with a strange device held in place by a strap. It gave off an eerie, greenish glow that gave Marco the impression that it likely did more than just help him see.
"Good day," the tiny man greeted him with a crooked smile, shifting the tray to one hand while he bowed.
Marco watched, speechless, as the man walked past, reaching behind the giant bed to pull out a small, folding table. He opened it with one hand, placed the tray on top with the other, and with a flourish, lifted its lid. In an instant, a mouthwatering smell wafted through the room. Marco could feel his mouth watering, as his sleeping hunger was finally awoken again. Without thinking or even bothering to sit down, he polished off the warm food, undeterred by the tears now falling freely from his eyes.
By the time his meal was done and his water glass emptied, he was alone again. He felt a little ashamed, realizing only now that the man had left. He hadn't even thanked him for the food.
His thoughts shifted to the small pitcher and bowl he spotted sitting atop his vanity desk. There was also a pair of small washcloths. The man must have left it all there while Marco was distracted.
The pitcher felt heavy in his hand when he lifted it, and he could hear liquid sloshing around on the inside. He tilted it over the bowl, and out poured clear water.
He dipped one washcloth partially into the bowl, glad to finally have a chance to clean himself up a little bit. It was unsettling to think he'd gone so long without a shower. He wished he had some soap with him too, but for now, plain water would have to do.
He scrubbed away at the sweat and grime that had accumulated on his skin, doing his best to cover every inch. When he finished, he untied his long ponytail, letting the hair fall around his shoulders while he lightly wet it with his hands. He opened the top drawer of his vanity and found an elegant, silver hairbrush.
He sat down on the stool in front of the mirror and locked eyes with his reflection staring back at him.
He wondered how long he was going to be here. How many times he would find himself staring into this mirror before he finally made it out. He wondered if he would see Star again. Would she rescue him, or would he have to find his own way out?
He lifted the brush, still looking into the mirror, and dragged it through his long hair. When he reached the bottom, he raised the brush and started again.
He was amazed at what Star's magic had done. He'd never let his hair grow this long, except for back when he was very young. His mother had always taken care of it then, but now he found that doing it himself was actually kind of nice. Over and over he brought the brush through his tangled locks, finding the methodical movements to be strangely therapeutic. In the midst of all this turmoil, he felt grateful for such a simple thing.
Eventually, when it was all smooth, he pulled it back into a high ponytail again and dried himself off.
Now it was time to find some clean clothes.
He walked to the wardrobe, uncertain of what he'd find inside. He hoped there'd be something he could wear without too much discomfort.
