CHAPTER 6 - THE LULLABY

Cleaning the worktops of his massive kitchen was not one of Priscilla's most favourable jobs. The grime from the day's meals seemed to be embedded into the mahogany surface with little give to come off. Scrubbing with all of her might produced little success, even with the biggest scouring sponge she could find. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she noticed that small patches of red could be seen on her white gloves, as if seeping through the fabric.

'I need to stop working so hard. These gloves only provide so much protection.' She thought to herself. 'Better some protection than none, I guess. Dear lord imagine the state of my hands with no gloves!?'

Her apron was covered in soot from cleaning the fireplaces earlier. Some of that soot was also spread across her white face from rubbing her sweat away. Damn. The life of a lonely housemaid is not the cleanest of lives. It was also not the most socially stimulating, which was why she found talking to herself was becoming a common phenomenon, especially whilst doing his stupid chores.

'It would help if Mr 'Everything revolves around my precious life' would, at least, let me have a wash more often. It's been days since I last had a nice hot bath. Oh I would kill for another. In fact...that's not a bad idea. Ha! I do like to tease myself. No chance of you doing in a brute like him nuh-uh! Even though sometimes I could just...'

She breathed deeply as she picked up a pile of dishes from the other counter, beside the multiple cooking ovens.

'Nope nope nope...you can't be thinking of that...it's not what Jesus would do. And mother and father taught you better than that.'

She placed the dishes into the sink.

'You would think a rich idiot like him would invest in a goddamn dishwasher, or even a FEW! I think he just likes to see me suffer. Oh Mr 'mightier than all men' would have a heart attack if I asked. In fact...that, too, isn't a bad idea...NOPE!'

Beginning to realise she could be descending into madness, Priscilla stopped and started with the first dish in the pile. Every night he and his 'Knights of the round table' so to speak, had a mighty feast that lasted for hours. Her job then was to stand in the corner of the room with her mother poised with trays of champagne glasses and a heavy champagne bottle. At the click of his fingers, they would rush over to dish them out and serve the sparkling beverage. It would go on to the point of him getting aggressively drunk and throwing the glasses and plates at the walls whilst laughing maniacally with his men. At the end of the night, as he wobbled to bed, he would declare the meal over, send his soldiers away and order them to clean up the mess.

This happened every night.

'It's no wonder my hands ache and bleed.'

Her mother never complained. With a somber look, she would simply nod her head and get on with it.

Thump! Thump! Smash!

'Why can't you do anything right!?'

His bellowing voice could be easily heard through the floorboards from upstairs.

'Now what special knight of his hasn't lived up to his role this time.' She smiled slightly and positioned herself to mimic his egotistical posture; chest out and chin up. 'You brought me the wrong peasant to torment you fool! You and sit on the naughty step and think about what you've done.' She mimicked.

'I swear I don't understand why I keep you around!'

'Ohhhhh...' Priscilla chuckled. 'Somebody's in trouble.'

'Please...I'm s-so s-s-sorry...'

Priscilla's heart stopped.

She knew that stutter. Soft and gentle. Slightly high pitched.

It was her mothers.

'What the hell!?' She exclaimed as she dropped the dish she was holding. It 'unfortunately' fell and smashed on the floor. Sprinting out of the kitchen, she raced down the ivory corridor and up the spiral staircase to the foyer, the many portraits of 'him' staring at her with beady eyes as she went.

'Where they hell are they!?' She panicked. 'This castle is so goddamn huge!'

'I p-promise I'll clean it up p-p-please just c-c-calm down...'

'Don't tell me to calm down! You have no excuse to be this incompetent, you stupid woman!'

Following the echoes, Priscilla found herself at the doors to the upstairs lounge. They were stiff and heavy but with her will power she managed to force them open. Bursting through, she analysed what had happened.

On the floor was a broken China tea cup and tea pot. The shattered pieces of porcelain were spread across the burgundy rug in the middle of the room. The cup and tea pot were mother's prized possessions, at least they used to be. He was standing there in all his might over her mother, who cowered in fear, gripping her wrist with such strength it caused her gloved fingers to twitch. The pain could be seen through the wrinkles on her face, particularly on her cheeks and forehead. Priscilla was sure she could also see a small tear roll down her blushed cheek. Looking a little bit closer at 'him', she could see that his satin white cloak had a small brown stain in the corner. Obviously, this was from the tea. Her mother winced as he tightened his grasp.

'Oi!' Priscilla exclaimed. 'How's about you release my mother and act like a gentleman for once in your life eh?'

'Shut up child! What right do you have to speak to me with such attitude!?' He retorted.

'I'll have you know, I have every right when you treat my mother like a piece of dirt.'

'Oh aren't we fiesty!' He chortled. 'I thought you were in the kitchen.'

'I was in the kitchen but I got distracted from your yelling!'

'You obnoxious, insignificant brat!'

'I know you are but what am I?'

'Now listen hear-'

'I would listen if you were actually saying something worth listening TO!'

'You're hanging on a shaky nail girl. Any more snide remarks from you-'

'Oh look!' Priscilla pointed towards the sky out of the window. 'There goes all of the cares I don't give.'

'You'd better care because you're heading towards a serious punishment!'

"Oh, I'm so scared!' Priscilla mocked sarcastically, falling to her knees with her hands clasped. 'Please Lord, save me from the terrifying ogre with a brain the size of a green bean.'

'Get up! Or I'll make you-'

'Blah blah blah blah blah BLAH!'

'If I tell you to do something, I mean it. I don't want you to be listening in on your mother and I, that's our business. Did I tell you that you could leave your chores for any reason other than a quick bathroom break? No I think not. So I suggest you-'

'Please, keep nagging, I yawn when I'm interested, I swear.' To accompany this, Priscilla felt it was necessary to add in a long winded, exaggerated yawn - simply to peeve him off. It was rather entertaining. Seeing his eyes grow larger with every passing moment, his white face getting evermore crimson and listening to his rapid breathing. Hilarious.

He let go of her mother's wrist, letting her flop on to the floor, and marched with his big feet over to Priscilla. Grabbing her by the ears, he rose her from the ground so she was eye-level.

'Let go you oaf! That hurts!'

Tightening his grip, and looking into her eyes, he lowered his voice to a short, sharp drone. Priscilla began to feel afraid. This time she had genuinely made him really mad. What was he gonna do? The look in his eyes was deadly. Was he really contemplating murder?

'Know your place.'

With that, he threw her onto the floor beside her mother, and left. But not before declaring:

'No dinner tonight for either of you. In fact, no scraps at all until I think you've earned it. I'll send a guard up in 5 minutes to take you to your cell. By then, I EXPECT this room to be back to the way it was.'

Priscilla went to shout a retort back as he escaped through the heavy door until she was stopped by a hand grasping her arm. She looked to her mother, who shook her head as if to say 'you've done enough damage, don't make it worse'. Nudging herself free, Priscilla retrieved a dustpan and brush from a hook behind the door and began to sweep. Quietly, without a word, her mother fetched a mop from the cupboard and began to clean the spillage.

The cell was damp and dark. The floorboards and bed bunks were probably below -30 degrees and an icy draft was constantly blown through the small open, barred over window. It was actually through this window that crows would perch and squawk, waking them up in the mornings at goodness knows what hour. 'Who needs cockerels when you have crows, eh?' Priscilla often thought. Since coming to the cell, her mother hadn't uttered a single word. The silence was becoming irritatingly quiet.

'What were you thinking?' She finally piped up, with a slight hint of anger in her voice.

'What?'

'What on earth were you thinking, Priscilla?'

'What was I thinking!? I was thinking that he was going to kill you mother! And I was trying to stick up for you! Thanks for your appreciation by the way.'

'Don't be sarky with me young lady! I was trying to keep the peace! I was trying to keep myself out of trouble!'

'That's what you always do! Why can't you just stick up for yourself!?'

'Sticking up for yourself only leads to this! No food for another couple of days, even weeks! We will die of starvation at this rate! Never mind the hypothermia!'

'And you're insinuating that that's MY FAULT!?' Echoes of the argument bounced off of the walls.

'Why can't you just stop being so obnoxious?'

'I'll stop being obnoxious when he stops being such a big JERK! I stick up for myself and defend you because I care about how we are treated! Unlike you! You wouldn't care if he walked on top of you in those big stupid boots of his.'

'I have no choice! Can't you see that!? I'm terrified, Priscilla! You were there. You saw what he did 7 years ago. You know what he's capable of. Yet you still act so rashly! Can't you just leave things be!'

'NO! This is our home!'

'It's not anymore!'

'If only father could hear you now what would he say mother?'

'Don't bring your father into this. That's not fair.'

'He would be so disappointed in you! You were supposed to fight for his kingdom and all you did was cower in fear! At least I'm trying to reclaim back what's rightfully ours!'

'...stop it...' Her mother, with her back to Priscilla, began to tremble. Sniffling, she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around herself. Priscilla could then hear sobs.

'...I'm sorry...I went too far.'

'Your father was a wonderful man. Strong and brave. I'm not like him. As much as I would like to be. I'm not strong enough to defend this kingdom anymore. Not with 'him' on the warpath.'

'That's why I'm here. I can be strong enough. I can challenge him-'

'NO! You will do no such thing!' Her mother stood and turned to face her. Tears still flowed from her bloodshot eyes to her chin.

'But mum-' She then placed her hands on Priscilla's shoulders and held them tightly.

'No...I've already lost your father and your siblings. I'm NOT losing you as well.'

Priscilla lowered her head. She hadn't cried since her father died and she wasn't going to start now. She had to be strong for her mother. Her mother was so fragile and weak that she could probably be carried away by a gust of wind.

'They'll come back mother.'

'I don't think they will dear.'

'What makes you say that? How do you know?'

'I sent them away as children. Small, innocent, frightened children. There is no way they could have survived out there. On their own. In the dark and the cold. Without food or water.' More tears began to run down her mother's cheek. A tear also fell from her own eyes as she remembered how small her siblings were when they had left, clutching at life as they knew it.

'You honestly think...they're dead?' This took Priscilla by shock. Her mother had never said out loud that she thought this. Of course, the whole time, Priscilla knew deep down her mother believed this in her own silent way, but never had she voiced her opinion on her siblings.

'It's just you and me now...' Her mother concluded, breaking down into sobs once again. Priscilla brought her mother close and hugged her tightly as she silently sobbed.

'They will come back! I believe that they did survive! I believe they carry the strength of father and they WILL make it back and fulfil the prophecy!'

'You can believe that if it helps you to cope. I won't challenge your beliefs as long as they give you comfort. Now c'mon it's time for bed.'

Priscilla watched her grieving, sobbing mother crawl onto the stone bench and curl up into the foetal position. She climbed up the stone steps to the top stone bunk and did the same. She turned to face the window and look out to the moon. Apart from the crows and the small whispers of the wind, there was no sound. Everything went silent 7 years ago. The children stopped laughing and playing. Hide and seek was one of their favourite games. The musicians stopped playing their beautiful music. Violins, guitars and flutes now lay in their homes merely gathering dust. It was so quiet.

Until she heard a small, sniffled voice from below her. Broken up by gasps for air throughout her sobs, her mother quietly sang. As she listened to her mother, she slowly fell into a deep sleep with a single tear left tracing it's way to her chin.

'

'

'

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'Sleep, sleep gentle child,
Though you are so small and mild.
Now you shall rest 'til morning breaks, Dream until your weary eyes wake.
There I will be, to hold you dear,
My tender grasp shall draw you near.
I will love you near or far,
You are my brightest shining star.'