Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Life has been a little crazy for me and I am still in desperate need of a beta for this story, but I am soldiering on because (wonderful, wonderful) people still want to keep reading. I am having awful writers block and need someone to talk to about up coming chapters.
Chapter 3
Corpse's Bride
The bath house is a hot, steaming room teaming with at least ten servant girls. I pay no attention to them though. Instead I am captivated by the huge tub of water in the center of the room. When I lay eyes on it I run from Stefan and plunge my face into it. I am nearly dying of thirst and do not know what else they expect of me.
The water feels like it is nearly boiling, but that does not stop me from taking one long draft after another. I am beginning to feel human again when I feel a hand slap the skin between my neck and shoulders.
"Up! Up! You little savage!" A woman's voice screams.
As I pull my face up from the water I can feel her turn to her friend. She then says, "Honestly, she has no manners. Why is she even here?"
I feel like letting out a hiss like a snake. These people already think I am some kind of wild creature. Why not put on a show? They may even back off from me and leave me in peace if I terrify them enough.
"Come, come, stand up." The woman says as she gestures an up motion as if I am too stupid to walk upright.
As I rise all my hunting instincts tell me to run. They are circling towards me.
"Alright strip down." The woman says.
I want to rip out handfuls off her ever bouncing blonde curls, but instead stand still as a statue.
"Strip down." The woman repeats, this time the fake smile she has been giving me has left her lips. She turns to her friend, "Honestly, we don't have time for this. Octavia strip her down."
An enormously fat woman approaches me and her plump hands grab the edge of my tunic. I could try and fight them, but I don't. There are six of them and one of me there is no point in refusing.
The many hands make short work of my clothes and soon I am standing bare in front of them with one arm covering my chest and my hand covering down below.
"Alright into the tub." The woman says again. I believe her friends call her Effie.
I scurry to edge of the tub like a wild thing. I am anxious to hide my nakedness underneath the water. In a rolling, tumbling motion I climb over the wooden edge and plunge into the water. Immediately I want out. I had not counted on the fact the water would be near boiling. It is too late escape the faceless mob has circled me again and is preparing to start their work.
Octavia scatters pink petals over the water and stirs the water with her hand. The petals wind and curl in the water like a school of fish. She then takes out a small vile and dumps the contents in the water. The oil hits the water and all at once the room smells sweet and heady, like barley brewing for beer. I wonder if it is myrrh.
The soap dish is brought forward and I realize why such care was taken with the water. The dish holds the same gray sludge I make at home. Half animal fat, half ash. At least I will not have to smell the stink this time I remind myself.
A servant lifts my arm from the water and coats my arm with the cold grease. She then takes out a bristle brush and begins to scrub. She does not use soft circle motions. Instead she puts her back into scrubbing one rough line after another. She is going to rub my skin raw and I try to break free of her grasp. At the first signs of my struggle hands descend upon me to keep me still and I give up the fight. They will do what they want with me.
More hot water is added. More flower petals. More precious oils. Every inch of my skin is being scrubbed by one servant or another. My skin is being turned rough and pink and I have resigned myself to waiting for the blood to start prickling through my abused flesh.
"Enough. Enough." Effie calls. "If we keep this up she will be as raw as a steak. There is nothing we can do about her dark complexion. Start with the hair."
Many hands release me at her orders and my tormented skin is given some reprieve. Two hands grab my shoulders and gently push me down in the water. A pitcher is filled and poured over the crown of my head. I let myself relax and settle into the rhythm of things.
This part is not so bad. The light from the hundreds of candles in room cast a soft glow through the milky steam coming of the water. The tub has cooled to a more bearable temperature. The hands that wash my hair are soft.
"Did you check her?" Effie whispers to the maid washing my hair.
"Yes. No sign of lice." The girl answers.
I am practically asleep when they tell me it is time to get from the water. I wish I didn't have to. I feel so safe here now.
I stand from the water and am greeted with towels that wick away all the moister from my skin. Maids come up and rub my skin with oils and creams soothing my tender flesh. I am wrapped in a towel as they begin to comb out my hair. They start with the ends and carefully dry and comb my hair as if it is made of precious gold. "These people may not be so bad." I think to myself. "They are only doing their job."
"Go fetch her bedclothes." Effie tells a blonde girl. In but a moment the servant returns. She is holding a freshly pressed, snow white gown. I can hardly believe these are considered bedclothes. The collar and the sleeves are trimmed with lace and not the thick coarse lace the women weave in my village. This lace is so fine and silky it looks like spiders have made it.
"Alright, here we go." Effie says to me as she gathers up the dress and prepares to pull it over me. I drop my towel and lift my arms as she dresses me like a small child. It feels heavenly. How can any weave be this soft? It is like being swallowed by a cloud.
"Come sit." Effie says as she leads me towards a small bench in the corner of the room. "I'll go get the box." Effie tell the girls behind me. I hear the clip-clap of her shoes against the stone as she leaves the room.
I take a moment to embrace how exquisite I feel. Never in my life have I felt so clean and cared for. My hair is fresh and combed and I am dressed in gentle weaves and lace like a princess. "Perhaps this will not be so bad." I allow myself to think.
"I have it. I have it." Effie says when she enters the room. "I had to get Master Stefan to unlock it from the vault in which it is kept." Effie seems pleased with the gentle murmuring that follows her statement.
She approaches and then I hear one hand strike another.
"No, Octavia." Effie says. "Holding this box is a right that has to be earned."
She sets the box beside me and I look down. It is a dark, small box and I believe the wood is called mahogany.
Effie takes her time undoing the copper latch on the front and when she lifts the lid room is filled with a sweet and tangy smell. Hundreds of dried flowers are inside. The like I have never seen before. Each one is perfectly preserved and the white of the petals has hardly faded.
"What are they?" I ask in wonder.
Effie smiles, "Orange blossoms from the far East. Sent and saved specifically for wedding nights."
Wedding nights? I had almost forgotten about that with all the excitement of the bath. They intend to marry me off tonight.
Octavia gently begins to plait my hair and Effie places one flower into Octavia's hands at a time. With the greatest of care they empty the box and weave my hair full of flowers. Between the oils and the flowers I now smell as sweet as spring and as heady as autumn.
"Fetch the looking glass." Effie says and I can tell she is glowing with pride.
A mirror is placed before me and for the first time in my life I see myself. I have my father's straight nose, and my mother's stubborn chin. Each tiny white blossom is a star in my hair that is black as night. My silver eyes glow like the moon on the dark canvass of my face and my skin is fresh and glowing.
"You will make a beautiful bride." Effie says.
Beautiful. The word is strange to me, but somehow I agree.
"This will not be so bad." I tell myself. I feel so pure and heavenly.
A knock comes from the door.
"Is she ready?" Stefan says.
"Is she ever." Effie says at she looks at me again. No doubt admiring her handiwork. She leads me towards Stefan. This time I am not afraid.
"What new wonders do you have in store for me Stefan?" I think to myself.
He leads me down countless dark halls. I am not afraid. I feel like I am glowing like an angel in all the darkness. On and on we go down countless staircases through innumerable halls.
"I am glad you are here to lead me Stefan." I think to myself. "I would never be able to find the way on my own."
A rat scurries across my path and I let out a small scream. "Silly Katniss," I tell myself, "rats have never frightened you before."
We come to a room at the end of the hall. Stefan opens the door for me then uses a firm hand to push me inside.
I enter and realize that there has been a mistake. A terrible mistake. The room I am now in is not a chapel. The air is stale like it has not been moved in years. The light is dim from the dying fire to say the least. And there is a stink here. One I know well from coming across a rotting carcass in the woods. It is the stink of death. This is not a room it is a tomb.
I make out three figures in the faint light and then a large object. Could it be a bed?
A man approaches me. I know him. His gold chain glows even now in the faint light.
"You are a vision." He tells me as he places a kiss on my cheek, his whiskers burning my freshly cleaned skin. He takes my hand and leads me towards the bed. There is a fourth person in the room tucked beneath the bed. I see his face and want to turn on my heels and run. He is thin, almost skeletal. His skin is gray and pale like milk mixed with water. And when he breathes there is always a rasp followed by a wheeze.
The golden man draws me closer to the bed, then he takes my hand and places it into the hand of the dying boy. His hands feel like ice and I could outline each bone in his palm, for I can feel them so distinctly.
I look to the other two men in the room for support and realize I will find none. One of the men is a stranger to me. He has stringy blonde hair, a long nose, and a pointed chin. He does not even look at me. Instead he stares down at the boy in the bed with a caring gaze, like a shepherd looks at a little lost lamb. I doubt this man even knows I am here.
The last person in the room is Cardinal Snow. He is giving me a diabolical grin and I wonder if my displeasure of this situation is showing on my face.
Snow begins to chant in Latin, but the only thought that can fill my mind is, "What is wrong with this boy?" Over and over the question runs around my mind as I look down at his face. He could be handsome if his cheeks were not so hollow. Or maybe if the only color in his face was not from blackened eyes caused by lack of sleep and poor health.
As I study his eyes he looks up at me. Where his eyes should be white they are bloodshot. His irises are a haunting blue. I look away. I should not have been staring.
Snow continues to chant. His words have no meaning to me. I try to ignore him to let his words turn into nothing more than a soft buzzing in my ears. I tell myself that I am not here. That this marriage is not happening to me.
The buzzing stop and I look to Snow he is no longer speaking. Everyone else's eyes are on the boy, who I think has nodded off.
The man with stringy hair kneels down by the side of the bed and gently strokes the boy's brow until he comes to. The servant's voice is mild when he speaks to him, "Master Peeta, you must say the words, 'I will'."
Peeta looks around the room as if trying to remember where he is. He makes a sound. It only sounds like a dry rasp to me, but everyone else excepts it as his answer.
Cardinal Snow continues speaking in Latin. He is smiling now. A twisted hideous grin. I hate him. I hate the way he is treating the situation like a joke. I do not fully understand what is happening, but I know that it is far from funny. There is nothing I want more than to strike the grin off his face and knock his funny red hat off his head.
Snow pauses again and I wait. Then I realize everyone is looking at me. Those must have been my vows it is my turn to speak.
"I will." I answer as I look down at the poor boy I have agreed to be my husband. I wonder if he wanted this marriage any more than I did.
Snow speaks again it is a short phrase. He looks around the room again his smile is comically large. His eyes are bugging out of his head like an insect. I feel like I will not be able to stop myself from slapping him. The golden man catches on to this game.
"What is the matter Snow?" He asks.
Snow's smile only grows larger. He rocks back on his feet and then practically claps his heels together. "We need the rings." He says as he smiles so wide he is showing his molars. The man's deranged.
"We don't have any rings." The golden man answers with a wave of his hand. "Continue without them."
Snow begins to speak again the words forming quickly in his mouth. Then in that moment I realize I have heard this before. It is the blessing for the Holy Eucharist. He is preparing communion. For the first time in my life I have a religious thought. I wonder if heaven's blessing can even reach this dark pit of suffering.
Snow turns away from us to a side table where the food has been prepared. He lifts the unleavened bread upwards and breaks it. Then he pours the wine into the chalice and lifts it skyward, pausing for a moment so that he can finish his prayer. It is finally ready.
He offers it first to Peeta who is still as a boulder. A person wouldn't even know he was alive with his eyes half-closed except for the steady rattle he makes with every breath.
The servant kneels down beside the bed and wraps one of his sinewy arms behind the boy. Then with the utmost care he lifts Peeta up into a half sitting position. His whispers are as soft as the bubbling of a stream as he coaxes the boy into wakefulness.
When Peeta's eyes are finally open the servant takes the bread from Snow and feeds it to Peeta. He mulls the food over in his mouth as if he lacks the will to chew. His eyelids lull up and down and I wonder why we can't just let him sleep. Snow voluntarily hands over the cup and the servant cradles Peeta's head as he lifts the edge of the glass to his lips. I can tell they have already done this countless times before as the man uses soft words to encourage Peeta to drink more.
They finish and it is my turn. My joints move as if they are on hinges and I feel like I am play acting the motions as I take the bread and then the cup. It is almost as if another Katniss that isn't me is doing it.
Snow speaks again this time his Latin phrase is short and brief. He waits I have no idea what he is expecting. Then he clarifies in English, "You may now kiss the bride."
I freeze. How was I not expecting this? I feel a hand at the small of my back. It is the golden man pushing me towards his son. I don't want this. I don't want to go near him. Then I realize Peeta is alert. His blue eyes pinned upon me. He has seen my panic and I am ashamed.
The hand pushes a little firmer now and for the thousandth time tonight I give up resisting. I lean down and press my lips to his. They are blue and feel like ice. I realize now I am a corpse's bride.
So what did you think? Hopefully no one saw any of this coming ;)