She could smell the earth draw near as her eyes searched for the light at the end of the dark, damp tunnel. She felt the sides of the jagged rock wall with her right hand.
She felt different textures like cold moss and liquid mixed in with the stone tracing her fingertips as she moved forward, using the wall as her support. Short of breath, she struggled to get out. Slight stings coursed over her body, a reminder of the pain and exhaustion she endured. She felt the blood and sweat drip down her limbs, knowing it was a mixture of hers and the memory of everything she had to do.
Images of a scared little boy clutching onto her pants as ten opponents surrounded both of them in an arena of sand flashed in her vision. She felt the ghostly feeling of a dagger's handle in her calloused palm. All she could remember feeling emotionally during that moment was the intense need to protect the child that held onto her. She didn't let herself register the pain at the time as one of the men swiped a blade towards the child and she blocked that blade with her body and dug her dagger into the man's neck.
She paused her steps momentarily and winced because now after the battle she definitely felt the pain shooting into her side. She took her left hand and placed it on the wounded area to inspect it in the darkness. She could feel that there was a tear in her tunic, dampened and sticky. The smell of copper infiltrated her nostrils. She had a large gash that was bleeding out slowly still. She struggled to remember exactly how she received the wound as she was coming down from her adrenaline trance.
Was it from the first striker? Or maybe it was the fifth man? she thought.
The woman grit her teeth and took in a deep breath. Her body felt heavy against the wall, it ached deep within her muscles and bones. But she knew she had to continue to move, she couldn't let her exhaustion win. She moved one foot in front of the other as she continued to brace the wall for support. A slight limp became evident in her steps, she hated that she had to rely on the cover of darkness to show what's truly going on with her. She wasn't allowed to let him see her falter in her steps. Not if she wanted to tend to her wounds properly.
Muffled sounds filled the tunnel and her ears as she continued on.
What is this noise? she thought as she got closer to the light of the surface. Her eyes stung when the rays of light got closer the more she walked.
The sounds that echoed through the stone walls started to ring louder through her ears like a stampede of cattle as she limped on towards her way out. She stopped again as she took in the entrance of the tunnel, her eyes needed to adjust to the blinding light.
Another memory planted itself in her head as she recognized the noise.
The sound of cheers and screams from a distant crowd that watched her as she jumped on the back of one of the few remaining men in the arena. She remembered feeling blood drench her hands as she slid her blade across the man's neck. The blood sprayed out as the opponent's artery was slashed. She remembered feeling the opponent's body shudder and struggle as the sounds of gurgling attempts at intaking air were in vain.
Was it the bald one with a tattoo of a woman? Or was it the younger man with short auburn hair, blackened teeth that smelled of vomit? She shook the thoughts from her mind. She had to stay present for her next steps into another battle. A battle much more frightening to her.
She forced herself to straighten her posture and grit her teeth harder in order to walk as if she felt no pain. Her heartbeat quickened as she felt more adrenaline coursing through her muscles. Finally, with one last deep breath, she moved forward again and did her best to stone her facial features. The tunnel entrance moved past her body and her eyes continued to sting from the sun's rays that finally graced her fair colored skin. The warmth that spread through her body at the touch of light was like a feeling of walking next to a raging fire on a cold night. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment to take it in. She wondered to herself if this was what it was like to feel a gentle touch by another person.
Her long golden curls and braids nearly glowed in the light despite blood that dampened tips of her hair. After her moment of solace, she opened her eyes and saw that she was surrounded by flesh and mixed shouts of at least a hundred people. A vibration of the noise hit her chest and made her stand even straighter. She almost let herself slip away in front of them and berated herself in her mind. She couldn't let that happen. Not here.
A familiar face walked closer to her from the center of the crowd. It was a tall man with an imposing figure. He held a rugged and weathered appearance that spoke of a life filled with battles and conquests. His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold a darkness within them, a cruel glint that belies his outwardly regal and authoritative demeanor. He had dark hair that was streaked with silver at the temples, a sign of his advancing age. His medium length beard was a mix of the same silver and dark colors. His very aura exuded power and dominance. He moved with a predatory grace, his every step calculated and purposeful. There was a sense of danger that surrounded him, a palpable threat that hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
"Emma," he called to her from a few feet away. His voice was deep and commanding, with a cold edge that sent shivers down the spines of all that surrounded him. He gave the blonde a sinister smile. "You did well. Not as well as you could have if you were quicker on your feet, however, I'm sure you'll learn that lesson very soon."
His voice sent chills down Emma's spine as it had for the past twenty years of her life. She felt her blood run cold within her chest. She couldn't dare meet his gaze and looked down to her hands. There she saw the depths of how stained with blood, sweat and dirt they were. She felt truly disgusting. Her clothes were nothing but dirty rags, covered in slices, blood and grime that were obviously caused by a blade and her body falling into the sand.
She bowed her head down to appear respectful of her grandfather, King Leopold. She saw his feet carry him in closer proximity to her and then the blonde felt a sharp pain as he took a tight hold of her arm and lifted it into the air. A radiating burning sensation ran down her arm so she chanced a quick glance to it and saw another long cut ran down its length.
That's right. That's what it feels like to be touched by another person. Only pain. She thought.
"Princess Emma White, our champion!" the king yelled to his people.
Their stench filled the air from the sudden roar of cheers. The mix of the smell and the pain she felt caused Emma's stomach to turn with nausea. She looked around the crowd, so many people held fear in their eyes as they looked at her. As she continued to scan the people with her eyes, she caught sight of the boy that clutched onto her for protection in the arena. He was covered in dirt and blood, luckily none of the blood appeared to be his own. An intense amount of guilt filled her chest and struck into her soul.
She saw an arm that was wrapped around the shoulder of the child and looked to make eye contact with a woman, she assumed it was the boy's mother. She was obviously crying and mouthed some words to her that the blonde couldn't understand. Emma didn't react to the woman, she couldn't even if she wanted to. Her expression had to stay impassive, so she just continued to stand there as the king held her arm in the air.
Leopold squeezed her arm impossibly tighter and the pressure on the wound shot an even deeper sting throughout. But she couldn't give any type of reaction then either or else she'd end up being put through even more pain and suffering.
Over the years she was taught first hand that the king would put her through hell either by himself whipping her or by making her train harder in the barracks despite her injuries if she didn't appear perfect, stoic, an indestructible statue. What's worse was that Leopold knew what he was doing the moment he held that tighter grip on her arm because he wanted her to be weak.
Emma just continued to look straight ahead to her people. She could see in the corner of her eye that he was smirking but she refused to fall for it. A moment later he threw her arm down and pursed his lips showing a slight disgust with his expression and pulled a cloth out of the pocket of his regal coat. He wiped his hands to try and get rid of the blood he got on himself from the blonde's body.
"Get cleaned up, you smell of filth." He spoke softly yet authoritatively so no one in the crowd could hear him.
Emma did not look at him, she just nodded her head. The king turned his back on her and took his leave. As he walked away, the blonde finally turned her head to watch him. He walked with an air of superiority through the crowd as they opened a path for him, all of the crowd kneeled to him as he walked past.
Two servants she recognized as being named Elizabeth and Kaitlin walked up to her, both of the women were brunettes. They were both slender built, Elizabeth had doe-like brown eyes that showed warmth and kindness. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face that framed delicate features. She was slightly taller than Kaitlin, yet carried herself with a quiet grace.
Kaitlin on the other hand, had sharp, intelligent hazel eyes that missed nothing and conveyed a sense of quiet determination. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun that accentuated her sharp cheekbones and graceful neck. Her posture was straight and poised, a testament to her disciplined nature and unwavering dedication to her duties as a servant. Despite her reserved demeanor, there was also a warmth in Kaitlin's eyes that hinted at a caring soul beneath the stoic facade. However, on this day the princess noticed that both ladies were struck with fear as they got a closer look of the blonde. They exchanged worried glances as they approached her.
Was it a concern? It couldn't be for me. Emma thought.
No, it must have been fear of the sight of the blonde that stood before them. As the princess always believed it was fear of her. Emma knew the servants were there to escort her to the castle as they always did after her fights in the arena. So with great determination she mustered all the strength she could and moved in the direction Leopold took to head towards the castle.
The ladies bowed their heads respectfully before they trailed behind her. They kept their distance as they continued moving in pace with the blonde and watched her every move. Both fixed with conflicting emotions as they walked. Out of the sight of the royal in front of them, you could see they were filled with a profound sadness and helplessness. Emma's pace was slow and deliberate not to cause her body any more harm, though those with the trained eye could see the exhaustion in her features and the stiffness in each step.
As the three walked past the crowd, the blonde looked at all of the subjects she passed, and all of them appeared to bow even deeper to her. All their heads went lower, almost as low as someone praying to their deity. To Emma, she felt as if it was because they thought any slight movement from them and they would be killed a most horrible death by her hands. Not that she would dare wish to hurt the very people she wants to protect. She held back as best she could the overwhelming sensation of wanting to shed tears.
It took the three of them an hour to reach the top of the castle steps from the pit. The large structure was at the edge of the village just outside of the village walls. As the blonde walked through the halls of the castle, her prison, the coldness from within seeped into her skin. One could say that it stemmed from the atmosphere of the stone corridors, a familiar atmosphere of what the princess believed her life would forever be; cold, dark and contained. Much like a caged animal that was only allowed to leave when they had permission to, she felt as if she were in a never-ending abyss of hatred and savagery. Her life was a constant fight for survival and testing of human limits. A tool for the King to command at a moment's notice. Too many men and women died at her hands ever since her first kill in the throne room when she was only seven years old.
She still held onto the memory of the man's body falling to his knees as a dagger was plunged into his stomach by her hands, her being a child that once held innocence, being darkened with that kill.
Kaitlin and Elizabeth guided her to a large wooden door; heat radiated from it and it sent a slight shiver of pleasure down Emma's spine. The feeling of the heat that waited for her pulled her out of her thoughts. The doors to the washroom opened and the smell of roses filled her nostrils instead of the smell of copper. The aroma instantly sent calm waves into her senses and her muscles relaxed in the atmosphere.
It was a rather large room; there was a fireplace to the far left and the air felt damp from the steam that rose from the hot water in the large bathtub located in the middle of the room. There were flower petals of different types floating delicately in the water and foliage everywhere about the room. Lit candles were spread throughout giving it a warm glow. The candles were strategically placed so that the flames appeared to float in the air, allowing a sense of wonder if they were fairies or flames.
To the right of the room was a table and the princess saw a fresh set of clothing folded on it. Next to the clothing were cloth strips meant to assist with tending to her wounds she assumed. The room would have almost seemed magical to the blonde, if only she didn't remember she was in the White Castle.
Both servants bowed to Emma as she finally stepped into the room. They did not attempt to make eye contact with her as she passed the threshold. They avoided her gaze as much as they could because to Emma, she believed that the women thought she would bring them harm, even after all of these years of the two spending time in her presence, an ever watchful pair. That she would take their life away just because they had the strength to look into her deep green eyes. Or possibly they couldn't allow themselves to look into the tortured woman's soul. The blonde didn't blame them, really. For whom would ever want to experience her pain. To lose their life by a person capable of great violence.
Both women moved towards the blonde to assist her with removing her clothing for her bath yet the princess shook her head slightly and stopped both women in their tracks. She didn't want them to see the extent of her wounds because she felt an overwhelming sense to protect them from the horrors of her body's current state. She didn't want them to bear witness to her scars or the trails of blood that no doubt hid underneath.
"Leave me," she spoke coldly yet gently. It felt foreign for her to speak, her voice vibrated in her throat and struggled. It held clear exhaustion.
Both women jumped at the unexpected voice coming from the blonde. Instead of continuing to stay in the room they bowed in respect once more and took their leave. The door closed gently behind them.
When the room was clear of anyone other than the blonde, she finally let her guard down. Her body slightly crumpled lower as she felt all of the pain of the day course through her. Her body hurt everywhere. The bloody rags that covered her body stuck to her skin and it became even more apparent to the blonde how unclean she really was. She lifted her hands to the hem of her tunic and lifted it above her head. She winced and hissed as the cuts were strained and moved as the tunic was lifted. The forming scabs ripped because the blood was stuck to the fabric and caused her to let out a strangled gasp as she had to force the cloth off of her.
The deep cut on her left side was still wet because the wound hadn't fully closed yet to stop the bleeding, the movement allowed another trail of deep crimson to run down her skin. She threw the garment to the side then worked her pants off of her and the rest of her clothes until she stood bare.
She took a moment to really assess the damage on her skin. The assortment of various sized cuts covered parts of her torso. There was a long deep cut that ran down her left side at the ribs down to her hip. It appeared that the cut was more shallow from her hip down to her knee, which is lucky considering any deeper she may not have been able to walk.
Weak, I am weak, she thought to herself over and over again.
The new marks and old scars on her body proved as such. The scars that littered her fair skin and chiseled muscles like a ripped painting were held as a reminder of her failed attempts at protecting herself. She allowed the pain to take over her features once more as the sadness in her eyes became all the more visible because no one could see it. She never wanted the people she spent her whole life protecting in the arena to see how much pain she was in because she will always protect them. She knew deep down, she would protect them all till the very day she no longer drew breath.
She limped forward past her discarded clothing towards the tub. She felt a large need to get rid of the blood and grime off of her body because of the shame she felt. The blonde stepped into the tub and was instantly relieved as the intense heat covered the skin of her feet and legs. The stinging sensation of her wounds did not compare to the wonderful heat of the water. She sat down into the tub and felt the rose petals floating in the water when they brushed gently over her body. With that submergence and a deep breath out, she finally let her tears fall.
For over an hour she scrubbed her skin red to wash away the memories of the deaths she caused that day. The deaths of the ten men that had to try to kill the child that clutched onto her clothing as she fought to protect him. After all, it was her fault the child was sentenced to death to begin with. She shouldn't have helped the boy to his feet when he fell down in the village market in front of the king. She should have remembered the king's lessons, that anything she touched was going to die. That she was not allowed to engage contact with another person, that the only feelings she was allowed to feel was hollowness or pain.
A life for a life.
Were the terms, as they always were. Instead of the ten men gaining freedom of their own misdeeds by killing the child, they all fell into the sand, lifeless by Emma's hands, by her selfishness.
She had flashes of their pained expressions appear before her eyes and she tried to shake it away and gasped out another silent cry. The blonde maneuvered her body lower so that she became fully submerged into the water that surrounded her. She wanted to have all sound removed from her senses, she wanted it all gone.
As she was submerged, her ears filled with muffled sounds of her movements, but she imagined she was somewhere else. Dense trees appeared in her vision as she tried to think of the feel of grass and the smell of forest. She imagined a clearing with a small stream that ran through the area and a large majestic weeping willow tree near it. Emma imagined walking to the trunk and sliding her body down to sit beneath the green tendrils of the tree and looking beyond to the stream. A flash of golden brown eyes appeared before her, they were the most beautiful eyes she ever got to see. Even though the site of them were only from her dreams as far back as she could remember.
The figure backed away from her and revealed a breathtaking woman. Her long dark hair flowed below the woman's shoulders, her lips were shaded a deep red. The brunette's upper lip had a small scar that complemented her, it didn't take away from the warmth in her smile that the princess imagined being flashed towards woman's skin, kissed by the subtle warmth of twilight, carried a golden undertone that seemed to capture the essence of dusk itself. A luminous hue, akin to the last rays of the setting sun, bathed her complexion in a mystical glow. Her skin, a canvas brushed with the hues of an otherworldly palette, evoked a sense of timeless allure, a testament to both her regality and the enchantments she clearly harbord within.
Emma, a sultry voice called out in her mind. Her voice, a melodic symphony, echoes with a power that resonates with both authority and vulnerability. The feeling of warmth and safety vibrated deep within the blonde.
The blonde knew she was running out of oxygen and had to escape from her make believe safe haven. She lifted herself out of the water and opened her eyes. She was back in the washroom, forest and golden irises gone. She looked down into the water and was only greeted with her reflection and saw that she was obviously tired and beaten. There was a long cut that ran down from the top of the right side of her forehead to the top of her nose. There was also a scar from a fight in the arena a few months ago that ran from her left ear down her jaw line and to the front of her chin. No longer being able to stand the sight before her, she slowly got out of the water. She was able to feel more clean than when she arrived in the room at least, but her muscles strained as she moved.
As the blonde struggled to get out of the tub, she had to hold onto the sides until she was able to get out and walked over to the table where her clothes and bandages were. Emma had to be mindful of which cuts needed to be covered first because she wasn't given very many cloth strips to cover the damage to her body. She will probably bleed into her clean clothes overnight. She decided that she had to take care of the long gash on her side, wishing she held access to a fire so she could cauterize the wound instead of relying on rough material. The blonde hissed in pain as she wrapped her torso up as much as she could. The cloth was not the best material, it felt like it was made out of a scratchy cloth that would hold various vegetables in the kitchens. Burlap if she could remember the name correctly.
She hoped that the bleeding would fully stop at the applied pressure at least, even though the material felt uncomfortable. After she was done applying the cloth to her body she only had one long strand left and decided that the cut on her arm needed better pressure as well.
When she was fully bandaged and dressed in a fresh tunic and leather pants, Emma steeled her features as she walked to the doors, took a deep breath and opened the doors to the washroom to take her leave to her chambers. However, she was stopped by four guards that were waiting just outside in the corridor. All of them had a look of sadness in their eyes as they fully took in the sight of the princess before them. Emma knew what that look meant. The guards were ordered to take her to the dungeons for the evening. No words had to be exchanged between herself and the men that stood before her. It wasn't a rare occurrence that she was sent to sleep in her cell after one of her fights in the pit.
Emma nodded her head and walked forward past the men without showing the condition her body was feeling. They all trekked in the familiar route as they took corridor after corridor, stair after stair, step after step. Their path was only lit by torches down the winding staircases. When they reached the deepest part of the castle where the dungeons were, the smell of moisture and rusting iron filled their nostrils. Down the hall of multiple cells, the men reached an open door; Emma's personal cell. The small windowless room was lit by two torches. Chains were hung against the wall, long enough for the person chained to them to be able to walk around. There was no comfort of a bed available, only the stone floor. Ever fitting for the animal she believed she was.
The blonde walked into the prison cell and turned around towards the door like a well practiced set of motions, she remained stoic while within her mind she believed she was getting what she deserved. The four guards entered the chamber with her, two guards walked behind her to gather the chains while the other two stood to either side of her. The sound of the metal rattling echoed against the walls.
"We have to lift your arms, Your Grace," one of the guards whispered gently, his voice wavering.
Emma looked over to the guard that spoke and made eye contact with him. If the princess didn't know any better she could have swore there were tears in the man's eyes that wouldn't drop.
He must be afraid, she thought.
The blonde nodded her head and the guards grabbed her arms to lift them up, revealing the scars on her wrists from the years of captivity chained to the walls of her cell. Pain radiated through her arms from the still fresh cuts. The guards that had the chains, cuffed a pair to her ankles and then her wrists. Once the task was done, the guards bowed deeply to the princess before three out of the four exited the room, yet one stayed behind. Curiosity shone bright in the blonde's eyes as she looked at the man. The guard that stayed behind was the one that spoke to her before lifting her arms. For a moment both of them stared at each other in silence. Emma provided the man with whatever time he needed to speak, if that's what he wanted.
"T-the boy. H-He's my son." The guard finally let out in a strained voice. Allowing the tears to fall from his eyes.
It took just a moment for it to dawn on the princess that he was referring to the boy that was with her in the pit. The child that was sentenced to death because of her. Guilt filled her chest as she truly looked at the man. She could see the features both him and his son shared, the shape of his nose and eyes matched his child's perfectly.
"I'm sorry..." Emma whispered.
The guard shook his head, not willing to hear her apologies. Instead he pulled a small bag the size of a fist out of his armor and walked closer to Emma. He bent down to the ground and placed the bag in front of her within reach before he turned and walked out of the chamber. Before he closed the chamber door behind him and bolted it from the outside, he let out a whisper of his own.
"Your Grace, out of anyone, you should not apologize." The sound of the scraping metal was all that was left of the man.
When the princess came to her senses she bent over and picked up the bag. Then she opened it. There was a poultice inside of it from what she could smell. The scent of calendula flowers, typically used in healing poultices, was strong in the paste. She couldn't help feeling the guilt that continued to grow inside of her chest.
I am weak, they saw my pain, she kept telling herself over and over in her head.
The blonde dropped to the floor and her chains scraped harshly against her skin as she fell. Her exhaustion took over her features once again since she was alone. She didn't have anything else in the room to distract her as her mind wandered to all of the faces of the people she killed. As soon as the torches burnt out, being encased in darkness she was surrounded by the screams of the dead. Her guilt ripped through her completely. Being unable to hold it back anymore, she finally let out her own screams she held inside. She was left alone in the room of black surroundings. She was unable to run from her past nor could she see the bars of her cage. So her mind made sure she remembered every last detail of every person slain by her hands. A darkness stirred within her as a reflection of her surroundings. Her body trembled as she wiped her tears and gasped for air.
As the hours passed, and night lived on, she tried to find a comfortable position on the cold stone floor, difficult with the chains that dug into her skin. Each horrible memory she tried to replace with golden brown eyes that crinkled when the woman from her dreams smiled. She laid flat on her back with her arms at her sides. Each spill of blood that hit her skin within her memories, she tried to replace with warm gentle rain that spilled in the forest as the brunette held her hand. The only peace Emma could find in her life were the dreams she had of a woman she didn't know but wished with all of her heart was real.
Finally, as slumber took hold of her, she felt a warm embrace surrounding her body and the gentle whispers of a forest calling her name.
She had been raised with one purpose in this life; to kill. She never knew the love of a father, or the love of a mother. Both of them were lost to her the day she was born. She never knew the love of a friend or a partner; because in the end, who could ever love such a beast.