Glory swept listlessly in the long hallway that led to nowhere, the other tower and much of the castle had crumbled at a time lost to lost in memory, but every bit still standing must be kept spotless. Her mistress demanded it and Glory dared not cross her. At this thought the broom paused and Glory raised her head to look at the watery light coming through the vines and cobwebs that draped the broken stones. She had never considered disobeying her mistress before... dis-obeying? She struggled with the word, gripping the broom tight enough to feel the splinters sliding into her skin.
She didn't know this word but yet there it was inside her mind and the concept that came with it was growing. She had the desire to throw the broom down and watch the spiders spinning their shining new webs over the old torn ones.
Glory was about to do it when she heard steps behind her on the stairs and she felt fear smother that spark of disobedience. She lowered her head and swept until the dust obscured everything.
She knew by the sound of the steps that her mistress was going down to the Necromancer's Laboratory. As she did everyday.
Glory didn't know what happened down there, only that she had been made there as a pretty gift for her mistress and that Mistress Vixonia hated her.
Mistress' hated everything of course- but she seemed to reserve a special hatred for Glory.
She swept automatically now her mind racing in ever smaller circles.
She hates me. But I don't know why.. but she hates everything. Yes she hates everything. Even herself... especially herself? But why me? Why especially hate me? Why me? Why hate me? Why hate something that seems so like her?
The same stitches, the same Necromancer made us. Only only, white skin over gray flesh. My flesh is hidden… is that why?
Glorybelle teetered on the edge of the crumbled passage and felt the stones shifting under her feet. She watched curiously as one tumbled off into the rubble below, and then another, an avalanche of small stones. Her bare toes curled over the edge of the chasm and she swayed, looking at the garden from above. Dust from the fallen stones rose towards her.
Then a door slammed below her and she jumped back clutching the broom. She swept with a will again, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs trembling. Her mind was a roiling blank.
She lifted her head for a moment and through the curtain of ivy and cobwebs saw a flash of different green, of the summer treetops and forest shadows. Then a cruel hand caught in her hair and pulled her back into the shadows of the keep.
Vixiona screeched as she pulled Glory along by her hair.
"Useless lump of rot! Can't you even clean properly!? You're supposed to be washing my gowns, you stupid thing." She flung Glory bodily into a heap of fine fabrics all stinking of decay. The door to what had once been the scullery slammed behind her.
As the light of the day warmed and faded Glory scrubbed gown after gown, setting aside those too worn or too stained to please her mistress. The tears and holes she stitched shut in the dim light of the moon. She hung them up to dry near the large broken out window and even opened the door to the night. Once all her Mistress' dresses were hanging up she slipped out of her own dress to wash it
With a stifled cry of dismay Glory lifted the tattered rags of her brocade dress from the wash basin. She tried to pin it up to dry but half of it splattered wetly on the ground again. Instead she draped the ragged pieces over the line and pinned them in place.
Glorybelle picked up a final brocaded rag floating in the washbasin and smoothed it over her skin. The loose threads of gold caught on her scarred skin and pulled out to gleam in the gray water like docile little fish. She ran the rag over her shoulders and back. Her stomach tightened as she washed the two long pucked scars that ran from the top of her back to nearly her waist. It was such an odd feeling, this slow twisting of her stomach that turned to a pricking in her eyes. Glory let the rag fall back into the basin.
She stood naked in the darkened underground room. The mildew smell of it being locked up for weeks at a time still lingered even with the breeze from outside running over bare skin. And the music of the fairies thrummed through her veins. At first she thought the music was only inside her mind. But then the tune changed to a mournful plea, tugging at her heart strings and calling her to dance.
Looking down the line of clean gowns she saw the bright violet dress with a tear in it from the edge of the skirt to the top of the hip. There was no fixing that. Glory could see her Mistress white lipped expression if she dared to try to repair the dress and brought it back in a less than pristine condition. Mistress Vixiona would never be willing to wear the gown again. Instead she slipped it on and tightened the stays so it fit her lanky frame better.
She ran for the door. Glory burst out of the ruin and into the night, her chest heaving in time to the music that made her heart stir and yearn.
She paused at the edge of the flagstones, stretching her body up like a hare taking in its surroundings. Her feet flexed. The music was closer than before, she could see the fairylights in the trees just a hillock or two away. She bounded away towards the lights, the full silk skirt of the gown flying behind her.
She burst into the circle of dancers once more and this time there was no breathless shock, just long fingered hands pulled her into the circle. Beak-nosed and buck toothed, weathered and wiry, lovely and lithesome. She spun with partner after partner until she was caught again by their white maned lord.
Glorybelle stood still this time on shaking legs as the dance continued around them. She felt it on the edges of her awareness, a storm. He was the eye, quiet and dangerous.
He set her away from him gently, looking her over with wide eyes. Glorybelle dug her bare, dirty feet into the loam, very aware of the warmth of his hands resting lightly on her arms.
"Never," he said, softly, his voice low and gravelly. "Never have I seen such a thing as you before."
"There is only one of me in all the world." She replied, hanging her head. "And I would not wish for more. I should not wish anyone to be like me… for I am a monster."
Suddenly the music stopped. Its absence was pain and she cried out as she looked for the smiles and the lights. But there was only he of the white mane, a tangle of antlers tied with little silver bells rising above his brow.
He cupped her cheek gently and her heart jumped in her chest, needing no music now to thump out a faster rhythm. The bells rang high and sweet in the wind and his dark liquid eyes were full of some emotion she did not know. His hands clenched against her skin then he deliberately stepped back from her.
"Go, go back from whence you came, little monster." Something wet fell down her cheek and she reached up to trace it's path to just below her eye. Glory blinked and she was alone in the clearing.
The silence of the castle seemed to ring like screams in her ears when she stood in the ruined hall. Cold dawn light filled it enough to chase away all but the deepest shadows. It reminded her of something.
A clear pure brightness. And the voice of the antlered man, sure and strong. His warm hands in hers.
Distant pieces of memory, or faded dreams. She didn't know. So Glorybelle stood silently, still feeling the remembered warmth of his hands holding hers.
As the light brightened her trembling hands curled in on themselves trying to hold that warmth there, keep it from fading away. To keep those faded and distant fragments of memory or dream close. But eventually the silence overwhelmed the memory of the music and the cold stole between her fingers. Head hanging low she shuffled to the tower and her nest of sumptuous rags.