Gilded Cage

[Ashkelon]

It was a majestic chamber, one that preceded the most humbling part of the palace. It was here that any member of her family spent the minutes before facing the public, preparing for the special moment when they would emerge to greet the people. The girl peeked out at that great humbling balcony from behind a curtain, that balcony that faced a familiar southwestern direction, whence it was said that over a thousand years ago, legionaries had come and graced her ancestors with civilisation.

She was taught to be eternally grateful to Tibur, that without them, nothing here would be possible today. Perhaps they might have grown into some other kind of society, but there was no doubt that they would be far from the great empire that stood this day. She did not fully understand this yet, but there was no doubt that that girl believed this with all her heart. This could be seen in the reverential awe with which she treated that balcony, as she stared at it wide-eyed with amazement, despite one assuming that, as a resident of this palace, she should treat it as, more than anything else, a common sight to be taken for granted.

Looking past that balcony now, her eyes took her much further, over the lush gardens of the palace, the metropolis that was Giecz, with over fifteen centuries of history, the sparkling waters of Lake Radtke... and finally, the great Sarmatian Sky. It had always interested her, how in Swieczieman, the words for 'blue' and 'sky' were so alike. Indeed, it was very permissible to substitute the former for the latter, poetically. She reached her hand out in longing, if only she could touch that sky. If only she were given that chance... but she had spent her whole life in this beautiful place. She was never allowed to leave.

And that left a certain emptiness in her heart, a void that she desired, more than anything, to fill, a certain freedom that she could only imagine.

"Moja Dama!"

A voice came from the hallway. The girl immediately scrambled beneath a table. Yes, she was too old for these games. But what other games could she play? There were only so many things one could do when one dwelt in this palace. And while there were many, she had long grown bored of most of them. Now one should make no mistake. She was happy here, with her family, and there was no doubt that she lived a mostly full life as much as her station allowed. But she had to admit that, selfishly, she wanted more. She wanted to see what else was out there. And in that sense, she was "trapped" here.

"Moja Dama!"

The governess' little footsteps pitter pattered past the table, pausing in front of the curtained door to the balcony, before turning around and leaving the room. The door shut with a subtle echo that lasted a few seconds before subsiding. The girl crawled back out from under the covers and looked back out the window.

How much longer would she have to be stuck here?

She wanted so much to leave... to see the outside world... She would wish on a shooting star to be released from this holding.

If only...

If only...

 

[Ashkelon]

The rattling of gunfire and the explosions from the throwing of volatile cocktails were muted in this room. Indeed, these noises had already ceased for what had seemed to be the longest time. The original plan had been for the girl and her family to leave the palace under cover of darkness, but this plan had gone out the window when they surrounded her home. It was terrifying, like watching a movie about an angry horde of monsters, with their torches and pitchforks, a black mass of appendages and protrusions bubbling furiously against the backdrop of the grey blankness of the silver screen used to show moving images. Indeed, having seen the approaching tide under the shadow of a heavily overcast afternoon, they seemed to have crawled out of such a nightmarish feature film.

The first drops had just begun to fall when her father had pulled her out of the carriage and shouted at the governess to take her to "the room". That was when the shooting began. The familiar drab grey forms of her father's men formed a massive wall behind the palace's elegant gates, stemming the tide of the black mob, if only temporarily. Even though the loud hissing of the falling rain grew to prominence, there was the very audible undercurrent of gunfire, pained shouting and groaning, but most importantly, a certain... vocal pattern... a chant that repeated itself in a terrifyingly short but ordered rhythm. The last she saw of her father, indeed of any of her family, was as she was dragged into the palace, while they stood up facing that waning purple wall, backs turned to her. And then, things were a blur as she ran as fast as her feet could carry her.

The room was at the heart of the palace. It had once been some kind of private cellar, built in generations past just behind the throne in order to store the Cezar's most prized collections of wine. It was only in her grandfather's time that it had been changed dramatically, wine-racks pulled out and replaced with articles of furniture and survival, stone walls doubled in thickness in order to sandwich three inches of iron plating originally intended for use in an ironclad in the Imperial Navy. The room had shrunk, but it had become far more secure. Its hidden location only made it even more formidable. But still, one could not help but wonder if it was wise to just sit and hide in this one particular room. They were approaching, and without a doubt. The girl was not naive. The purple wall could only have fallen to that horde. The only guarantee that this place provided now was one of certain death, if one did not think of any other alternatives.

But the gunfire had stopped. That she had heard it all the way in the depths of this room meant that it could only have been close.

Breaking free of the governess' strong hold, the girl rushed to the heavy metal door, undid the bolts, and slowly pushed it open. It didn't even have to be wide... just a hair's breadth, to see why the gunfire had been so close. She saw nothing, for the door had been cleverly hidden behind the standard, behind the throne. That it did not creak in the slightest meant that it was well oiled, and for that, in retrospect, she would no doubt be thankful for. Nevertheless, the girl would regret the call of her curiosity, for what transpired next, which could only be caught by her ears, no girl her age should ever experience.

It was muffled, to be sure, but she knew her own father's voice as he angrily said... something... barely audible... a protest. They would not have this throne.

BANG.

It was nowhere near as muted as before. Her father stopped talking, as something dropped to the floor with a certain... thud.

Two voices screamed, others shouted in anger. But the girl herself remained deathly silent at the realisation of what had just happened. The screaming turned into wailing. Several voices were now going back and forth between each other, as if in an argument. The girl only stared at the cold cellar floor. Her father was gone. Her family - some of the other voices were clearly her family - was in unmistakeable sorrow, as she was, and... they were just outside.

The arguing voices quieted down, but it was quite clear that her mother and sister were still wailing over her father and how he was now gone.

BANG.

Only one voice was wailing, screaming in terror renewed, while the others flew into a violent rage. Obscenities were hurled.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Why wouldn't anyone make it stop? The crying... the wailing... the shooting... It had to stop...

The outside world went quiet, leaving the girl to her own thoughts.

What strength she had felt sapped away like dirty water down the drain, leaving her limp as a rag doll. Why was this happening? Why were they doing this? Why was she the only one, the only one spared from the noise? That horrible, horrible noise! She could have done something... she easily could have done something... but why did she feel so powerless?

She continued to stare at the cellar floor for what felt like the longest time.

Finally, she saw the movement out of the corner of her eye. The governess stood up and approached her. From there, things became very hazy, like the stuff of dreams. Dreams were always hazy. Clearly that made this a dream... a very bad dream that she could only want to wake from.

When she regained her senses, she was in unfamiliar territory. Her dress had become a common set of working clothes, and a dull brown cloak had been draped over her shoulders. In the distance was the palace, and its beautiful grounds, marked by fire. She was surrounded by crates, dirty walls and cobblestone. A lamp post stood unlit downhill at the end of the alley, where it joined into the streets of Giecz. She could still make out that black mass writhing its blasphemous form into the main gate, a horror beyond any nightmare, conceived of only by the darkest corners of the mind: an undulating darkness, a crawling chaos that destroyed the sanity of that which saw just a little bit too much of this unspeakable in corporeality.

The sun had since gone down. It was night now.