Some people might think that I’m unraveling. Personally, I think humor is the duct tape holding together the crumbling pieces of my sanity.
The napkin designer fumbles with his things to reach for the doorknob, and I open the door for him. Lifting my rosehip tea in a kind of awkward salute, I make sure to thank him for his art, even as he hustles to put some space between us.
He must not be good at accepting compliments.
Before turning back to my gilded cage, I give a dazzling smile to the guard stationed in front of the door. His helm is down, masking whoever is underneath. Still, I know there’s no chance this is Damien. Yesterday,Leon confirmed that Need is allowing only the Elite guards into the castle as an extra security measure.
The guard doesn’t acknowledge my existence. They never do, unless I try to leave. That used to be fine; after all, they were just doing their jobs. Until last night, when I saw one shove Nymara.
She didn’t fight back, just stumbled away down another hall. At first, I assumed it was personal, but it was enough to make me start paying closer attention. This morning, I noticed how the servants gave the guards a wide berth, barely masking their fear. Then, I saw another guard terrorizing a serving girl down the hall.
So now, I terrorize them.
Tactically, of course.
“Hey, how’s your day going?” I ask brightly.
The guard grunts but otherwise ignores my existence.
“Oh, yeah, lots of traffic getting in this morning?” I continue, undeterred.
He continues to stare blankly at the wall.
“Do you think metal uniforms are comfortable? I was thinking you’d all have a better time in spandex. There must be a charm to make it as strong as metal, no?”
Still, no answer.
“If I were you, I’d unionize,” I note, sounding serious.
When he remains silent, I lift my crystal teacup so that it’s directly in his line of sight. “Hey, can you hold this for a second?”
He doesn’t move.
I drop the cup.
It shatters, splattering lukewarm tea all over him and the floor.
I gasp, “Oh my gosh! Why didn’t you take the cup? That was Need’s favorite cup! And youbrokeit!” I whisper-shout in a horrified tone.
The only reaction I get is a slight scraping sound as his hands fist at his sides.
Mission accomplished.
When I look down the hall and don’t see any incoming servants, I give the guard one last accusatory frown before shutting the door in his face.
“Alright, who’s next? A utensil carver? Do I need to choose what kind of texture will be on the rugs?” I ask as I head back to my seat, mostly talking to myself.
“No,” Nymara answers, still standing by the wall.
If I were still holding my cup, I probably would have dropped it.
She speaks!
I take a breath, trying to calm my excitement so I don’t spook her. “Sorry, to clarify, do you mean no about the people I mentioned? Or no, as in no more meetings? Blink once for the first, and twice for the second.”
Her mouth quirks up, just for a second, as if she might smile.
I might be in shock.
