On most nights I sleep like a rock, despite my not-so-great sleeping conditions. Tonight, however, is a different story.

The letter’s words roll over and over in my mind, anxiety provoking.

Who sent this letter? How do they know me? Why are they threatening my life? Why do they need this key? And, most importantly, what should I do? But, eventually, I form a plan. And decide to go with it.

It takes forever until I know that everyone is asleep. It’s probably around two or three in the morning. Which doesn’t give me much time.

I slip out of bed, trying to ignore the cold, and wash in the freezing wash bin. I dress in the only clothes I have that aren’t uniforms. Technically I shouldn’t even have them, but the seamstress that used to work here washed, mended, and returned them to me when we first arrived at the castle. She was supposed to make them into rags. She also gave me back my satchel with a few of my personal belongings in it. 

The Seamstress was my close friend, my non-biological family when my biological parents died. And then she disappeared, and was never seen again. And I was left here, with nobody.

I pull my mother’s locket around my neck and slip my father’s watch into my dress pocket. I’m not allowed to wear them while I’m working. ‘Purely professional.’ is what Erika always says.

Then I shove the blanket off my bed into my satchel and a pouch with spare paper and the better pieces of charcoal I sweep out of the many castle fireplaces. It’s my only way to practice the simple writing and drawing I know. Last, I gently place in the letter. 

I sneak out of my dorm and across the lawn, perfectly, quietly, like a thief. Which I guess I am.  Although, I’m used to this part. Last year Princess Celestina wanted her servants to report to her for roll call at three in the morning. That was during her insomnia faze.

It takes me a few minutes to successfully open the heavy creaky back kitchen door. I can’t risk getting caught, not when I need supplies and my life is in danger. I get in easily, and steal bread, cheese, dried meat, bottles of mead, and fruit and vegetables. It feels heavenly to have the whole kitchen at my disposal, especially since I’m used to some form of glop twice a day for sustenance.

I sneak through the castle quickly, pressing myself against walls occasionally when a rogue half asleep servant stumbles by. When I reach the medical corridor, I pull a bobby pin out of my hair. I always keep them there because you never know when a metal lock-picking device disguised as an innocent hair clip may come in handy. When I get in, I steal the most useful healing herbs and bandages from the locked cabinet ( I used the bobby pin) and some spare money lying around. 

Thank you, wonderful bobby pin.

Next, the most risky part. But I’ve got adrenaline. My brain’s at full speed. I would absolutely hate it if I got caught after this much effort. I’d die. Figuratively and literally. I try not to think about the fact that I’ve been awake for almost twenty four hours.

I use the bobby pin once again to pick open a garden supply shed. I steal the tallest ladder (although it’s not in very good shape), and set it against the thick castle stone wall. 

The air is brisk and chilly, ordinary for a night, especially in the flat forested lands around the castle. It’s also damp, though, and the water droplets cling to me, and some even freeze onto my cloak.

I ignore them. They are the least of my worries.

This is too risky, Adelaide. Steal out in a wagon or something. But then I remember I have ten days until I’m dead unless I get out NOW. Then I have a little bit of extra time. Happy thoughts, indeed.

I begin to climb. When I reach about halfway up, I’m positive I’ve got splinters 

covering my hands and that the wind’s gonna blow me and this rickety contraption hard back on the perfectly manicured castle lawn.

Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

When I reach the top and have finally straddled the wall, I allow myself one glance down. Despite the sweltering blackness, I can tell just how far I am from the ground. I gulp. A sudden gust of wind upsets my balance. I bite back a scream and grip it tighter. I really shouldn’t be doing this after not sleeping for twenty four hours.

After I swing myself onto the stone platform that the guards walk on, I pull up the ladder and swing it to the other side. The only thing I have left to do is climb down. Then I’m free of the castle. The castle, that’s been my home for years upon years. The castle that's kept me hidden, imprisoned for those years. I realize now that I don’t really know what the real world is like. I realize now that I haven’t been outside these very walls for many years.

I’m so close. But yet I can’t move.  Until suddenly approaching guard footsteps jolt me into focus. 

Oh. No. Oh no no no no no. This can’t be happening. Had I just gone the second I got up here I would have been gone by now.

Stupid stupid stupid Adelaide. Stupid stupid stupid. I shift into action, prioritizing speed over being quiet. The ladder swings over the wall and lands on the ground. Without checking to make sure it’s safely in place, I swing myself onto it, and climb.

But it’s not secure. The ladder is sliding down the stones. The scraping is loud, too. Most definitely loud enough to alert the patrolling soldier.

I’m toast.

I bite back screams and climb faster. The guard has noticed me and is alerting the other guards on duty. It seems like every way I go, everything I choose will result in danger. The ladder is scraping down the wall dangerously fast. I have to make a decision here. A decision that could make or break my plan. A decision that could kill me. I choose.

I jump off the ladder.

It seems like I’m falling forever, like the ground just disappeared beneath me.

How far was I above the ground when I jumped?

How high was the wall in the first place?

I  hit the ground on my feet (I don’t know how, I guess I just got lucky), but instantly fall onto my side and start rolling down a steep hill. It takes a minute for me to regain my senses, but once I do I realize that I’m rolling towards the castle wall.

What is going on? And then I remember. The moat. Oh, shoot, the moat. I forgot about the moat when I was planning my escape. I’m really lucky the ladder didn’t land in the moat. Or maybe it was in the moat, but I jumped, so I wouldn’t know. But if I don’t do something, my messy jump is gonna turn into a soaking wet Adelaide with spoiled supplies. I might as well go back into the castle at that point.

I grapple with the grass but it rips from the ground and ends up in my hands. I try to turn myself so I can’t roll but I can’t. I’m  so dizzy, maybe I should just give up…

But no. My flailing hand strikes something hard.. A rogue root that is randomly sticking up. I turn fast on my side and grab at it, trying to get a grip. Just before I’m about to fall into the moat, I grab it.

Victory. But it’s not over yet. My grip is horrible, and slipping by the second. But I’m not rolling anymore so I’ve got my balance back. I quickly start trying to gain my balance, kicking my feet although they slip in the mud. And then, just my luck, I trip on the same root that’s kept me from the depths of the moat in the first place, and my father’s watch jolts out of my dress pocket and soars beautifully through the air. I reach my arm out and attempt to catch it, but I’m too scared to let go of the root (that stupid root) and so I can only watch when it lands with a delicate splash in the silvery water. Time stops. My motivation disappears.

How much will I lose from this? And how much will I gain, except possibly my life? And for the first time, the pang in my stomach when I see some of the maids walk past gossiping about the royal family, or when I see all of the castle employee’s kids laughing and playing together on the lawn is identified. I’m lonely. And now, I’m really, truly alone in the world.

I struggle up the hill, watchless. It feels like there’s a hole in my side where the watch was. I would try to get it out but I don’t know what’s in the moat, and the maid’s gossip doesn’t suggest it’s good. Also the silvery moonlight reflecting off of the water makes it look really eerie. Plus the fact that I feel really alone and in danger.

I heave the satchel (which is suddenly really really heavy) and walk. One foot in front of the other. It’s early morning until I find the road the letter mentioned. It’s a major trading route. I want to keep walking and cover as much ground as I can, but I’m SO tired. 

And so I find a hidden area that’s decently soft and mossy, take my blanket out of my satchel, and curl up on the ground. It doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

When I wake up it’s evening. And something feels really off. Like really off. I take a look around and I can’t find anything strange, so I take a deep breath and start walking. About fifteen minutes in, I realize I probably should have eaten something. Whatever. I’m not hungry.

About half an hour of walking I hear…horses. The familiar clip-clop-clip-clop of the hooves that I would always hear when a wagon entered the castle courtyard. It usually meant more supplies (hard, back-breaking work), but I think this means worse. I frantically glance around for a hiding spot, but fear and disbelief hits hard and suddenly my feet can’t move.

I’m running for my life. My whole life. My whole life! For some ridiculous plan. Ridiculous. In fact, this was probably a prank. A stupid prank. What in the world am I doing? I won’t be able to go back to the castle after I’ve left like this? I’ll be really, truly, alone. And then I feel like I’ve made a really big mistake.

All the while the horse hooves have just gotten closer and closer until I can see the horses. And the castle’s crest on the side.

Sugar beets. My feet unfreeze and pure fear floods me. I turn and run.

I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my entire life. I can’t feel the weight of the satchel slung over my shoulder. I can’t feel the rough ground under my boots. I can’t feel my own limbs moving. I’m being powered by pure adrenaline.

But even running as fast as I’ve ever run in my life isn’t enough to outrun two horses. And as soon as the driver sees me he yells

“Halt! In the name of King Henry, I command you to halt!” I run faster. 

It’s not long before they’re beside me. It’s not long before a man dressed in armor has my hands and feet tied with rough rope and my satchel in the carriage.

A person who I recognize as the King’s Duke steps out of the carriage dressed in finery.

“Ahh.” He says triumphantly. “The one who didn’t get away. The escaped employee has been found.

When we reach the castle, they throw me in a cell. In jail. I am in jail. I’m a failure. It’s then that I realize today is day one of ten. And I’ve already failed.

Day One: I pace all day, giving the guards a horrid glare when they deliver me food (that I don’t eat). My mood changes by the second.

I’m gonna get out of here, I think.  I’m gonna show everybody that you can’t stop Adelaide. Yeah, that’s right. Nobody can stop me. Except they can, and they just did. I’m toast. I should have stayed as a maid. Except I hate it here. That’s why I’m gonna get out. Except how? I can’t. I can. AUGH!

Pace, pace, pace, pace, pace, pace. And more pacing.

If I get sentenced to jail…I’m gonna be really bored until I get out.

Pace, pace, pace.

Day Two: I’m so tired and hungry (I still haven’t slept or eaten yet) that I could cry. But I refuse to show weakness to the guards. Pace, pace, pace. Pace, pace, pace, pace, pace. All. Day. Long. At night when it’s dark, I huddle in the back behind a fort I made with my cot and blanket (that smell like mothballs, ugh) and eat all of the food that’s been piled up since I got here. It’s worse than the food I ate when I was a maid (which is really saying something).  And then I allow myself a few hours of restless sleep.

Day Three: The guards think I’m crazy, and they aren’t afraid to tell me to my face. They think I haven’t slept or eaten since I got here (I slipped the trays in between the jail bars and threw them down the hallway so the guards won’t know that I ate the food) but little do they know that I have. I like being stronger than they think I am. It gives me hope, although it’s probably, definitely false.

I really don’t know why I’m trying this hard to be secretive, but it’s the only thing I have to do in this boring place that reminds me of my failed mission. My failed life. I’m already going crazy like the other people in this prison. And it’s only my second day.

More pacing. More hiding. More throwing trays down the hall through the bars. More uncontrolled thoughts. I’m sure if I could see myself I would see deep, deep lines under my eyes. What am I going to do about this?

Day Four: It’s DAY FOUR. DAY. FOUR. I’m toast. 

I’m also beginning to curse the existence of that letter. I’m literally going insane. That’s what I think over and over again until I hear two guards’s conversation as they lazily stroll past my cell.

“So we’re seriously giving all those weapons to Gengur?” Guard One says.

“Yeah. It’s stupid, but Gengur is the king’s fav’rite so he’ll give them anythin’ they ask for,” Guard Two responds.

“Why do they need weapons anyways?”

“‘Cause they're near the Birschket’s stronghold. Ya know, the stronghold that is always threatening the King?”

“No, I don’t know,” Guard One says, acting like he wants Guard Two to explain, but he doesn’t.

“The wagon leaves tomorrow at one in the morning ‘cause the king wants them to travel “under the cover of night” - his words, not mine - but he’s wrong ‘cause one is tomorrow morning not tonight -”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Guard One interrupts. “So what do we have to do to get them ready again?”

I strain my ears, but I can’t hear anymore. But I know enough. There is a wagon leaving for exactly where I need to go tonight - tomorrow. I could get out of here. I would be way behind, but I hate being in jail in the place that was my home for basically my entire life. 

But how do I get out of this stupid cell? I pace some more. It’s really getting old. Hours pass.

It’s late afternoon before I get my answer, also known as Erika is walking through the halls (probably to deliver a letter to the Captain of His Royal Highness’s Guard’s son whom Princess Celestina has romantic interests with). She sees me and sighs sympathetically. I hate it. She doesn’t know anything important.

“Erika. I need help. Please.” She blinks. “Erika please. You don’t know what happened - why I escaped. Please.”

“Why? Why should I help you, Adelaide?” She asks. I can hear hurt, anger, curiosity, and something big I can’t identify in her tone. I have no choice if I want to get out of here. After I make Erika swear she won’t tell anyone (I think she agreed only because of her curiosity) , I tell her everything.

I tell her about the letter. About my plan. How I escaped. While I talk there’s a look on her face that makes me uneasy. It’s like she already knows everything I’m telling her. I don’t like it. And then I tell her my plan to escape this cell.

“I need you to let me out, Erika. You know why I escaped. I’m not a criminal. I won’t say that you helped if I get re-captured. Please. You are my only hope,” I finish, giving her my best pleading puppy eyes.

“Sure. Let me get the keys,” Erika says. A smile plays on her lips.

Why did she agree so easily? Also, what is that look? What don’t I know?

I worry for a while. I know Erika well enough to know that she doesn’t just agree.

Shut up. She’s helping you escape. Let it go, you have other things to worry about.

But what if this is a trap?

Then you’ll have to deal with it.

But shouldn’t you think ahead?

You can’t!

But now Erika’s back, forcing me to forget my internal struggle (for the time being). But I won't forget the bad feeling I have about this. Without a word, Erika twists the key in the lock, and my cage swings open with a satisfying click. I’m free. I can almost taste the fresh air. But something tugs at the back of my mind.

Freedom comes with a price.

What price will I pay? Erika and I stand off for a moment, her facial expression unreadable.

“Well? Aren’t you going to go? You’re free,” she says, almost mockingly.

“Yeah. Yeah. That was the plan,” I mutter. I feel like I need to say something. Something that will redeem my hesitation. “But what about my things?”

“Your bag is in the captain’s office. Second door on the left of Hallway A. You need to get them and get in the wagon to go to Gengur in the carriage house,” Erika says briskly.

“But -”

“I cannot tell you anything more,” she says.

But why? I think. I can’t ignore the bad feeling about this in my gut. Something isn’t right here.

“Goodbye,” Erika says decisively. And then she paces away, leaving me to escape. Part of me wants to ponder what happened, to find a solution. But I know that I have to escape. 

Okay. Focus, Adelaide. This is your chance to save your life.  I shove the pessimistic (realistic?) thoughts out of my head, and create a sketchy plan in my head. I’m ready.

I tell myself that over and over, trying to ignore the fact that it’s not true. I’ll never be ready for anything anymore.

I step, cautious as ever, out of my cell, and creep down the hall.

Second door on the left of Hallway A. Does Erika really expect that I know where that is? I tiptoe, my head swiveling on my neck, my eyes darting back and forth. I imagine, especially after my days in jail, that someone would be scared to tears at the sight of me. Just glancing at my torn, stained wreck of a shift, I can’t fathom what my face must look like.

I suddenly wish I’d eaten this morning’s breakfast.

Focus!

My vision jerks back up at the wall, where I suddenly see a sign.

Hallway C. I’m close!

So close, yet so very far.

It takes me much more time to finally enter the Captain’s office. After I make sure it’s empty and lock the door behind me (possibly a good idea, possibly a really bad idea), I realize that the jail complex is probably that maze-like for a reason.

They don’t want criminals, like me, escaping. Or finding the Captain’s office, for that matter. Which makes me suddenly realize another thing that was nagging me.

Why does the King care so much about me? The wagon was sent out to find me. I’m one servant. Obviously if they found me, they’d jail me, but I don’t understand why they put so much effort into finding me in the first place. I’m not very valuable (to them, at least), and it would seem to be especially so to an extremely powerful monarchy.

I feel like a puzzle piece. Swept and sorted around a board, with no thought to a destination, and feeling like I’m all alone in the world, like I’m truly one of a kind.

But the real question is, the one I cannot answer, where do I fit into the rest of the puzzle?

I wish I could say that it was as simple as my satchel laying on the Captain’s desk.

The satchel was, in fact, laying plain and simple on the side of the Captain’s desk furthest away from the door. But, to my dismay, it is empty. I shake it, hard, wishing fruitlessly for my plans and supplies to magically appear.

Stupid. You should know by now that there is no such thing as magic, I scold myself. And if there is, it’s definitely not ‘good magic’.

Now the question is, where is it? And if I can’t find it, what will I use instead? I need food.

Anxiety builds inside me. My chance to live is decreasing more and more with every second that passes. I glance nervously at the door I locked behind me. I needed to lock it so it would buy me time (that it would take them to get the key) to escape. Or at least a warning to let me know that I’ve failed.

Focus. My eyes sweep the room, and I get to work. As my fingers comb through closets and drawers, my thoughts escape again and again to an odd box laying front and center on the Captain’s desk.

Focus, I remind myself. Don’t cause any more trouble for yourself than you have too. But it’s too much. I fumble with the latch, and hungrily lift the lid, curiosity driving my every move.  And then, I am shocked by what I find inside. First is a note from the Captain to the King.

Majesty - 

Here is the locket found on Adelaide. I know how much it means to you.

Capt.

How much it means to him? Why would my mother’s locket mean so much to the King? I am so confused. Also, how would King Henry know my name? In any case, I want the locket, so I slip the whole box into my satchel, note and all. Although, maybe it’s a clue. But that’s probably wishful thinking.

It’s not as much as I had before, but I find some dried meat and an apple in one of the Captain’s drawers, and pack that too. I’m going to need it. There’s also a canteen of mead on a table in the corner, half full. Although I know the Captain has most definitely drank from it, and that’s disgusting, I know I’ll probably need it.

I also swipe a map from yet another drawer that covers the general area in detail. I’ll also need that.

The biggest problem that remains for me right now (despite being a recently escaped criminal, being on a delayed death sentence, and being caught in some surreal mystery) is my clothes. I’m still wearing the shift that they gave me when I was ‘processed’. It’s not comfortable. It’s not warm. It’s not sturdy. It’s not something I’d want to wear outside, or even out of privacy, at all.

The sandals they gave me are not ideal, either. They’re plywood, and rough on my feet (not that my feet are in any light dainty like Princess Celestina’s, but still), and I have blisters, burns, scrapes, and splinters covering them from heel to toe. But the stupid sandals will have to do.

I swallow bile creeping up my throat and force myself to put on a jacket laying on the floor.

You don’t know where that’s been. It’s not going to help your jail sentence when you are (if you are) captured, thief. I shove those thoughts out of my head.

Focus.

I can't find anything else from my satchel, despite being a major snoop. But I’m intrigued by my search, and although I know that I really should hightail it out of here why I have the chance, I continue looking. Part of me just wants to know what I’ll find.

And then the doorknob jiggles.

“I swear on King Henry, bless his heart, that I didn’t lock this door,” a gravelly voice, the Captain’s, hisses from outside. I would roll my eyes, if I weren’t in such a bad situation.

I need to leave. Now. I frantically jump up, and fumble with the latches on my satchel. I can’t afford to lose anything that’s in it right now.

I swing it on my back, then rush messily over to a table, and drag it over to a high up window.

“Who’s in there? In the name of King Henry, bless his heart, I command you to surrender! Stop!” The Captain yells, his hand fumbling with the key. I wish I’d thought to jam the lock. To buy myself more time.

I scramble on top of the table, and easily open the well oiled latch of the window and slide it open. The fresh air feels foreign on my face. And wonderful. But I can’t stop to enjoy it.

Focus. I push my satchel out first, and still gripping the strap, I shimmy out and fall, narrowly avoiding landing on my neck, to the ground.

I can’t help myself and let out a large groan.

Focus. I have to get to the wagon alive, and then I can think.

I jump to my feet, nimble, and sprint.

“Hey!” The Captain pokes his head out the window. “Thief! In the name of King Henry, bless his heart, I command you to halt! You have committed several crimes, multiple of which are punishable by death, and I assure you, in the name of King Henry, bless his heart, that you will be caught - hey! It’s Adelaide, the servant girl! GET HER!”

Why are they focusing so much on me? I don’t understand why I matter to them so much. Confusion builds up, tensing my stomach. And yet I sprint.

Guards rush out of the shadows and join me sprinting. I already feel exhausted, but I have to increase my pace.

Increase it or get captured and killed. Those are my choices, I think, annoyed.

I have no one to help me.

Everyone, all forces, want to kill me. It’s like a competition, who will kill Adelaide, the ordinary servant girl that has done nothing to anyone, first.

I’m just an ordinary girl with a completely out-of-the-ordinary assignment. Fate. Future. I’m just an ordinary girl that has to face death, capture, and make decisions that will affect her in ways unimaginable every second of her existence.

As I pass the King’s window (almost to the carriage house), I, to my horror, see him standing there, watching closely his property. He sees me, too, and we maintain eye contact for a few seconds, which I’m sure will not help my cause later.

To my shock, though, the King’s face molds into an expression of surprise and horror, but not in the way that “a criminal escaped”. It’s almost like he doesn’t think that I should be here, or that he thought that I was somewhere else. He glances frantically around, assessing the situation, and then, adding more shock to my confusion and fatigue, he feigns falling.

“Help! It hurts!” He cries dramatically. No one else sees it, but I do. On the way down, his hand waves me forward. He’s faking the heart attack. He wants me to escape.

Why? What? How? My mind sputters. What is happening? But at least part of me sees reason. He gave you a chance. Use it. Save your life.

And, sure enough, he did. The guards turn their pace toward his quarters, and the castle grounds erupt. No one cares about a girl running for her life.

Right now, at least.

I don’t know how, but I make it to the Gengur wagon, alive. I am so tired, but I cannot sleep. I am the only one who can keep myself from sleeping this time, though. There is no Erika to wake me up in the mornings.

Erika. The King. The Captain. The note. Thoughts push for space in my brain, but I ignore them. I can’t face them yet, pieces of the puzzle that they are.

I’m too tired.

Another emotion adds to my list. Discomfort. I am completely surrounded by weapons. There points, freshly sharpened, leer at me from the darkness in the back of the wagon. Knives, swords, spears, and more.

I want to sleep, but I need to steal. These weapons could be of use to me. I rise to my feet and explore the wagon. Quietly, as to not alert the driver.

I am instantly glad I am here, because there are boxes of food as well, and other supplies like rope. No water, though, which is unfortunate. No fresh clothes, either.

I eat my fill, and then stock up my satchel, adding a couple knives and a bundle of rope to it as well.

And then, I have an idea. I tie a bunch of rope around my waist, and attach a few knives to it. Then I shield it with the jacket.

Be ready, world. I’m not done yet. Truth be told, though, I am.

Almost as soon as I sit down, sleep takes hold of me.

When I wake up, it’s dark. Not just in the wagon, but also outside. I’m not sure why I woke up in the first place, because it’s black and silent, perfect sleeping conditions. And then I realize that I fell asleep in the first place.

I betrayed myself. But I’m not angry. I feel so much better. The wagon rumbles on, slow and steady. I almost stand up, but then I think better of it, considering I’m surrounded by deadly blades.

I sit up and squeeze my knees to my chest.

Is it Day Five yet? I wonder. I have no way of knowing, now that my father’s pocket watch is gone. But I can’t blame anyone except myself for that, unlike most of the rest of my problems.

Problems. That’s what you call them. They’re so much more complicated than that simple title, I think to myself sourly.

Escaping from the wagon is easy. Compared with everything else I’ve done in the last four/five days. The night helps, swallowing my body into its blackness. I try to let it swallow my past, too.

Focus on the future. Focus on what you have to do. And once you complete this mission, maybe you can be truly free, whatever that means. There is more running to do. The wagon driver’s light cast enough flame for me to see a sign.

Gengur, four miles, it read. The rest of the weapons (that I didn’t steal) were unloaded briskly at the out-of-town military base. I’m glad that the military base was not in town. It makes it easier to escape.

I’ve always liked the night, so running is easy. I let the blackness surround me. The forest is so thick, the night so dark that I cannot see my hand mere inches from my face.

I force myself not to be scared. There’s harder work ahead.

Town of Gengur. Population: small, the sign reads. Haha. I glance around.

How am I supposed to know where the Birschket’s lair is? My eyes land on an older woman (the only person outside, probably for good reason) sweeping the streets, and quickly walk over to her.

“Excuse me?” I ask politely. She flinches.

“I came outside to be alone, you know,” she tells me. “Not to be bothered by some stupid girl. What are you doing up at this hour of the morning?” I ignore her question, and drive for the point. Time’s a-wastin.

“Do you know where the Birschket’s lair is?” I choose my wording carefully, implying to her that the Birschket’s are “evil”, although I’m not sure what force I’m working for, either, and something is definitely wrong with the way the King faked a sudden illness for my sake. I need more information before I can have an accurate opinion.

And I will find that information,  I vow to myself. I also lie to myself, pretending - hoping that it’s the truth. You work for yourself, and only yourself. You are not being used in some crazy operation. Not at all. 

“The Birschkets?” the woman shrieks, and I snap back, focusing, just in time for her to slap me in the face. “Do you work for them, girl? The nerve. Asking about where evil is located.” I glare at her.

“You make bold assumptions, woman,” I hiss, angry. Although I would probably assume the same thing if I were her.  “I am trying to steal something important and valuable from them. I am trying to ruin them. Don’t always think bad of people.”

“You have to think bad these days if you want to stay safe, idiot,” the woman grumbles, but with less force than before. “What sheltered place do you come from?”

The castle, behind its protective stone walls, I think. And then I realize that I, even as a servant, was safe behind the castle’s walls. Safer than this poor woman, anyway. And the King himself protected me, in his own way.

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “Answer my question.” She doesn’t reply, sweeping almost at my ankles. Dust flies over my plywood sandals and grimy toes. “It’s for your own good,” I plead.

“That way,” she says suddenly, pointing into the deep woods. “There’s a path you’ll find, follow that for a few minutes, and you’ll find a rustic cabin. That’s it.”

“Thank you,” I say, sighing with relief, but also because I have to go back into the woods, towards the “enemy” and the “evil”. “Oh!” I cry, suddenly having an idea. “Do you have a fire I could light a stick in for light and protection?”

“Do you have money?” she asks saucily.

“No,” I answer honestly. She sighs, long and drawn out, almost for show.

“You better do something really dang amazing, girl,” she says. “Really dang amazing.” She swipes a stick off the ground, and goes into a nearby house, returning soon with it lit. She hands it to me reluctantly.

I am suddenly extremely grateful. If the fire doesn’t go out, then I have something to cook over, something to warm me up, something to provide light, even a weapon if I need it. And once the stick burns down to a stub, there are an abundance of other twigs and such to transfer the flame to.

Fire is truly a luxury.

“What’s your name?” I ask the woman. She considers for a second.

“Hilda,” she replies. “You?”

“Adelaide. Thank you, Hilda. I am very grateful.”

“Really dang amazing, Adelaide,” she tells me, a hint of a smile on her face.

“Really dang amazing,” I repeat, mustering a small grin.

I don’t tell her that I feel far from amazing, and that my life draws to a close with every passing second. Suddenly the grin falls off my face like she slapped it off, and I turn around and march into the forest without a single glance behind me.

I’m surprised an organization that’s apparently very powerful (and evil) resides here. Like Hilda said, it’s a very rustic cabin, with nothing seemingly suspicious around it at all. If I didn’t know better (or think better) I’d term it ‘abandoned’.

I suck in a large breath, and let it out in a heaving sigh.

Here goes absolutely nothing, I tell myself. No. Focus, Adelaide. Focus. I’m beginning to wonder if I should just give up on this whole thing and enjoy the remainder of my life. Or maybe I should just disappear and see how long it takes the people who wrote the note to find me on the eleventh day. Or maybe I should just jump in a river and let the current take me where it wills.

But I don’t. I guess I’m too scared.

Instead, I walk up to the door. I almost knock, then I think better of it. I’m far from a proper guest.

I burst in, letting the door slam into the unknown. There’s a pause for a second, and then a voice I recognize all too well speaks.

“Ahh, here she is,” Erika says. “We were expecting you.”

“Were we?” asks another voice (this one that I don’t recognize). A young woman steps out of the shadows, brushing her long fiery red hair over her shoulder.

“I was,” Erika says.

“Is she a threat?” The woman asks.

“Yeah. She wants the key,” Erika says simply. “Am I right, Adelaide?”

What? Is. Happening? I try to keep fear off of my face.

“Well then. She isn’t getting that,” the young woman says.

“Of course not, Emmeline,” Erika reassures her.

“How did you know?” I blurt, completely losing my cool.

“Father told me.”

“My father’s dead!” I tell her angrily.

Disrespectful, I think. Erika laughs.

“Ha! No. Our father is alive and perfectly well,” she tells me.

Our father? We’re sisters? What? Is. Happening? Everything feels like a dream, fuzzy and shocking. I can’t believe my ears, or my eyes, or even what my own brain tells me. What Erika says next, though, convinces me that this is not, in fact, a dream. 

It’s a nightmare.

“In the palace,” she finishes. She doesn’t say it, but I know exactly what she’s trying to say. My father is the King. I am a Princess. Erika is a Princess. Everything I’ve been told is a lie. My life is a lie. The pocket watch I lost was probably just some random man’s pocket watch that I made special.

I have so many more questions. I need to figure this out. I should ask the questions and figure it out. Instead, I deny everything.

“No. He’s not dead. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Erika laughs again.

“You,” she tells me, “know nothing. Nothing at all, compared to what I know.”

“I intend to find out,” I hiss, glaring.

Why did Erika set me free? Who wrote the note? Who knows? Who doesn’t? All of my work..for this?

Emmeline whispers something into Erika’s ear.

“Don’t worry,” Erika tells her. And then, to me, more seriously, “You’ll have a hard time doing that. But, sister, I assure you that everything I tell you is absolutely true. After all,” she finishes, laughing again, “I wouldn’t lie to my own sister.”

I hate that she’s having fun with this. I hate that I know nothing anymore. I hate that my fate is in her hands.

The last thing I see is Erika’s jeweled fist before everything goes black.

I wake up feeling like a queen. My ratty clothes and satchel and everything are gone, leaving me in a velvet nightgown, my hair washed and softly braided behind me, my feet bare. The bed, pillows, and pillows are soft and fluffy, and smell like perfume. 

Despite being the most comfortable I’ve been in my entire life, I can’t rest.

Why am I here? Eventually the memories fall into place and grow out of their fuzz. Erika.

“Alright, Erika, Emmeline,” I say, my body weak as I climb out of the comfort, “thieves, cheats.”

“Yes?” Emmeline appears before I can finish.

“No,” I reply, annoyed. “Let me go, and give me the key.” Emmeline laughs, a sound like tinkling bells on a breezy summer day.

“Give me a reason,” she demands, still laughing, “because, right now I’m thinking, why should I give her the key? She hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”

I glare at her. “I traveled this far, endured setbacks, and gave up so much to get to this point. Don’t you dare say I don’t deserve it.”

“You can’t just walk into a store demanding all of their apples,” she says. “And you can’t come in here demanding the key.”

“But you can buy the store’s apples,” I say, and want to bite back the words the second they come out.

“You said it, not me,” Emmeline says, grinning.

“I didn’t say anything,” I lie, wanting to curse and bite.

“I don’t know,” she says, her laugh now infuriating, “that sounded like an offer to pay for the key to me.” I sigh, suppressing my pride.

“I don’t have any money.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to pay with money,” Emmeline clarifies, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. She flips her gorgeous hair and eyes me with sharp hazel pupils.

“What, then?” I’m tired of this. I’m tired of everything. I wish, for once, that I could have a nice life, whatever that is.

I don’t want to be an overworked servant girl.

I don’t want to be a part of a perilous operation.

I don’t want to be on a timer for my death.

I don’t want to be a prisoner.

I don’t want to be a homeless girl with no resources.

I just want peace.

“Um,” Emmeline says, suddenly nervous. “I, uh, I’ll have to check with Erika.” She leaves in a blur of red tangles.

She can pretend to have power, but Erika will always be in charge, I think. But maybe I can use that to my advantage. And plus, I’d rather talk to her than to Erika.

Traitor. She’s not a traitor though, truthfully. She’s always been the enemy.

But is she really the enemy? I’m not sure anymore.

Who can I trust? Right now, nobody.

It’s a while before anybody comes back. But when they do, I’m ready. I think through as many possible scenarios as I can. I steel my emotions. I steel my bones.

I’m ready, I say. This time, you won’t catch me off guard. But they do.

Emmeline walks through the door again, carrying a plate of tempting pancakes. But I’m not going to let them tame me.

“Erika’s too scared to see me, then?” I ask.

“No,” Emmeline says quickly, then pauses, almost like she needs to find a reason, “she’s too busy to see something as unimportant as you.”

“I, unimportant?” I laugh, but it sounds more like a croak. “I’m a threat to your organization, and why else would Erika spend time trying to find things about me?”

“Quiet,” snaps Emmeline. She plunks down the plate of pancakes. “Eat. We’re not going to kill you, believe it or not.”

“It’s Day Six,” I tell her.

Maybe if I tell her about the note and how I have four days left to live, she’ll be sympathetic? Emmeline acts all tough and conceited, but I can see a bit of kindness beneath her perfectly-kept shield.

“And what,” Emmeline says cruelly, “is that supposed to mean? Is it supposed to be a threat? Because if it is, I’ll tell you-” I don’t let her finish.

“It’s not a threat, relax.” And then I realize I’m lying. “Towards you, at least.”

“Let me guess,” she says. “It’s a threat towards you.”

“I have four days left to live,” I say simply, hoping for sympathy.

C’mon, Emmeline, I know there’s empathy in your hard shell somewhere.

“Explain yourself,” Emmeline says, sounding the tiniest bit curious.

And I do. I tell her everything. It sounds odd coming out of my mouth, and my very own memories and experiences sound foreign, like I’m talking about something that happened to a friend. 

After how she softened a little bit, I expect Emmeline to show some emotion while I talk. But she hardens back up, repairs her shell. And when I’m done, she only says five words. And she says them cruelly, like the evil she is.

“And why should I care?”

And then she leaves in a tangle of thick red hair.

I spend the rest of the day alone. I eat the pancakes that Emmeline brought, partly because I’m still determined to make her my ally instead of my enemy. It’s my only hope. And also because I’m hungry, and they taste good.

I clean up my room, hoping that it would make less work for Emmeline. I think of compliments that could make her feel better about herself, and maybe sway her to my side.

Although I am sort of torn.

Why am I being so nice to her when she’s so mean to me? But then again, I’m wasting precious time, and Emmeline is a chance to escape.

Quite possibly my only escape.

I lie awake in the dark. I have no idea what time it is, but if I had to guess I’d say it’s after midnight, which means Day Seven has begun.

I’m one day closer to failure. And one day farther from success.

“Hey,” a voice whispers from the doorway, startling me. The beginning of a shriek erupts from my mouth, but it is quickly silenced by a soft perfumy hand.

“I don’t think you want Erika waking up,” says the voice, which I can now recognize as Emmeline’s.

“Don’t be so sure,” I snap. “I’ve known Erika longer than you.”

“But you didn’t know the real Erika,” Emmeline murmurs. At this, I take a hint and shut up.

“What do you want,” I say after a long silence.

“I’m sorry,” she says, but then doesn’t elaborate. “For, uh, what happened to you.”

My brow furrows in confusion.

“Why?”

“Because.” Emmeline’s short answer tells me that I’ve pushed too far. An apology is all I’m going to get. But it’s not. I’m just not going to get an answer.

“Of all the things I’ve learned,” she begins, “over everything I’ve done, there’s one thing that’s stuck out to me. You’ve been doing things for other people for your entire life. You were a servant, and now you’re following this whimsical quest for someone else. You haven’t done anything for yourself. And you deserve that. You deserve answers, Adelaide. You deserve a life.” Emmeline chokes out something that shockingly resembles a sob. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t be a nice person, I’m not saying you shouldn’t care about other people, but sometimes you need to do something for yourself. Plus, it’s easier to be a nice person when you have a little something for yourself.”

I let this sink in. Why is she telling me this? Maybe…? Maybe she’s giving me advice.

Day Eight.

And I’ve realized that Emmeline’s right. Everything I’ve done is for someone else. But doing something for me just feels…selfish? I don’t know.

But what would I do? I don’t know how to “live for myself”. And it’s Day Eight. Way too late to complete the stupid mission.

I have no options. No good options, at least.

In the evening, though, I have another thought.

I have nothing to lose. Meaning, there’s no reason not to try.

I flop on my bed, my unwashed  frizzy hair squeezing against the plush pillow. I stare at the blank white ceiling, and wait for it to fill up with ideas.

I’m going to get myself a life.

It’s noon the next day before I remember that it’s Day Nine. But I don’t care about the mission. I need to get out of here. And I need Emmeline’s help. Every time she’s delivered food, she hasn’t said a word to me. I half wonder if she’s ashamed of her advice. Or maybe Erika found out. So many maybes, I can’t handle it.

Will there ever be constants instead of just variables? 

A few minutes later, as if almost on cue, Emmeline appears with lunch.

“Emmeline,” I say quickly, so she can’t escape without hearing me, “I need your help.” My pride pangs, but in truth, I do need her help.

“Really?” Emmeline asks, then catches herself. “I mean, for what?”

“You were right,” I say. “I need to escape this place. I need to do something for myself. But I don’t know how to, and you do.”

I realize my mistake too late.

“Escape?” Emmeline nearly shrieks. “I thought you were smarter, Adelaide. You’re asking your captor for help escaping.” I’m silent.

“Bye, then, Emmeline,” I say. I might as well accept my mistake with pride than beg for a redo and fail again.

“You’re jumping to a conclusion,” she says. “I never said anything about leaving.” And then she leaves.

I sigh. I should be feeling annoyed, upset, any feeling. But instead, I just feel worn down. And the most worrisome thing is that I don’t even care that Emmeline is so unpredictable. The second she gave me that advice, I changed. Sure, maybe it’s true, but it gave me an unshakeable awareness to what I cannot have.

I’ll never be free.

I’ll never have a life without being hunted down by whoever wrote that note. They promised my death would happen slowly and painfully promptly on the dawn of Day Eleven.

In two days. I shouldn’t risk everything for freedom for a day or two.

And then my door opens and Emmeline returns.

“Okay,” Emmeline says, sauntering over to my bed, where I’ve been laying. “I gave Erika something to do and bought us some time. Do you have any ideas? Because we’re gonna get you a life.”

After Emmeline leaves, dejected, I want to cry.

“What if I don’t want a life? Because life always leads to death,” I told her. “And I’m going to die in two days, so what’s the point?”

She tried to convince me that that was a horrible attitude, and that I should at least try. She looked the most flustered that I’ve ever seen her.

“Leave,” I ordered her. And she obeyed, but like a puppy, with sad eyes and her tail down.

And now I’ve realized this: I’ve made my decision. My remaining time is officially ticking away. And I’m a prisoner, locked away in a boring existence.

I’m not sure if I regret my choice or not. But it doesn’t matter, what’s done is done.

After all, I poorly try to convince myself, lots of prisoners die in jail.

Day Ten arrives. And passes. And when I wake up at six in the morning on Day Eleven, I know that I’ve officially failed.

And suddenly, every dormant feeling I’ve ever had rushes back.

I’m going to die. It was my choice. And suddenly I don’t want to. Gasping breaths penetrate my lungs, and sweat coats my nightgown.

I don’t want to die. I wish I’d accepted Emmeline’s offer to help. I could at least be working for something right now. Or maybe I’d be somewhere in a pretty luxurious forest, living it up. At least I’d die happy. But it’s too late.

I’ve failed myself. Or maybe it’s not too late.

Emmeline enters, and I jump up.

“I made a big mistake,” I cry. “I’m going to die today, but I want to live. Please

help me escape. Please!”

“Drink this,” she tells me, “and you’ll feel better.” I take the drink from her hands. As it slides down the back of my throat, I dully note that it feels strangely different from the other foods I’ve been fed. 

But it doesn’t matter.

I think Emmeline sees on my face the question I’m about to ask, and she beats me to it with an answer.

“Follow me.” I’m too upset to think why this could be a very bad idea.

She leads me through a bunch of hallways, pushing me against the wall more than once when footsteps approach around the corner.

If I were myself, I’d ask questions about this place, but my crazed brain is set on only one thing.

Finally, we reach a door. And Emmeline opens it. Outside I see nothing but thick intimidating forest.

“Go,” she tells me.

“Where?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Just go.” 

And I take my first step into the forest.

“Oh, and Adelaide? Good luck.” I’ll need it, if I’ll be able to evade my certain death.

If.

The forest is thick and dark. I try not to think about what’s lurking in the shadows. The trees cast eerie shadows, making me jump more than once. It takes me a while to comb through the brush.

I have no idea where I’m going.

Hours later, strange pains cut through every step. My brain is slower than ever. It takes too long for me to realize what’s happening.

I’m dying.

How? I think. I was so careful, they failed, I succeeded. Until I realize. The drink that Emmeline gave me. It must have been poisoned. Emmeline is my killer. But also my savior. I failed. 

But the subject loses itself with me.

My brain is stuck in a fog, miles away from the rest of my body. I slump lower and lower as I walk, unable to hold myself upright. Feeling leaves my body, except for the pain, which explodes.

I lose complete feeling in my arms. My vision blurs, the trees dancing effortlessly first in my face, then miles away.

But then my eyes uncross for a second. And it’s enough, because I see it.

I’ve entered a beautiful clearing. The sun cascades through the tree branches, and fresh cushiony moss spotted with wildflowers covers the floor. My appearance chases away an innocent herd of white-tailed deer. A sweet smelling breeze tussles with my hair, and gives me peace. It’s suddenly a comfortable temperature, sleepily warm, and a last thought makes its way through my consciousness before I fall.

I am home.

My very last breath is a sigh of relief.