Flashfiction: Rage and Release

She unclenched fists before her nails broke the skin of her palm.  Below her window the guards changed posts. The watch was almost constant, day and night protection for the two princesses.

Protection. Seva’s lip rose in a snarl. They needed to be protected. In the remote mountains, located behind the walls of a cold chateau and minded by strangers. She turned away from the window, anger rolling inside her with no where to go.

Her uncle called it grief. Everyone had agreed and sent them here, away from the sun and their home. They weren’t entirely wrong. Seva grieved. Everyday she remembered golden fields and her crimson sloop waiting in the bay. She remembered her friends crooked smiles during  late nights and blurry stumbles home. She felt the loss. And of course she remembered her parents. They’d never understood their daughters yet loved them deeply. She remembered their confused ever present love the most.

It was ache swelling in her stomach in the morning and the soggy mess on her pillow at night. She wept and she remembered. Grieving was allowed, the cold walls of the chateau did not prevent it, sorrow was permitted. But rage. That would not be seen, it would be curbed and quelled.

This was for their own good, this prison. Seva and her sister needed time, recovery and a place to subdue themselves. The chateau was perfect for it. Everything in the place designed to compose them. The drafty corridors cooled skin and tempers, the windows looked out over guarded courtyards and distant icy mountains.  Even their cells were constructed.

Allie’s room held a wardrobe large enough to house triple the clothing Seva’s elder sister owned. Seva herself had no need for a vanity, its namesake was not her sin. Yet they’d set one in her room. Ivory painted wood and an impressively large mirror set to swivel. Small bottles filled with delicate scent covered the thing. These chambers were furnished to house quiet princesses in mourning, not the two sisters trapped there.

Seva felt her jaw tighten. It was like being placed into a slowly shrinking box, sooner or later you fit the shape they’d made for you. She would not fit, it was not in her nature. She was not quiet, she was not calm, she was not helpless. But she was in that box, the reality of it expanded the dizzying rage contained within her. It didn’t fit inside either.

She stepped over to the vanity, looking at the princess they kept here. Too pale, her skin had lost its tan born on the bay. Her hair was brushed, the wind was deadly cold if you let it tousle your hair do long. She glared at the glass.

And then she stepped forward, took hold of the top of the mirror and wrenched it down. Wood screeched, glass shattered and the cloying scents of a dozen perfumes filled the air. Seva’s lip twitched, it wasn’t much, but she felt a little better.

 

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