Altered

It was night and the moon overhead was bloated, hanging low and coating the world with a spider’s web of quicksilver.  There were legends among his people that likened the moon to some great spider-god, one that had tried to snare the world in his web and failed so terribly that he was tangled up in his own weaving.  The moon certainly resembled such a creature now, with clouds drifting across it and lending the illusion of ghostly limbs at certain angles.

Emery looked down and felt another shock that tripped along his spine.  Whatever part of this terrible house of horrors he was in, it was one of the highest points; perhaps even in the heart of some awful spire.  What he could see of the rest of the building was a vast expanse of dark stone, with mica inclusions that caught the moonlight and spread the web of silver across the ominous structure.

He couldn’t see terribly much below his window, nor was he much concerned; his attentions finally fixed and held on the dominant feature laid out before him: the Fields.

But, it wasn’t the part of the Fields he was familiar with.  He would’ve seen the castle long ago if it were.  The jagged, dark edge of a forest marched along the horizon and he could only speculate on just how far from the Fields proper that this wretched stretch was located.  It was all the same, despite the dark divide; the Fields were populated with Devil’s Bloom and Blight Poppies, both of which swarmed in abundance all the way from the castle to the craggy forest beyond.

“Double damn and dash it all.”

His fingers splayed on the cold glass, though there was no way to move that massive, single pane.  If he wanted out, he’d have to break it – and then what?  Fall to his death?  He spared a glance for the bed and made some quick calculations, only to come up with a rather miserable conclusion.  There wouldn’t possibly be enough fabric for him to knot a crude rope together, nor would there be enough time to do it without running the risk of interruption.

That left his choices.  His stomach flipped, flopped, and threatened to roll completely over until he caught it with a few slow, deep breaths.

“What other choice is there but the first?”  Resignation swiftly donned an armor forged of hope.  Perhaps he could use such a thing to his advantage.  Surely this Sovereign could not keep an eye on everything at all times;  maybe, just maybe, he could suss out some manner of weakness that could be useful to his people.  If nothing else, the knowledge of a castle should be of some worth; to who and for what, he didn’t know, but perhaps the priests could speak to their gods about it.

He pulled the curtains shut and returned to the bed before exhaustion could rob him of his remaining strength.  The soreness was gone and, for that, he was grateful; all that remained was a lingering tiredness that was weakening day by day.

Tomorrow, he thought.  Tomorrow would be the day.