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Kalila sat cross-legged in her beautiful dress sprawled across the dusty, concrete floor of the servants quarters. She stared at the concrete, its grey, cold mass gave way under her teary eyes.
What should I do? She traced on the ground with her finger. She couldn’t marry him, she wouldn’t, seeing those eyes gaze in her face, and making that man happy, being obedient to such a disgusting man… No. She couldn’t.
She stood up, wiped the tears from her eyes and gathered her dress. She would run away again, and perhaps put all of this behind her forever. But what will happen to this city without a good king? Something whispered inside of her. Kalila shook her head. She was no hero, she couldn’t do anything to save this city from him. She just wanted to save herself.
Kalila tip-toed up the winding stairs, she came to the first floor, she could see the front door of her freedom just down the hall, tip-toeing down it, she passed the door of the room she had flung herself out of only a few hours before, she passed another room as well, there were voices floating out from it, Kalila was ever quiet as she walked past.
“No- I am right! I have been living far longer, and gossiping far longer than you have, I know! She is the same child who was betrothed to the king at five years old! I remember her eyes, and her mother. She looks exactly like her.”
There was the sound of sheets being flung in the air, it must be a bedroom.
Kalila was almost to the door now, but she stopped instantly when she heard her own name.
“Aye- she still has the same name and all, Kalila!”
Her eyes widened.
“So why are we making a bedroom for her if she is down in the servants quarters- shouldn’t she be in the castle?”
“Hush child. We’ll have none more of this, we still have the dinner to start fixing.”
Their footsteps echoed towards the door, Kalila ran over to the front door, and flung it open, shut it carefully behind her, and froze, listening as the two servants gossiped about the millers daughter and walked down the stairs to the kitchen.
What had they been saying? Betrothed? But she- she was from a poor part from the city, her brother much younger than her, and her drunkard father, and her mother, which she never saw much of. Could there be truth in what they had said?
Kalila opened that door again, and felt herself secretly walk back through the same jaws she had fled from moments before, she had to find out the truth. Why did she always feel different? Why had there always been things happening that neither of her parents would ever tell her about? Who was she really?

Read the rest of this short story here.

~ Meggie. Please do not copy; protected with copyscape.