Chapter 2: Quiet footsteps

Thick, rough nails clicked against the polished windowsill where sat the Lion chief. His all-important ego perched pristinely on his shoulder as Zulnii gazed down through the marble and gold arch.  The waiting is what bothered him most, the agonizing half-life seconds that ticked by in a monotonous pattern of boredom and impatience.

“Whoever said patience is a virtue should have his tongue cut out…” His rough voice cut the early morning silence, the jagged tone grating like sandpaper across virgin stone. The sound was contrasted by a gentle knock through the chamber door, much like the humming of a mouse in contrast as a servant’s eyes just barely came into view.

“My lord…” he began, hesitating and no doubt trembling behind the door.

“Your bath has been drawn…” A sly devious grin spread across Zulnii’s face. The waiting would soon be over, and the anticipation was painted like abysmal oceans in his shadowed expression. In this world, it’s good to be in charge.

 

I can’t help but quiver, even now beneath the blistering heat. The foolish grins and hungered stares are enough to tear my last resounding strand of peace in two.  If the tension is not feasible by all…it damn sure is tangent to me. These streets are flocked with bodies, swaying and dancing and pacing, but they feel so empty…so devoid of intelligent habitation. Much like the feeling when one is dreaming, and every face that floats past is another mask on a staff, carried about by automated forces. These girls, like books without words, are no more than drive-less beings, near identical drones flocking the city walks.

Who among us will be chosen? This very question is murmured throughout the accompanying crowds. The men lick their lips and argue over which they themselves would choose. The older women prune and perfect every aspect of their girl’s appearance. Fixing braids, adjusting garlands, retying the ribbons of garments surely designed just for this occasion. And her I stand among them, doing my best to keep my breaths even, and my feet steady upon the ground.

As the trumpets sound, and the march begins though, my resolve threatens to break. I shudder at the hopes and dreams of the girls surrounding me. Their only want in life, to be chosen by the chief, to be heralded and envied by every woman in their village, and then in a year,  pretend as though their life is full and complete.

He is visible now, his dark skin and chiseled jaw in sharp contrast to the lavish white cloth that hugs each muscular edge of his honed body. Though I cannot see where his gaze falls, I can feel it. The burning sensation raising the hairs on the back of my neck, causing me to drop my eyes to the ground in fear.

“Please don’t see me….please don’t see me…..” my voice is more of a cry than a whisper, a deep plea for mercy driven by fear. Even my horrified pleading though, seems to have betrayed me as the sun catches hold of my bowed head. The rays that reflect so brilliantly, so contrastingly amongst the brunettes surrounding me.  Suddenly in myself conscious revelation, every venomous stare from the girls around me is injecting liquid chills through my veins. Squirming nervously, I try to keep my motions subtle, quiet, praying that I have not already drawn to much attention.

The Chief’s gaze holds my every fear as we halt at the base of his balcony. The fine details of the castle and surrounding buildings hold a deceptively rapturing elegance. The rampant lions dancing across arches and columns, snarling eternally at long forgotten enemies and trespassers. 

Not finished

Reviews

Excellent story. Very eager to read more of this. Your descriptions are dead on. You put in the parade with you.