t.h.i.r.t.e.e.n

                                    

                                          
A pretty maid in a long, flowing dress gently led Remi to her room, the white material fluttering weightlessly behind her. 
                          
From within the shadows behind them, Killure walked as silently as ever, like a predator sneaking up on its prey. She couldn't tell he was there without physically turning around and looking at him--he moved gracefully, like a feline, and every step seemed calculated. A combination of purposeful and deadly. 
                          
She tore her eyes away from him. The hallway looked like what she would expect the inside of a ship to look like. Planks, some splintered or cracked, encompassed them, with a few bent nails sticking out. Some nails were even beginning to look orange and rusty--or perhaps that was simply how they were made to look. 
                          
Not infrequently, boards creaked and groaned, begging to be left alone, ancient and archaic, as if their backs were being broken with every foot that fell on them. If someone didn't know any better they'd assume this boat was many years old. It was nearly impossible to tell that this entire estate was only created twelve or so years ago. Definitely not long enough for boards to protest this much. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make this look genuinely rustic. 
                          
Remi couldn't help but notice how skittish the maid seemed. She was definitely afraid, but of what in particular, Remi didn't know. There were many things for the maid to be afraid of. 
                          
Usually Remi dreaded speaking to other people, and never began a conversation with a stranger of her own free will due to just how incredibly annoying and boring most people were, but tonight she was feeling different. She felt pity for the maid who was terrified. And it was as if her tongue had a will of its own tonight, and felt like showcasing how brave it was by letting words spill forth. Words Remi didn't even feel nervous about saying. She didn't even feel the usual worry that often quelled up inside of her, which always made her second guess whether or not she was properly articulating what she wanted to say to the other person. What words should I use? Or, Do I sound stupid when I say this? The familiar questions that she often asked herself didn't even enter her mind. 
                          
It was freeing, but also terrifying. 
                          
"I love your dress," Remi commented, her voice bouncing off the narrow hallway's walls despite how softly she spoke. "It's very pretty--almost angelic." 
                          
The maid looked surprised that she'd been spoken to, but soon regained her composure. "Thank you, miss." 
                          
"Have you worked here long?" she asked out of curiosity. 
                          
"No, my lady. Only a few months," she whispered shakily as they walked down the deathly silent corridor. 
                          
Torches were placed sporadically along the upper walls, dimly illuminating the path before them. Their dancing flames elicited shadows that danced just as eagerly, and nearly as wildly as their light counterparts. 
                          
"I've heard there's a high turnover rate," Remi announced, not particularly caring how callous she sounded. If she acted with any shred of timidness, the maid would most likely try to avoid a direct answer. "Why is that?" 
                          
"Yes, my lady," the maid began walking slightly ahead, casting her eyes downward. "Sometimes . . . sometimes the sirens wish to feed on a familiar face." 
                          
"And the captain simply lets them?" 
                          
The maid spun around, stopping in place with wide eyes. She placed a finger across her lips. "Please, miss! You mustn't accuse my lord, the captain, of evil intent. Someone may hear; and besides, he treats us very hospitably here. Even those who do not stay long would probably prefer to live a short life of comfort than to end up in the homes of lords who would put them through far worse." 
                          
Remi tilted her head. "And would you prefer that? Would you prefer to live in fear, knowing your everything you do—even the things done absentmindedly—might be determining factors in whether or not you will continue to live this life of comfort or be tossed into the lake and torn apart by the bloodthirsty sirens?" 
                          
Pink flushed the maid's cheeks, and she quickly began walking once again. "O-Of course I would prefer this life, miss." 
                          
Lie. 
                          
Remi sighed, realizing she would get nowhere with this maid. The poor girl was probably thinking the questions were meant to ensnare her, to trick her into betraying her captain so that her answers could be reported back to him, in order for him to have an excuse to terminate her position as a maid and toss her into the lake. 
                          
A few minutes later the maid slowed down, stopping in front of a wooden door with beautiful, floral designs. Vines curled up around the door frame, causing Remi to scrunch her eyebrows in confusion. Surely no sunlight could reach all the way down here. 
                          
"Our great Captain Rismak had us prepare you your own room, my lady. Your friends are staying further down this hallway, in case you wanted to see them," she curtsied respectfully and bowed her head. "Is there anything I can bring you?" 
                          
"I'm fine," Remi replied with a comforting smile. "You've been quite helpful." 
                          
The maid smiled timidly and nodded, before turning to scurry off. Remi's voice stopped her first. "By the way, what is your name?" 
                          
"Wendytha, my lady." 
                          
"Well, Wendytha," Remi spoke with surprising confidence. "If your position here is ever . . . in threat of termination, feel free to send someone and let me know. I'm sure we could use your help around the house." 
                          
Wendytha's eyes became wide and terrified, as though she'd heard something blasphemous, and ran off without replying. 
                          
Killure snickered from beside Remi, leaning against the open door frame with his arms crossed. His hair was still a little wet, and was just beginning to bounce back into his usual, wild ebony locks. "I'd say she's more terrified of you than the sirens." 
                          
Remi frowned, feeling a bit annoyed. She'd put herself out there, pushing when she hated to do so, and didn't even get the desired result. "What did I say wrong?" she grumbled, still looking down the now-empty hallway. 
                          
"You're a Designer, doll," his words suddenly became icy cold, as if he too hated what she was. "That's enough to make most people run away with their tails between their legs." 
                          
She turned to him, looking up to meet his hard eyes. "You don't." 
                          
Killure let out a haggard breath and looked away. "I don't have much of a choice, do I? Also, I don't run from my problems." He narrowed his deep blue eyes in on her. 
                          
His words slapped her in the face, leaving behind red, raw skin. Remi felt her eyes begin to burn and tears begin to pool in her eyes. Before they could unleash themselves and begin streaming down her cheeks, she ran into her room, straight to the en-suite bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. 
                          
With her back against the door she sunk down, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She refused to let the tears flow, even behind a closed door. However, she couldn't stop her heart from hurting. It clenched tightly, painfully so, as if it were trying to shrink into nothing so that it wouldn't be hurt. 
                          
Did people really think of her as some monster simply because of what she could do? Just because she could hurt people didn't mean she would, and it definitely didn't mean that people should expect her to. 
                          
Was she a monster? 
                          
People certainly were terrified of her—she couldn't deny that. Remi could always feel it, as if their fear were springing out at her during that brief moment where their eyes connected. 
                          
All her life she'd grown up around the comfort of her family—people like herself. People who weren't scared of her ability, but understood and respected its power, because they possessed the same thing and knew that both good and bad could come of it. 
                          
Remi had always been content with that. She never needed other people to understand when she was surrounded by people at home who did. 
                          
But was that enough anymore?