” I could sleep for a thousand years,” she told me. Her long fingers running over the pale face, every inch of it seemed to be the picture of perfection and I knew that, when she said those words, she did not mean to rest her mind. No, she could sleep that long only for the sake of her escape. Even as she spoke the lady never met my gaze, rather she turned from me, leaning out of her window. I only sat in silence, watching her as she continued to muse.

” And yet there would be a thousand dreams that would awake me,” fingers dance along the stone ridge, leaning out to touch the air before her. She is feeling something invisible, something she cannot and will never have. Freedom. I know more than anything she wants to escape. Once she was the queen, once she was free, but now she is a bird trapped in her own cage. The key feels heavy in my pocket, the weight of guilt, the weight of my emotions but the weight of my duty – and the fear of what would happen to me – prevents me from drawing it out and freeing the lady. I wonder now which means more, which is for the better, her freedom or me, keeping my head. My thoughts are greedy and the key remains, a burden attached to my side.

”The dreams of my children,” her breath is soft, her words a whisper, pain bubbling to the surface. And then she pivot sharply, turning to me. Brilliant eyes stare through the metal bars, stare through me. I am hardly worthy of her sight. “Different colours made of tears,” she breathes, gliding towards me. Her every movement is haunting. How she manages to retain her demanding presence, how she never falters even in a moment of such weakness, amazes me to no end. Pale hands grasp the bars, her face effortlessly slipping between the barrier that restrains her flight. And now her face is so close to mine, I can see her every feature. Her high cheekbones, her thin lips, the mess of muddy brown curls and those wide eyes. They are like the ocean, deep and blue, mysterious and intelligent… thirsty.

”Do you not understand?” I am pulled away from the imaginary tide as she speaks to me again. This time her tones are sharp, loud. Rage is fuelling her now, the calm façade shed as a caterpillar leaves behind his cocoon. “My children are dying out there!” Hand jabs through the air, slicing it as she gestures to the window, but never looks at it. “Can you not hear the cries of the peasants? Or, are you too, too high and noble, so cold that you can ignore them, deny them of life?” It is a question and a statement all at once. She is asking me to look into myself, when she has already discovered the answer. The key burns me, and I’m sure she knows where it is. 

”Can you not hear their cries? Can you not feel their tears? They’re dreams are smashed now, at the hands of one whom I trusted. How ill my trust has been placed,” her eyes glare at me, and I know that the last line in a blow. And I feel it. Her voice alone puts me under a spell, but when she insults you crumble. I wonder if His Majesty was true all along, I wonder if she really is a witch. My fingers twitch, longing to give her the key and let her go away, far, far away. She is a puzzle and a burden, one that is almost unbearable. And yet, the mere thought of never being able to twitch my fingers again freezes them. I am a statue, solid and cold, never blinking, never flinching as she speaks to me, even though I secretly long to hide my face. Outside, I am strong but inside, inside, my walls of coming crashing down, leaving me but an empty shell and nothing more.

”How is it you are deaf to their cries, how is it you refuse them so? Tell me, how do you poison your mind so? How do all you men think of only yourselves?” She is yelling at me now, and something about her words strikes me harder than ever. Perhaps it is the fact that she has labelled me so easily and accurately. I am thinking for myself now, but isn’t she? After all, she wants to be free. That is a self-absorbed comment, is it not? And yet, a small voice inside of me says otherwise. After all, it whispers, she wants to be free for them, not for her. She only wishes to be free because no one else will save this kingdom. The king is in his chamber, surrounded by his processions, all he truly cares about. The new queen is at her mirror, lost deep in her reflection. I, I was sitting here, opposed to her, and I was too cold to think of anyone but myself. Yet she, she was not thinking of herself. She was thinking for the poor, for the abandoned, for the lonely, for the kingdom. She was thinking of the people who we, in this castle, had cast aside.

In these walls we were safe, sheltered. We did not have to hear their pleas; we didn’t have to lay a single sight on their shabby features. And yet, somehow, she still heard their voices, somehow she still cared, these feelings surely could not have been harboured here, could they? Amongst filth like us, scum who were too consumed with themselves and their riches, this could not have been the place where she had learnt such behaviour. And yet, she had always been different, above us in a sense. Yet now she stands in a cell, lower than the ones she cared for. For even peasants could run, even they tasted more freedom than she.

I twitch, unable to be still in her presence. I want to touch her, she is so different, so surreal…I wonder if this is all but a dream. She profile turns, now her eyes grasp my once more – her gaze wraps around me, squeezing the air from my lungs, the life from my heart – I am not dreaming. Though, breifly, I wish that I were. My hand wraps around the key once more. I am holding the future, I know this now. I can let her be free, and start something blasphemous and absurd…and yet, perhaps, built out of selfless intent and morals that are right… Or, I can stay, sit unblinkingly, for to defy would go against my employer, my upbringing…It would defy the world as I know it.

Either way I loose.

Yes, still, I am powered but such selfish thoughts, still I care only for myself. To watch her, watch her spirits fade and die – they always do – will put me through pain, but to free her, the cost would be my own life, for she would not take me with her. I have no shield to protect me from death, for either way I will die. Only, one side leads my inside, my spirit to grow weak, and the other my mortal being…

It is a fork in the road… And I must decide, not for me, but for the wellbeing of the rich, or the uprising of the poor.

For the one who feeds me…or her.

I am not supposed to be so weak.

But, if I were a wall…I would be crumbling…

It is not fair, that it is me who will suffer, but it is not fair that she has been caged, it is not fair that they are all dying while the king fills himself with pleasures.

I grab the key, firmly now, with a confidence that I can only fake.

Like a sword, I draw it, though this key pocesses much more power than any blade.

And slowly I turn in, and watch the hope open up in her eyes.

I open the gate…

She touches me for a moment, her smile sending a vibration down my spine, shocking my very being, putting me at an unnatural ease…

And I let her go free, I let her fly.

The key falls, silently, to the ground, my hand clutches the nothing that is my heart. Her smile still pulses through my veins…

Perhaps I will die in peace.