Book 1 - Chapter 2 - Midnight Fears

~April 17, 1000~

 

 Mila sat with eyes closed tight. Her stomach boiled within. A single strand of hair itched her neck.
 How could Mam decide such a thing? I just do not understand...
Her thoughts trailed on in circles. They seemed to return to disbelief every few moments.
 Footsteps tapped on the tile in the hallway.

  Mila shuddered. Her stomach heaved as she fought to keep her evening meal inside her.
Was it her Mam, her mother?

  The young girl lay down and closed her eyes. She evened her breathing and schooled her face to look restful.
 A soft sliding sound. Mila slit her eyes just enough so that she could see. It was her Mam.

 Her eyes were downcast hands on her stomach as if it boiled just as fiercely as Mila's. Nails, hair, and dress perfect. Perfume filled the pretender's nostrils.
How can she be so worried about her looks at a time like this? How can she just not care?
Mari tried to block her thinking. The thoughts, she knew, would show on her face if she continued.

  Mila closed her eyes all the way. She could hear her mother whispering...
"What has she seen this day? What horrors did she see and not tell? My poor baby girl!"
 There was a pause.

"I must get my family away, I must!"
 Mila struggled to keep disgust out of her face.
Yes, dear Mam, run! Run like the cowardly ruler you are! At least Fam is against it and won't be running like you are!

 Mila chanced a look. Her Mam was on the way out. She paused.
Her glance traveled to a stuffed doll.

 For years she had played with it and ever it had slept with her. Yet at age ten she had set it on the floor and not picked it up since then.
A sniffle? Could it be that Mila heard a sniffle?
She is sad? What of all the people with children that she leaves to get murdered!

 The door swished open. It closed behind Belladona.
Mila sat up on her bed. She looked down at her dress.
"I am no better than Mam, right now."
An owl hooted out of doors. Next door whispers began.
Mice scratched in the walls.
  As the bells screamed out midnight Mila had stood.
She had thrown clothes in a bag and made to the window.
"Fiddlesticks! It's too high,"
she whispered.
'Tis true. Little Mila's room was on the second story with nothing to climb down on.
 So began her tip toe through the manor.