Note Regarding Music Cues: As I write, I almost always listen to music to help me get to the place where I need to be for a particular scene. I saved the links to the tracks I listened to while writing this story. The beauty of posting my work online is I can easily share those links. Below, anytime you see a [MUSIC] link, that’s what I was listening to at the time. Of course the timing will not necessarily fit however slowly or quickly you read but you’ll get the idea. Enjoy!

[MUSIC] Andrea, pale and thin in a dull gray chemise, sat on the cold stone floor on her right thigh, with her legs tucked under her, her right hand holding her up.  Her long dark hair was stringy and hanging down around her face. Other than the light coming from an opening in the ceiling far above her, it was impossible to see any details of the room she was in.  The shackle around her left ankle, while thin, was made of solid iron and the chain attached to it, about ten feet in length, led to a peg in the floor that appeared to have been placed when the floor itself was made.

While she was in fact breathing, to the casual observer, she would have appeared inert, like a statue.  The sound of heavy keys being turned in the lock of an unseen door elicited no reaction from her. When the door opened, she took a deep breath but otherwise, remained motionless.  She heard a few steps and then the door closed. She knew it was pointless to look up. She wouldn’t be able to see him in the darkness, even if she did. A sharp cough from the vicinity of the door confirmed that he had in fact come in.  Without lifting her head, she simply called out in a weary voice, “What do you want, Andreas?”

“I’ve just come to say hello,” came the gruff reply followed by a suppressed cough.

“Rather to see if I’m still alive, don’t you mean,” she said.

“I know full well you’re still alive, Andrea,” he responded, irritated, as he started walking toward her.  As he came out of the shadows, she tilted her head just enough to see his cloaked figure approaching. “I do ensure you’re fed, you know,” he replied sounding somewhat like a petulant child.

“If that’s what you could call it,” she shot back.  “Scraps, with an occasional meal thrown in.”

His head was bowed but she couldn’t be sure if it was out of shame, unlikely, or because the crown he insisted on wearing at all times was finally becoming burdensome in its weight.  

“Anything more than that, and you’re liable to break these chains with your bare hands,” he laughed, which set off a coughing fit he was now unable to suppress.

“It doesn’t sound as though you’re very well yourself, Andreas,” she said as the fit subsided.

“Nonsense,” came his curt reply, prompting him to lift his head somewhat higher.  “It’s just this damned winter. It’s interminable.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she responded. For the first time since he came into this prison of hers, this dungeon, she looked up, letting her hair fall back.  Looking up into the opening above her, the light shone down on her face. Even in her weakened state, he could see that she was beautiful. “One day is like the last. One week like the last. One month…”

“Ok, ok, I get it,” he barked.  He gave a heavy sighed. “I’ll see about improving your rations.”

“Your Grace…,” she said, lowering her face to look at him.  Making little effort to conceal her disdain, she replied, “That is most generous of you.”

“It is Your Majesty, as you well know!” he said, his temper flaring.  He turned, his cloak sweeping the floor around him. He stomped back toward the door and yanking it open, he stepped through it without another word.

Before the guard could shut and lock the door behind him, Andrea heard another coughing fit begin, trailing off as Andreas stormed away.  Furrowing her brow, she ‘hmmph’ed’ in curiosity about his visit and his health.

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[MUSIC] Time never seemed to move in any regular way.  Meals came, she assumed, at consistent intervals, but Andrea had so much unrelenting time in between that hours might as well be days.  And so it was, that when her next meal arrived on the usual metal tray with a simple wooden plate and bowl, no utensils of course, she couldn’t be sure if her conversation with Andreas had happened a day before, or even if at all.

The only thing that convinced her it had taken place was the food before her.  Instead of just the usual porridge and bread, there was fresh fruit. Andrea stared at it rather than immediately grab it and start eating. It had been so long since she’d seen fruit that she wasn’t even sure what it was.  She was pretty sure the small green ovals were grapes. And the rounder red item was a…pear? No, apple. That was an apple.

Finally, unable to resist, she plucked one of the grapes off its stem and held it up closer to her face.  She sniffed at it and detected the sweetness inside. With a slow deliberate purpose, she bit into it and the burst of juice shocked and delighted her all at once.  She actually squealed a little as the juice filled her mouth and ran down her chin.

Still not trusting her senses, she picked up the apple and after giving it the same intense examination as the grape, she bit into it.  As her teeth broke the skin, the crunch filled the room and again, the sweet juice of the fruit filled her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t believe how something as simple as a grape and apple could provoke such an emotional response in her.  Now sure of her good fortune, she proceeded to eat each and every grape, one at a time, to savor and enjoy every moment of it. Finished with them, she then devoured the apple, although with more gusto.

Looking back down at her tray, she realized she hadn’t noticed the oatmeal in the bowl.  Having become used to some bland porridge as a staple of her diet, she didn’t think much of it until she lifted the bowl to just below her chin.  She inhaled the aroma and then scrunched up her nose. It wasn’t just plain oatmeal. Raising the bowl to her nose, she inhaled more deeply and realized that there was some kind of spice as well.  Scooping up a small amount with her fingers, she put it in her mouth. Rather than start chewing, she just let the portion sit on her tongue. Cinnamon. There was cinnamon in her oatmeal!

As she started to shovel the oatmeal into her mouth, as though it were the first time she’d eaten in days, and really, it might as well have been, she started to wonder.  Perhaps he was poisoning her. Perhaps he was finally going to have her executed and this was to be her last meal. Although she entertained these morbid thoughts, they did not stop her from finishing every last bit of food in her bowl.  

Satiated in a way she had not felt in what seemed to be years, she lay down and drifted off to a content sleep.  Her dreams, which were more often than not nightmares, were full of strange scents and visuals, as though, fed by food with flavor, her subconscious had something more to work with for the first time in ages.  She would recall, upon waking later, that in all of her dreams, she had the strangest sensation of being a young girl again, before her imprisonment. Her face would be wet with the tears she’d shed in her sleep.

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From that day on, her meals continued to be far more satisfying and complete.  True to his fear, Andrea did in fact feel herself growing stronger. Although she could not move very far with the shackle on her leg, she did feel far more inclined to at least walk in circles, creating for herself an imaginary labyrinth around the peg that held her chain.

It was in the middle of one of these ‘walks’ that she heard the key turning in the door of her cell.  She stopped where she was and waited. The door opened and then closed. From the darkness, she heard what sounded like a cough mixed with a laugh.  She then heard him walking toward her, and as he emerged like some kind of spectre from the gloom, he said, “I see you are doing quite well with the improvement in your rations.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is very much appreciated,” she responded with her sincerity and gratitude evident in her voice.  “I feel…” she paused, trying to choose her words carefully, “...better.” Before he could question his decision to improve her food, she carried on, “And how are you feeling?”

As if on cue, Andreas coughed, but simply said, “Fine.  I feel fine.”

There was a pause before either of them spoke again.  Deciding she might as well risk it, she took a step closer to Andreas and said, tentatively, “Are you getting enough fresh air? Perhaps a walk in our garden would do you good.  I would very much enjoy accompanying you on a stroll there….”

She trailed off as she saw his mouth turn into a frown. Well, not a frown exactly.  More like confusion. Finally, he responded, “Garden? Our garden?”

“Yes, Andreas.  The one we used to play in as children,” she said, her voice softening in sadness.  How could he forget?

He abruptly turned and started to walk back to the door.  Once he was back in the darkness, he paused. She could tell he had turned his head just enough to call back to her, “I will see about providing you an escort for a walk in...the garden.”

With that, and suppressing another coughing fit, he left. Andrea stood motionless for what seemed hours.  A tumble of emotions rattled inside her. There was a conflict between her joy at so easily getting an opportunity to leave this imprisonment, even if for a short time, and her sadness that he seemed to have completely forgotten a key part of their childhood.  Her memories of the garden brought her warmth but the fact that those memories were so distant as to be forgettable now pained her.

And finally, she couldn’t help but also wonder why he thought this escort would be necessary. Her recollection of the garden was that it was walled in and so it wouldn’t be easy for her to just walk away unattended anyway.  Would this be someone to talk to, which she would gladly welcome, or just a mute guard to stand watch over her? She started walking again, tracing out her imaginary labyrinth.

Part II