Inner Demons-Chapter One She stood at the base of the spiral staircase, her bow raised and undoubtedly pointed at me, the metal arrowhead gleaming in the moonlight, mocking me. The soft wind ruffled her hair only slightly, shortly trailing behind her. "You are making a mistake," I try to convince her of my freedom from this trap. I hear the faint clatter of boots and armor, and without looking I could easily know that I was surrounded. Enemies on both sides, I had nowhere to run; there was no escape. I gripped the Chalice of Davenbreu tighter, my knuckles turning a ghostly white. "Please, R, I know you're still in there." She seems unphased and I feel a solid grip on my shoulder. Before I can turn to see my executioner a thin, white sword is pressed to my throat. I swallow and shiver. The sword of Victor. The only possible way Wren would have given it up is if they pried it away from his #lifeless hand which meant that my best friend was dead. I swallowed. My best friend was dead. I held my breath and closed my eyes, waiting for the arrow to make its mark. It was a pale-lit, Autumn afternoon, and the weather was actually rather pleasant for the time of year. Children were outside, running , laughing, playing; not even the animals were kept inside their stalls and pens. And I had to spend this wonderful afternoon on trial for a crime I did not do. Originally I had been on trial for theft, which I pleaded guilty to and faced my charges, because I was in fact guilty for that particular crime. My mother, who had passed away when I was a child , had left behind a chest filled with letters to every single person that she loved. She had left the key with my father, who declared that he would not open it until he felt emotionally ready. He fastened it to the chain of his pocket watch, but a draft called him to war and away from my family forever; he disappeared and was not seen ever again. This is when I became a bit of a hoarder, buying every key that I found, testing the lock, failing time after time, all to see my mothers last words to me, to see that faded ink on the worn out paper. This is when I begun to take things. To steal. Every bad habit starts somewhere. Mine started with keys. My grandmother ended up selling the chest, her reasoning being that it was turning me into a monster, and that no one would ever try to open it by force due to it being an antique. I was obviously upset and went to go find the buyer. I found the chest two days later in the back of a noble man's carriage and decided that although he bought it it still rightly belonged to me. And of course this did not sit right with King Ivan, so I ended up on trial. But this was months ago, in late spring. Over the summer, about a month and a half after I'd finished my punishment (a lash every day for a month) the noble died, and of course the finger was pointed at me. I was nowhere near the palace when he died, but the King wanted me locked up anyway. As he put it, I was a "danger to society". The trial was not even a trial; instead of me defending myself, it was more of just the king preaching about the corrupt things in the world, me being fairly high on this list. And after that, I was locked up. I was chained and marched to a high security prison just off the grounds of the palace, the head guards of 6 squads surrounding me. It was a decent walk , but the chains made me even more aware of the distance and by the time we arrived, I was more tired than I had ever been in my #life. The prison looked more like a dungeon, dilapidated from years of disrespect and mistreatment. It was clear it had not been even cleaned in a good decade, making itself aware of disease by a strong odor resembling that of a cat's urine. I was ushered to my room and locked. I knew I had room mates but it was too dark to see. With nothing else to do, I curled up on the cold, damp stone floor, and fell asleep- something I very much needed after marching in chains.