Vines crept around her castellated mansion - contributing to its already ancient age. Birds warbled in soporific lassitude brought by the sweep of the wind. There were no ramparts or corrugated gates as protection, only rose bushes that circled the entire building. And that was all she needed. A bastion of abandonment.
She need not be afraid of anything. Surrounded by nothing but an enchanted forest to her right, sickled like beach across the balcony of her room, a cul-de-sac on her left and a winding road that leads to the city from her backyard. There was only her-the chatelaine and her mansion. No maidservant to wait on her, no cook to conjure up scrumptious food. Not even the presence of a spirit. And she was contented just as it is.
How long has it been since she was last basked in the company of others? She couldn't remember. Her name, her past or whether she was still alive, for that matter. The chatelaine lay ensconced in her high-backed chair with a cup of tea in her right hand and a paperback novel in the other. She was seated by the window, where the purveyor of light shined at its brightest. The book was titled "Jane Eyre" by Curer Bell and was taken from her vasts collection of books from the library.
Seemingly detached from the world at present, she did not hear the mild crash that came from the vestibule. Her house was decorated with a smorgasbord of paintings and sculptures. Mostly white sculptures of little cupid and his bow, and elegant Grecian ladies. Smacked in the middle of the room was a red velvet three-settee that was joined by its carbon copy at a ninety degree angle on its right and a piece of intricately carved wooden table between them. Each floor was tessellated in black and white tiles. To others this might seemed like a clash of tastes but to her, it perfectly reflect her inner turmoil.
A second crash echoed and this time, it was much louder than before. She looked up from her novel- all five senses heightened; marked the book with a pin and placed it on the coffee table. Lying beside her four-poster bed was a sheathed sword. She took it and followed the origin of the sound.
Never had she felt so excited. Blood was pumping from all sides of her heart's chamber. One might think that she was insane to think so but not her. She welcomed anything that would break her monotonous days. From her vantage point, she could see the outlines of two men and a lady but not their countenance. Of the two, one was equipped with a long sword. The other, a much slighter build, was holding his hammer single-handedly.
“That looks terribly heavy,” she thought.
The lady was paired with a bow and a collection of arrows in her leather compartment strapped to her back. Curious, she wondered who these people were?
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