Colours

#WedWIPAesthetic 29.05.19 – Colours

The stars hang on strings from the ceiling.

As my eyes adjust to the soft yellow light, I notice they are not stars, but leaves attached to vines crawling all over the ceiling, poking through the rafters, trailing flowers down into the room. A silver blossom hangs over my head; I reach up to touch it, but my arm doesn’t move. Curious, I look down, and the sight of my hand bound in coarse rope to the side of the bed causes a swell of panic to flood my veins. I lurch up, hissing at the pain in my side as I tug on the rope.

“Careful,” warns a warm voice.

My head whips around to the other side. The silver flower opens at the same time and the pleasant, almost noxious scent wafts over me, smothering the panic. I lean back into the pillows and blankets, my body at peace even though my mind is racing.

My words are slurred when I speak. “Where am I?”

The man in the corner of the room stands, brushing off his pants as though he has been sitting long enough to gather dust. Within a few strides, he has crossed the room and stops at the edge of the bed, close enough to touch if my hands were free. A sigil is stamped onto his cloak, but my eyes snag on the crown nestled in his brown hair. I have never seen anything like it — gold and bronze twisted together like the vines it represents, studded throughout with small green gems. Most kings I have seen or read about in the mortal realm proclaim their status loudly and boldly, with large stones embedded in thick gold bands. This crown is subtle, hidden in his hair. I do not know what to think of it.

“First, you will answer my questions.” His voice is deep and raspy, but not unkind. “Who are you?”

I fight the truth as it claws its way up my throat.

He tilts his head. His dark brown eyes land on the flower above my head. “The moondrop is a powerful sedative. One whiff can relax you. In a tea, it can turn your own mind against you. If ingested, it will send you into a deep sleep and conjure monsters from your own consciousness to devour you in your dreams. If crushed into a powder and inhaled —” he plucks the flower from the vine and pinches a petal between his fingers, staining his skin silver “— well, we haven’t tried everything yet.”