Beat

Radioactive// Lindsey Stirling and Pentatonix

I hear the keys jingling along with hobbling footsteps in the hallway, the sound growing louder as someone draws near. I keep my head down on the floor, keeping up the guise of sleep just in case...well I'm not sure what to expect so I choose to listen and observe before acting. I'm not sure whether to be afraid or relieved.

The lock jiggles. The door creaks open. I crack one eye to peek. A small, hunched old woman–at least I think it's a woman and not another creature–comes into my cell. I look first at her feet, small and clad in simple slippers peeking out from below her skirt. Her deep onyx dress is darker than any black fabric I have seen, and I find my fingers itching to touch it. I'm never taken by fabric or clothes the way Ellete is, but this is simply bewitching with its lush darkness. The lower half of the dress boasts a full skirt rising to a smooth bodice. No embellishment of any kind can be seen on the plain long sleeves or squared neckline. Ellete would be incensed if she came across this dress in any shop in town, with the eye-catching color but  boring design.

"Up." A bright white smock, perfectly clean and crisp on the hunched form before me, is tied into place. Even as I sit up and look directly at the woman, I can't catch much of her face with how hunched over she is. I do see the tight bun of her hair nestled on the top of her head. Grey and white mix together in swirls of thick locks. There isn't a hint of what the original color may have been and for some reason I find myself wondering what color it was in her youth. I realize I have been gaping too long to be respectful so I avert my eyes to the door handle she now grips.

"Follow me." Her quiet voice is kind. Instinct tells me I do not need to fear her. Instead, I sense a familiar sorrow in her soul that moves me. I wonder how long she has been here in the high dwelling, perhaps against her will. But I refrain from asking. Not yet.

She leads me back through the hallway-- the same one Grimhold led me down when he brought me to the cell-like room. But at that point I had lost interest in my surroundings, my mind only thinking of the hateful oven. This time, I pay attention to every detail. The number of steps from my room to the hall, where each window is placed along the way, and when I have the chance to peek, how far the drop might be. I observe a few closed doors and wonder where they lead, and if they might be locked. I'm not confident enough to try any of the handles.

We pass the enormous cage once again, the small bird now out of sight. I crane my eyes to the top, looking for signs of the creature but not able to see it. The spotty and shadowed light in this room makes it difficult to see clearly. The woman's steps continue so I follow closely as my eyes scan everything within view.

Not far into our walk, the woman stops at an open doorway. "You may clean up in here, then step back into the hall. I will be waiting."  I look at her, my head angling to try to see her face a little better. This time I notice not only is she hunched over to an alarming degree, worse than my father after years of baking, but her head is also cocked at an angle, which must twist her neck at an discomforting turn. I'm surprised to see the sharp features of her nose and chin, pointed and almost...long. It reminds me...it looks almost...like a beak.

Like a bird.

My heart skips, then absolute shock runs through my entire body, causing my foot to shake and twist as I recall the stories Drue and Nicandros told me of the woman and the bird. The insinuation they both made their story explained my mother's disappearance. That mother was indeed the very same as the woman in the story. That she, herself, had been changed into a bird.

I nearly stumble into the woman before me while standing still. My mind races. Could this be? Is she...I look more carefully at her and my mental reason once again makes an appearance. This woman is elderly, grayed and withered with time. My mother has been gone for ten years, not fifty. This woman could not possibly be the mother I once knew. But I wonder if she knows, if she's seen my mother during her time here. One more glance at the woman and I'm again struck by her bird-like similarities.

Is anyone in this odd dwelling just a normal human other than myself?

Still gaping at her, I finally turn and head into the room to which she's brought me. I walk through the doorway and pause, sighing with relief, when I see a warm bath prepared along with a change of clothes, similar to the deep black dress of the old woman. I glance across the room finding a small window, most likely overlooking another deep drop into nothingness. But I'm startled when I notice that the sky is dark with night. How long have I been here? A day? Longer? I'll have to ask the old woman when I'm done with my bath.

Not wanting to hesitate longer, I prepare myself to bathe, relieved to find a wonderfully scented soap of lilac and rosemary. As I lather the soap, such a luxury in itself, I can't help but be reminded of home. The rosemary is especially triggering, a common smell within the bakery. I try to push thoughts of home away as I scrub my hair with the soap. I made the decision to go out into the wild, to seek whatever darkness lay in the path of my family's future, and now here I sit; a cell for a home, and no other information to help answer my questions.

I wonder if Grimhold will ever return to check on me. Will he leave and forget, having fulfilled whatever favor he'd granted? This is only the beginning of my questions, and the longer I'm in this dwelling, the more questions I have.

Once the water has cooled considerably, I finally decide to dry off and dress, suddenly curious if the rich black fabric is as soft as it looks. I put on the dress laid out for me, surprised to find it a perfect fit. As if it's been waiting for me...

"Finished?" the woman asks. Now that I'm clean, refreshed and focused, I notice how comforting her voice is. Like a soothing lullaby, a melody, something unexplainable. I exit the bathing room doorway to find her in the same spot she was before I left.

"Yes," I reply. I'm comfortable enough now to ask, "Can you tell me, how long have I been here?" The instinct to trust her is strong. She won't lie to me, I'm certain of it.

"Ah," she begins as she turns to lead me back. Back to that cell. "Time means little here. A day, perhaps. Maybe a week." She attempts a shrug of her shoulders, but being so stooped over it's barely visible. "It always appears to be night, even though the moon makes its path across the sky. Always full. Always bright. But never truly daytime."

For some reason, her words do not shock me. They should. A place in eternal night? I should be at my wits end, but my tolerance for shocking revelations has extended recently. I wonder if anything will ever shock me again?

As she leads me back to the room, I review my earlier assessments of the hallway and its features, making sure I have everything right. Although why I've bothered I'm not quite sure. I'm not free to wander and explore, let alone escape. We make it back to the small room, still cold and lifeless, but the new dress, which is as warm as it is soft, succeeds in taking the chill off. Her keys jingle once again, and the door opens. The old woman twists her head toward me. I see her eyes for the first time. Bright in color they may be, but so sad, and surprisingly familiar. Trapped in the dwelling as much as I am, she looks the way I've felt for most of my life—hopeless. Only now, can I see it. Now that I know how eyes filled with hope look.

Drue's eyes.

I miss his eyes so much. And I held onto the hope I would find him here, along with evidence of my mother's fate.

I step back into the cell noticing for the first time the bed has been covered. Flour sacks, several layers of them sown into a blanket, now coat the cold, hard cot. As the door to the room begins to shut and the woman holds the key, I whirl around to face her.

"Did you do this?" I ask as I gesture to the room's new addition.

The woman nods in reply, again hardly visible with the angle of her head. "This room is too cold, always has been. No warmth." Her words bring sudden understanding. This cell had been hers once.

I dare to ask, "How long?" I keep my voice hushed as if our conversation could be overheard and I've asked too much, the wrong question.

"Too long," is her quiet answer.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the votes and comments! I can't tell you how inspiring it is to have you all with me!

Confession: I like this version of Radioactive better than the original. And I really like Imagine Dragons, but Lindsey and Pentatonix nailed it. The song is even more significant for the next chapter.

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See you tomorrow!