CHAPTER 14: Escape plan
Not a single amount of guilt resided in Clare's body as she worked out her plan. She didn't want to be in a place where her value was not appreciated. Let alone rule.
The idea was stupid. Yes. Very stupid. But she didn't care. Anything seemed better than ruling a kingdom. She had always shown interest in legends and myths and magic, and never knew that it would actually come in handy.
The Prathilipi. A flower which was now going to save Clare from all kinds of trauma. A flower which was very rarely found, just like her. According to the book in her hand, the flower could be found in the mountain ranges of Utopia. Maybe she could ride Ashwin there to take a look. It was spring. She might just be lucky enough to find one. Just one. All it takes is one flower to complete the spell, the book said.
Someone knocked on the door. Who could it be at this hour, Clare wondered. Walking cautiously towards the door, she opened to find Wallace, the butler.
"Princess, the queen has requested you to join her for breakfast," he said.
Clare's reply was automatic, as if it had been rewired in her mind, ages ago.
"I'm not hungry. Tell her to continue without me." She closed the door while he was still standing. Not knowing what to do, he just left.
Pushing aside her pity for the butler, Clare took out a scroll to continue her work. There were plenty of books with millions of words regarding the matter. Not every information was useful. She had to hand pick a few and scribble it down on the scroll using charcoal.
Thinking about it, Clare realized, leaving this place for a long journey could invoke suspicion. Sure, she could say that she just went for a ride, but, something about it was not settling. Her mother will definitely not believe it. She had to find another way. Every situation in this world has more than one way to get out, unlike her mother's claim. She knew that. She knew that very well.
Of course! The words from the text floated out due to her concentration. The Prathilipi flower has medicinal values. That means, it will be available in the royal infirmary. All she had to do then was to steal one from it. Simple as that.
She'll have to be discreet, sneaky and quick.
Swift as the wind, Clare headed down the corridors with her head held high. No one dared to stop her in her tracks. Before she entered the corridors to the infirmary, she made sure no one saw her.
After dying a million times during the walk, Clare finally reached the infirmary. As expected, she timed it right. The physician was not in his room. With movements as swift as a sword, her eyes skimmed over the contents of the jar.
Clare had seen the flower only once, in a book her father used to read to her as a kid. That single memory is her only reliance at a time like this. The cupboards were definitely neat, but the contents were arranged clumsily. She could clearly see that there was some kind of order followed, but just couldn't figure out what.
Clare's heart almost stopped when she heard a noise. Her head kept turning to find the source. Turns out it was just the wind. With no time to waste, Clare went back to searching. It was really hard to search for an item without misplacing anything else, for just a bit of change in area could result in her getting caught.
Time was ticking. She was losing hope. Maybe the ingredients were not here, she thought. And then, there. Back at the very corner, glowing light orange in the dark, was the flower. Carefully picking up the jar, she confirmed that this was it. This was what she was searching for. There was something odd about it though. Something that Clare couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was because of the hazy memory, she convinced herself. With a melodious click, the jar opened. Reaching inside, Clare took out a flower with utmost care, as if her life depended on it. Placing the jar back in its place, Clare stormed out of the room at the speed of lightning.
Clare took her first breath of fresh air only when she entered the room. There is something about doing something sneaky and having the sense to think that everyone is onto them, even though no one has a clue on what was happening in their life. Even though she knew that very well, she was not an exception to this feeling.
Neatly placing the flower on a satin cloth over her dressing table, Clare went to her closet for a quest for a gold locket. She knew she owned it. She just doesn't remember where she placed it. She had never used it before. It looks like it has been made especially for this incident. After a thorough search, she dug out the locket, looking good as new, probably because it was new.
Carefully plucking just one petal from the flower, Clare placed it neatly into the locket and shut it close, later wearing it around her neck. She didn't know why she was meant to do that, but almost all the books talked about it, so it felt important enough to be included in her steps. The next step was to fill the glass with water and drop the rest of the flower into it. The flower looked as if it was losing its glow as the time passed and Clare was getting worried. This must be a property of the flower, she told herself, even though it wasn't mentioned in any of the books.
Clearing her mind of all doubts, she dropped the flower into the water. The water buzzed as the flower went down. This was all normal, she reassured herself. 10 minutes. Now she'll have to wait for ten minutes to proceed to the next step.
Quiet times have always been Clare's enemy, and yet, she always ties herself to it. It gives her reassurance that the thoughts she thinks are hers and hers alone and no one could know about it. It is the one thing that allows her to wander freely while pulling her down with its gravity at the same time. Clare laughs out loud at the irony.
Her thoughts wander to the Prathilipi flower. Her dad loved that flower; always talks about it. He had used it in the great battle, she remembers. He never told why or how though. That part had always been a mystery. Today, here she was, using that exact same flower to run away from the kingdom her father swore to save.
Clare was interrupted again by the knock on the door. Why wouldn't they leave her alone? Why couldn't they just let a girl be? Grumbling under the breath, Clare opened the door to find Wallace again, his eyes cast down and body shivering.
"Yes?" Classandra asked.
"We have brought you breakfast, princess, as instructed by the queen."
Of course, Clare thought. Her mother was feeling guilty and is now trying to get on Clare's good side. Or she could just instigate the authority she had over Clare as her mother. Either way, Clare had no option but to accept it. "Bring it in," she sighed and moved away from the door.
"O-of course, princess." The butler blinked. It took him exactly a minute to take his next step. "What's wrong?" Classandra demanded.
"N-nothing, princess," he said. "I'll tell them to bring the food in."
With a gesture of his hands, two young ladies pulled in a cart filled with delicacies.
"All that is meant for one person?" Clare questioned before she could think it through. One of the helpers whispered, "Yes princess."
"Fine," Clare sighed again. "Leave."
The helpers felt confused.
The other helper, feeling a little confident, asked, "don't you want us to set up the plates, princess?"
This time, it was Clare's turn to feel surprised. Not a lot of people gain the courage to ask questions about her orders. Most of the time, helpers beg the gods to get out of her room as quickly as possible.
"I'll take care of it," Clare said, this time a little softly. "You may leave."
With a silent bow, the helpers left Clare to her own thoughts.
Minutes passed and soon the time was up. The water had turned a shade of pinkish orange. Discarding the remaining contents of the flower, Clare simply stared at the liquid before her. Was she really going to do this, Clare wondered. From where exactly did she get the courage, she mused. Was being a queen that horrible?
Memories flooded her mind. The great war; the war against the Drokens. Bodies scattered everywhere. The promise of the droken king—
No. She can't do it. Even the memories are too much to think about. She cannot be the queen. She just can't.
One more look at the glass, and the next second, the contents were gulped in. The liquid left a scorching taste in her tongue but she tolerated it. Soon, the room was swaying. No. The room wasn't swaying, she was. She grabbed whatever she could for support. Clattering sounds filled the room. She was sick to the stomach. Finally, she held onto the mirror and closed her eyes to calm her down. The world slowly made sense again. Opening her eyes, she stepped back, a pair of hands holding her own. Baffled, she kept walking back, while a figure walked out of the mirror, materializing as she did, as if being pulled out by Clare. The girl dropped Clare's hands and Clare stumbled back. She couldn't believe her eyes. Whoever was standing in front of her was a beautiful young woman, elegant in every way possible, making Clare feel a new set of emotions which she had never felt before. Jealousy.
The young woman had her face. She was like her and yet, unlike her. She was a better version of Clare, she concluded.
The girl looked baffled by her scenery. She looked at her arms, touched her face and flinched. It was as if she couldn't believe she was existing.
After a long journey, the girl's eyes met Clare. The young women sized each other. Without a word, the girl turned towards the mirror to take herself in.
"You have my face," she said. Clare couldn't believe her eyes. It actually worked!
"You have 'my' face actually," Clare said in half daze. "But I guess I'll let it slide.
The girl nodded. "I have your face," she repeated.
"The memories?" The girl questioned while running a hand over her face. "They are yours too?"
Clare nodded grimly while looking at her doppelganger through the mirror.
"Do I have a purpose?" The girl asked, swirling around to meet Clare's eyes.
"Yes," Clare stated nonchalantly. "You are going to be the queen of Utopia."
The girl took a minute to let the idea sink in. For a second, Clare was scared. If this girl is meant to be her replica, will she have the same hate towards the throne just as her? She didn't think it through before. If things did not turn out the way she wanted, she did not know what—
"Okay," the girl said. Clare blinked once. Twice. Then let the words sink in. Clare has now officially escaped from a soul crushing post that took up most of the space in her head.
"I'm hungry," the girl finally said.
Clare sighed. Pointing towards the food cart, she said, "help yourself."
Gracefully walking towards the food cart, the girl took out a plate and started filling it with all kinds of dishes available. One by one by one, the most graceful movements Clare had ever seen. Does she look like this in front of other people's eyes, Clare wondered. If she did, Clare never felt like it. Even the girls eating looked graceful. So graceful.
There was a knock on the door again. Clare's soul journeyed out and back into her body, but also devised a plan. She turned towards the girl who was happily enjoying her meal and said, "answer the door."
"What?!" The girl asked, surprised.
"Answer the door. Be me," Clare repeated. The girl looked reluctant to leave her food behind, yet followed through with the order.
Clare realized she couldn't stay here if she didn't want people to know about the spell, so she went to hide behind her wardrobe screen.
The familiar sound of the door unlocking echoed through the room. Clare held in her breath. This was more painful than she thought it to be. Social image has been everything to Clare. She could always put up with being called rude or distant, but she always hated being vulnerable or a joke or looking like someone who needs to be pitied upon. That's not Clare. That is just not. Now, standing in a corner, letting someone else take over her life isn't as easy as she thought it would be. Will she act like her? What if she doesn't? What if people find out? What if her brother or her mother found out? Will they be worried? Angry? Upset? Or will they be relieved? Happy?
Either way, things won't work out if people could tell the difference between Clare and the doppelganger.
The answer now lies in this test. If the girl could pass as Clare, then the plan would have worked. Clare could just simply walk away from everything she had ever known and start a new life. She wouldn't have to put pressure on herself to always live up to the standards. She could be free. Freedom. Just a few more minutes, and the answer would be known.
The familiar sound of the door unlocking echoed through the room. Clare's heartbeat increased its pace to make up for its strangely still surroundings.
Who could it be, Clare wondered. Could it be her mother? If it was, Clare could be in a little more than trouble.
"Yes?" The girl's voice traveled through the air.
"Princess," she heard a voice from outside. It wasn't her family. "You are being requested for the gown fitting."
Clare couldn't contain her anxiety anymore and hence, peaked over to sneak a glimpse. The princess copy was standing tall with her head held high, demanding authority in any way possible.
"I'll be there after I complete my breakfast. Don't bother me until then. I'll go there myself," the girl said. With a swift swing, the door was locked.
"Will that be okay?" She asked Clare.
Clare, still dazed at what she had accomplished, took slow steady steps out her hiding place.
"Yes," she said. "That is okay. That is—"
Clare took in a deep breath, collecting all her scattered senses. "Perfect," she finally breathed out. "That was perfect."
The girl nodded with a smile, satisfied with Clare's answer and went back to her food.
Clare was literally stunned for a few seconds. Even though it was her who planned everything, she never expected it to work. She could not believe that it actually worked! She is free. She is finally free.
Now, she had to pack all the stuff necessary for the journey. She could not believe it. She is actually leaving the castle, a place she had called home all these years, behind.
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