The chamber was silent save for the soft gliding of a feathered ink pen across a parchment.
Seated behind her gilded desk was a queen, her posture regal, her expression composed yet thoughtful. Candlelight flickered gently upon her features, casting long shadows that danced across the marble walls.
It was Micah.
With each stroke, the quill moved gracefully, its dark ink flowing in steady lines—measured, deliberate, and unhurried.
Occasionally, her gaze drifted to the moon outside, and in that stillness, the moonlight caught the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.
Then, with quiet resolve, she resumed—her hand steady, the pen gliding once more with elegant precision.
When at last she set the pen aside, she reached out for a small, withered lily resting upon the desk, a flower long dead, yet precious still.
She placed it gently on the scroll, pressing it there with trembling fingers.
Soon, the chair upon which she sat scraped softly against the floor as she pushed it backward.
The faint sound echoed through the vast chamber, breaking the silence that had lingered.
The night was still young, and so she waited…waited, and waited still.
The candles burned low, their flames swaying with the restless air.
She moved towards the window where the moonlight poured in, then leaned on it.
The cool night breeze drifted through the open arch, stirring the heavy drapes and brushing softly against her face.
Her dark, wavy hair swayed gently with each passing gust, glinting faintly in the pale moonlight.
She drew the black shawl across her shoulder closer around her neck, yet the chill she felt did not come from the night.
Her gaze wandered beyond the palace walls to the distant fields now cloaked in mist. Somewhere out there, beneath that same moon, lay everything she had lost…and everything she still longed for.
The scroll rested on the desk behind her. But she could not bring herself to look at it again. Not yet.
Hours passed, and she remained by the window, her eyes fixed on nothing—only the emptiness before her. The moon had shifted in the sky, and its light grew faint upon the floor. The air grew colder, the silence heavier.
One by one, the candles guttered and died, their final wisps of smoke curling into the darkness. Still, she did not move.
Then, as the last flame vanished, she drew in a slow breath. The room was now swallowed in thick darkness.
It was time.
As she turned from the window, her black cloak billowed like a shadow, its edges flapping in the cold air while her dark hair whipped across her face.
The black boots she wore were hidden beneath the cloak, as was the simple commoner's dress she had on—a disguise that did little to conceal the grace in her every movement.
She strode toward the desk where the scroll lay waiting. Her steps echoed faintly against the stone floor, each one measured and sharp.
After taking the letter, she reached for the small bag of coins resting on the table.
The leather bag felt worn beneath her fingers, its weight both a comfort and a reminder of the life she was about to leave behind.
She had been saving those coins for months, perhaps because, deep down, she had always known this day would come.
She fastened the bag to her belt, then walked up to the corner of the bed, where an iron rod leaned against the wall.
The metal was cold when her fingers wrapped around it. A faint smear of rust marked her glove as she lifted it.
The dark clouds gave way, and the moon came into view, its splendid light streaming into the chamber. The pale glow spilled across the floor, tracing the edges of the desk and glinting off the scroll in her hand.
For a long moment, she stood still, staring at the rod in her hand as the moonlight flickered across its dull surface.
Outside, the wind howled again, and the window rattled; then suddenly the cloud rumbled, and lightning struck across the sky.
With the rod in her hand, Micah strode to the door, twisted the knob, and then nudged it open. Standing right in front of the door was Sir Lamech, clothed in his shiny armor.
He was backing her, his gaze straight ahead, as he tried to defeat the heaviness of sleep on his eyelid. Micah tightened her grip on the rod and then slowly raised it in the air.
Then swiftly she brought it down, about to hit the knight's head and drift him to unconsciousness, but she stopped halfway.
She couldn't bring herself to do it; her hand fell limply to her side.
"Sir Lamech."
She called out his name after hiding the rod behind her back, a faint smile etched on her lips.
The knight turned around; he didn't even hear the door creak open. How could he have known she had been standing there?
"Send for Tamar; it is urgent."
The lie slid out of her lips so fast, without her even thinking. The knight's eyes were heavy with sleep; he didn't stop to process the fact that Micah was wearing a black cloak. He bowed slightly, then turned to go for the errand.
The fire sconces along the corridor shuddered, their flames bending to the whispering breeze echoing through the hallway.
Micah glided forward, her black cloak dragging like spilled ink across the stone.
The air itself seemed to tighten around her, humming with the weight of something unsaid. In her grasp was the scroll.
Her eyes, cold and glinting beneath the wavering light, were fixed on a door ahead.
When she reached the door, she pushed it open and slipped inside. Her eyes darted around the dimly lit room before settling on the small figure lying on the bed.
She was in Amilek's chamber.
As she watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully, her heart tightened.
Why?...
Just why had she become attached to this little boy?
She wouldn't be able to say goodbye; that was the only regret she felt. Her trembling hands reached up to her face to wipe away the tears that had trailed down her cheeks.
With a heavy heart, she moved to the bedside; her hands quivered as she slipped the scroll beneath the blankets beside Amilek.
She stood there for a while, watching him sleep. Her hand lifted, longingly, her fingertips just an inch away from his face.
She wanted to feel his warmth just one last time, but something in her winced. At once she realized what she was about to do; she didn't want to wake him.
At once, she withdrew her hand.
With a heavy heart, she took slow, measured steps toward the door.
Each one felt heavier than the last.+
When she reached the door, she twisted the knob, and the door creaked open.
A pang of sorrow pierced her chest as she paused, then turned to glance at him from where she stood at the door.
Her gaze lingered on him for a while; soon the door shut closed behind her, and she finally took her leave.
Today wasn't the first time Micah had thought of running away; it was only the first time she took action.
She had discovered many hidden territories due to her endless exploring around the castle.
Many times her mind would reminisce on the paths of the castle. She wanted to remember every single trail, and when she woke up in the morning, she memorized them.
While reading her book, she would pause, close the book, and then memorize the trails.
When she was about to sleep, it was the same routine. Over and over again, she did this until the paths around the castle became carved in her brain.
She had always thought of herself as nothing but a coward, too feeble to take the chance, to run away, but not anymore.
Today she had seen her life flash before her eyes; Ragaleon had almost choked her to death. If that wasn't enough reason to give her the courage to escape this torment, then nothing could.
So many thoughts ran through Micah's mind as she walked down the secluded staircase, a small lamp in her hand. Its faint glow spilled over the cold stone walls, guiding her through the darkness.
As she descended, each footstep echoing in the thick silence, her pulse raced.
She kept glancing over her shoulder as she hurried down, her heart pounding with every step, afraid someone might have discovered she was missing.
When she reached the end of the staircase, the air turned colder. Before her stretched the castle's underground water system, a maze of narrow stone channels that ran beneath the castle.
Her cloak trailed behind her, brushing against the damp stones and soaking up the splashes of cold water that trickled along the ground.
The narrow channel stretched ahead; a thin stream flowed steadily between the worn stones, winding its way through the darkness before vanishing into a grated opening farther ahead.
The opening ahead!
When Micah's gaze caught a glimpse of it, her lips formed a bittersweet smile, her mind screaming, "Freedom!"
The sound of dripping water echoed faintly; the small lamp in her hand cast a trembling glow across the tunnel walls.
Light flickered over the wet stones, glinting off the thin stream that ran through the channel.
Micah glided slowly, afraid she would slip and fall; she kept walking until she got to the circular opening, but what she saw simply startled her.
Beyond the opening, the passage widened into a larger cavern where the water pooled in a shallow stream before flowing into a great sea.
The sound of rushing water grew louder, mixing with the low rumble of the castle's foundation above.
Micah's eyes widened in frustration.
She dared to look down, popping her head out; the night breeze caressed her face, but when she looked down, there was water everywhere.
There was no path she could walk upon; if she were to take another step, she would be falling into an abyss of deep shallow water leading to the sea.
Micah swallowed hard as she took some steps backwards; she didn't know how to swim, and she was sure to die if she took any careless step forward.
The surface of the ground was slippery, so she placed her hand on the stony walls to support herself.
But just then she missed a step…
A small gasp tore from her throat as she shut her eyes.
Yes, she closed her eyes and then screamed, already feeling her body give in to gravity.
She felt herself about to fall into the sea of water and what was to come after that was surely death.