Lady in waiting

It’s always something with her – “get me this,” “bring me that,” “go here,” “go there,” “is my dress pretty?”

Her tea was too cold, her bed furs too hot. She wants her hair in a braid, she wants it pulled up into blasphemous cornettes. She should have been shorn of her golden tresses just as the king’s guard seized her father’s ill-gotten gold.

She can’t simply make me a list and give me all her errands at once. No, she has to torture me by giving me every, single, task, one at a time, making me run up and down those cursed stairs from dusk to dawn. I am so weary in the morning, I fear my legs still churn in my sleep.

Treacherous as the twisted risers are, the real danger is lurking in the high tower. Never has so sweet a countenance masked so evil a personage. Her very honorific has become my most foul profanity. I will never utter, “princess” again without showing the mano cornuta to ward against her wickedness.

The High Sheriff should have ordered her burned as a witch, instead he locked her away in the donjon. Clearly, she bewitched him.

My life is now forfeit as her attendant. I couldn’t even be granted the position of lady-in-waiting. I will die before she. That kind of demon is immortal.

There she goes again, ringing her damnable bell. If I never hear that sound again it will be too soon. Pray, what could she want now?


This coup has turned my life into a nightmare and landed me unfairly sequestered for my father’s misdeeds in this stone hollow, this castle keep.

Cloistered in the high tower, separated from my friends and family, my only contact with the world is my resolute companion.

Her unfailing attention has kept me sane these long, lonely months. No request has gone unfulfilled, no plaint unheard, no compassion withheld. She comes whenever I call.

My days are made brighter by her tender voice, or her skilled hands plaiting my hair. Simply having her comb out the tangles and snarls is comforting. She even continues to address me in the royal nomenclature, a sign of respect I won’t soon forget.

Once my father regains his throne, these conspirators will be harshly dealt with, and her loyalty will be greatly rewarded.

She must have heard my bell, I think I hear her coming up the stairs.

Bewitch and/or Enthrall
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Inspiration: Steep Stairs

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