So here is a piece I have just written for my English class.
Death of sense
The dark, gusty night was not so terrifying from the comfort of the still-warm hearth. The fire had gone out a while ago, but as a servant, Leila was not to re-light it until the morning for the Master and mistresses. The rain had drenched the night for several hours and the Master had demanded that his hunting clothes be prepared for his early departure regardless of the weather. Under normal circumstances, the servants would not question, but of late the Master had taken to leaving at dawn and returning after dusk. It was reckless, even for him, but in these times of war they were told never to question his actions, whether reckless or bloodthirsty.
The scouts, one servant had overheard, had seen an army battalion from the East marching towards the castle. The allies in the West could no longer be counted on, for there was known to be a spy within the ranks. It was unknown who the spy was, only that he fed all tactical information to the enemy in time for a counter-attack. Those scouts had been killed, according to the servant, just for relaying that message.
The castle itself was dilapidated and the South Wing had been closed off due to the crumbling state of much of the walls. If the army on their way found out about the Master’s trips, or even any rogues did, the Master would surely be killed, ambushed on one of his journeys. If that were to happen there would be no defences, no strategy to guard the castle. As a city guard point, the castle’s fall would surely endanger the entire Central County.
This evening there had been blood on the Master’s saddle again, though whether animal or human in origin the servants did not know. His sword had been gone from the armoury when his wife had asked after his occupation for the day. Along with that, she had told the servants of cuts and scratches reaching the length of his back sometimes, as well as grooves carved into his leg, as if by claws. There was nothing in the surrounding forest that could surely have caused such injuries, but there was nothing further a field that was known of that could have instead caused such wounds.
Having cleaned the saddle of such marks many times before, there was no way for the servants to ask him without seeming insubordinate or as though questioning, but they still needed to know. What if their Master was a monster? A murderer?
The dark corridors of the castle, the parts that were left, echoed with the sounds of the wind through the cracked and ill-fitting windows in their frames; the dull resonating of the creaking floorboards and wind was audible through much of the castle, but the tapestries and thick rugs throughout many of the rooms deadened the sound and made it less menacing.
Leila walked along the corridor, as briskly as she could without dropping her tray. One of the young mistresses had fallen ill and so Leila, as her hand maiden, had been asked to take care of her. The bowl of water was cool, with a cloth in it so that she might wipe the girl’s forehead. Only a year younger than Leila, she had always felt close to the youngest mistress. Perdita, as she grew, had always been quite weak and often ill; though the physicians could never work out what was the cause. Being confined to her bed, the girl had been kept company by books, sewing and Leila’s company.
Throughout the night, the Master paced outside his daughter’s room, anxious to know of her state of health, but unable to bring himself to see for himself. The physician came and administered a tonic to help her sleep and relieve the fever ravaging Perdita’s body, but he warned the Master in any case to be prepared for the worst. The only people to be admitted to Perdita’s room were Leila, the physician and the family.
By first morning light, Perdita was worse than ever, and the family were brought into the room to say their goodbyes. The older siblings were only allowed briefly to see their sister before they were hurried from the room, for fear they would catch the illness. The Lady of the house saw her daughter, lying once again so ill, and cried, unable to prevent the fall of her tears. The sun didn’t peak out from the clouds and rain at all, even as Perdita’s body finally failed her and she passed on.
The Lady closed herself in her room, allowing no one to see her or speak to her through her grief, and the Master, though seemingly calm, was in the foulest of tempers, angry at everyone for not saving his beloved daughter. The storm raged on without relenting and with fresh resources running low, it was necessary for Leila to return promptly to her duties and fetch resources from the main city.
She hurried along the path, her cloak pulled in closely around her face and chest in an attempt to keep out the chill and wet of the day, as well as hide the tear-induced redness of her eyes. The sound of a horse’s hooves could barely be heard over the sound of the rain pelting the gravel and mud path. Before she had even turned fully around to see who would be mad enough to come outside in this weather unless necessary, the horse and rider where almost upon her. All she saw was the glint of metal, of a sword she knew well, as her eyes widened and her blood joined the rain, running through the gravel and along the path.
Death of sense
The dark, gusty night was not so terrifying from the comfort of the still-warm hearth. The fire had gone out a while ago, but as a servant, Leila was not to re-light it until the morning for the Master and mistresses. The rain had drenched the night for several hours and the Master had demanded that his hunting clothes be prepared for his early departure regardless of the weather. Under normal circumstances, the servants would not question, but of late the Master had taken to leaving at dawn and returning after dusk. It was reckless, even for him, but in these times of war they were told never to question his actions, whether reckless or bloodthirsty.
The scouts, one servant had overheard, had seen an army battalion from the East marching towards the castle. The allies in the West could no longer be counted on, for there was known to be a spy within the ranks. It was unknown who the spy was, only that he fed all tactical information to the enemy in time for a counter-attack. Those scouts had been killed, according to the servant, just for relaying that message.
The castle itself was dilapidated and the South Wing had been closed off due to the crumbling state of much of the walls. If the army on their way found out about the Master’s trips, or even any rogues did, the Master would surely be killed, ambushed on one of his journeys. If that were to happen there would be no defences, no strategy to guard the castle. As a city guard point, the castle’s fall would surely endanger the entire Central County.
This evening there had been blood on the Master’s saddle again, though whether animal or human in origin the servants did not know. His sword had been gone from the armoury when his wife had asked after his occupation for the day. Along with that, she had told the servants of cuts and scratches reaching the length of his back sometimes, as well as grooves carved into his leg, as if by claws. There was nothing in the surrounding forest that could surely have caused such injuries, but there was nothing further a field that was known of that could have instead caused such wounds.
Having cleaned the saddle of such marks many times before, there was no way for the servants to ask him without seeming insubordinate or as though questioning, but they still needed to know. What if their Master was a monster? A murderer?
The dark corridors of the castle, the parts that were left, echoed with the sounds of the wind through the cracked and ill-fitting windows in their frames; the dull resonating of the creaking floorboards and wind was audible through much of the castle, but the tapestries and thick rugs throughout many of the rooms deadened the sound and made it less menacing.
Leila walked along the corridor, as briskly as she could without dropping her tray. One of the young mistresses had fallen ill and so Leila, as her hand maiden, had been asked to take care of her. The bowl of water was cool, with a cloth in it so that she might wipe the girl’s forehead. Only a year younger than Leila, she had always felt close to the youngest mistress. Perdita, as she grew, had always been quite weak and often ill; though the physicians could never work out what was the cause. Being confined to her bed, the girl had been kept company by books, sewing and Leila’s company.
Throughout the night, the Master paced outside his daughter’s room, anxious to know of her state of health, but unable to bring himself to see for himself. The physician came and administered a tonic to help her sleep and relieve the fever ravaging Perdita’s body, but he warned the Master in any case to be prepared for the worst. The only people to be admitted to Perdita’s room were Leila, the physician and the family.
By first morning light, Perdita was worse than ever, and the family were brought into the room to say their goodbyes. The older siblings were only allowed briefly to see their sister before they were hurried from the room, for fear they would catch the illness. The Lady of the house saw her daughter, lying once again so ill, and cried, unable to prevent the fall of her tears. The sun didn’t peak out from the clouds and rain at all, even as Perdita’s body finally failed her and she passed on.
The Lady closed herself in her room, allowing no one to see her or speak to her through her grief, and the Master, though seemingly calm, was in the foulest of tempers, angry at everyone for not saving his beloved daughter. The storm raged on without relenting and with fresh resources running low, it was necessary for Leila to return promptly to her duties and fetch resources from the main city.
She hurried along the path, her cloak pulled in closely around her face and chest in an attempt to keep out the chill and wet of the day, as well as hide the tear-induced redness of her eyes. The sound of a horse’s hooves could barely be heard over the sound of the rain pelting the gravel and mud path. Before she had even turned fully around to see who would be mad enough to come outside in this weather unless necessary, the horse and rider where almost upon her. All she saw was the glint of metal, of a sword she knew well, as her eyes widened and her blood joined the rain, running through the gravel and along the path.