"How can you do this?!"
His eyes flicker up to mine, the corners of his lips pulled into a crooked frown. This small semblance of remorse gives me hope. He strides towards me and I begin to feel small. His lean figure towers over me, his shadow engulfing mine.
As I slowly sip from my goblet of wine, I avoid the glaring eyes burning holes through my skin. King David seems to be unaware of the blazing stares cast my way. He seems oblivious to the shame and disgrace he has publically shown his first wife Michal, by having me sit at his right side. The air is rife with tension.If looks could kill, I would be drowning in a pool of blood at Michal's feet. Her eyes are not the only pair that I intentionally avoid, though. My grandfather sits at the en
I'm drowning in my own reflection, slipping into the void beyond the glass. The red stain on my lips brings out the color in my eyes. The powder on my face darkens the pearl-embellished braids of my hair.I don't even recognize myself. Martha strings another pearl into one of my curls, then takes a step back to admire her work.
Four weeks later...The doors of my chambers creak open. I spin on my heels to find a feeble elderly woman slowly making her way towards me when shaky steps. She carries something within the clutch of her weathered hands. I glide towards her effortlessly, wishing to spare her the trouble of having to cross the distance between us.
The viper locks eyes with me, rearing its head to strike. His tongue slips in and out of his mouth as he releases a low his. I stumble hastily out of bed, plunging gracelessly to the floor."Guards! Help! Help!"My voice bounces off these solid wal
"Stop. I don't want any of this written down," The King snaps at the scribe.His beady eyes widen and he fumbles with his quill. Accidentally, he splatters his bottle of ink onto the harsh throne room floor. When he stoops to clean the oozing black liquid, seeping into the tile cracks, he releases a quiet murmur from his crusted lips.
Ever since the attempt on my life I have been sheltered by the King in his own chambers. My only taste of freedom is when I glimpse a view past these palace walls into the heart of Jerusalem herself. This window has been a solace to me these days.When the King is here I feel suffocated by his presence. When he is gone I am consumed by loneliness. I have yet to decide which of the two is a more bitter poison.
Peering past the smooth marble column, I catch sight of a sculpted warrior ripping through the corridor as if his heels were on fire. Dirt, scars, and sweat cloak his olive-toned skin. I instinctively tug the light silky fabric, draping over my head, closer against my cheek.I cannot risk being recognized. If I am I will be escorted back to the King's chambers. The air in there is stifling. Each breath has become forced and heavy. The walls seem to be closing in on me more and more each day. At
I strain my hearing, edging my ear forward, to decipher any of the guard's murmurings. They lead me through the corridor, failing to listen, or answer my questions. I huff in frustration wondering why I am being summoned to the throne room without an explanation. Although, I am glad at the chance to be free from the King's unbearable chambers.They abruptly freed me from my state of boredom and isolation without the smallest clue as to why. All they said to ease my curiosity was, "The King has s