The Door: Chapter 1

She slowly and cautiously lifted the latch of the door. The handle was heavy in her hand. Maybe it was made of iron, or even steel. Whatever it was, the metal was remarkably cold to touch. Grabbing the hook made her body quake with curiosity. What was beyond this door? She had experienced such strange things in the past few days that she felt she could be surprised to longer.

The girl summoned her utmost strength and boldly yanked upon the sturdy metal knocker of the door. It would not budge, but she was determined. She braced her body for a sudden jolt as she pulled on the door with all her might, willing it to open, but it was no use, much to her dismay. Exhausted and disappointed, she collapsed in a heap on the ground.

Normally, in contrast to her more affable uncle, her father would have scolded her for allowing the skirt of her dress to merely graze the ground. He would have harangued her loud enough for the whole Château to hear. This judgmental aggressiveness seemed to be a pattern in their relationship. The girl and her father were not very personable towards one another, and such seemed to be their preference. The lack of knowledge would explain the girl’s closet-full of expensive pink dresses identical to the ruined variation she currently wore.

Because she and her father were not close, the girl never bothered to mention how much she did not care for the color. It made her feel pale and wispy, like she could blow away with the wind. She was feeling weak enough as it was what with her failed escape attempt and now this imprisonment. Over the past few days, all that she had wanted is to be strong, but she had been failing miserably. Nonetheless, for not one pink dress that she tried on did her father fail to mention how beautiful she looked.

The girl had never thought of her self as beautiful or “exquisite,” as her mother would call her. Her “petite cheri exquis.” The girl missed her mother dearly. Her mother’s sense of humor always made the girl’s face light up, smile wider, and eyes brighter. Her gaze wandered down to her shoes, remembering that when she was young, her mother would always buckle them for her. While in a state of bliss recalling her past, her eyes drifted up her long legs to her skirt and she was slightly appalled at how soiled it truly was. Her nostalgia distracted her from the fact that she had been trapped in this cell for days now, thousands of miles away from her beloved home of Aquitaine.

Back in a state of despair, the girl rested her head on her hands and knitted her eyebrows in a sort of a frown. This was her thinking face. If one were to catch a glimpse of this, he or she might suppose that she was in the middle of a very intense staring contest with, perhaps, a painting on the wall, but this occasion was different. This time, the stoic inside of her did not prevail. Her senses were suddenly intrigued by a strong manly scent dominating the premises. She was delighted to smell something other than the noisome odors of sewage or mold that seeped through the cracks in the rotting wood walls of her holdings.

The girl broke her trance and cast aside all memories of her grandmother and anxiety regarding her own grim future to focus on the recently discovered phenomenon. The distinct smells of soap and the city consumed her every thought. She spun her head from side to side, desperate to catch a glimpse of the owner of the aroma, but the silence was thunderous. She was on her toes as the odor grew stronger. Finally, she couldn’t sit still any longer. The darkness devoured the space around her, inhibiting her from deciphering the origin of the intoxicating incense. Tentatively, she stretched out her arms in front of her and when she felt nothing, she straightened her fingers. Still, nothing.

Frustrated, she proceeded to wave her arms around in the space in front of her and then on either side, but she came up empty-handed. Then the thought dawned on her. Just thinking it sent shivers up and down her spine and it shook with anticipation. Her guard up, she spun on the ground in a semi-circle when she was confronted with the maximum intensity of the smell. She instantaneously scrambled backwards on the grimy cement flooring of her cell in shock. Her eyes searched in desperation to catch some glimpse of whatever it was that had chosen to join here in her misery. Emboldened by her burning curiosity, she returned to the place where the scent was strongest. She briskly closed her eyes to regain her confidence when her meditation was disturbed.

“Ahem”

Slightly startled and doubting her sanity, she stumbled on her words, but fortunately, she was able to make out a response.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“Yes, hello. Right in front of you.”

She dropped her jaw in disbelief for the second time in a matter of seconds. The smell had spoken, or rather, someone who smelled like the smell. Hastily and without any more thought, she replied,

“Oh, goodness. Umm, yes, hello. Umm, if you don’t mind me asking...who are you?”

“I’m Richard, Rich for short. Nice to meet you .... ”

“Umm ... oh, uhhh, Cornelia. Cornelia Roseline .... of Chambord, France.”