D.D. Ward is Writing

Nadia had not seen Blair all night. She decided to check Blair’s room, although Nadia doubted Blair would waste time in such a manner. She knocked on Blair’s door. No answer. She knocked again. “Blair? It’s Nadia. Are you in there?” Nadia heard a sob from inside the room.  “Blair? Are you alright?” Another sob and then, “I’m fine. Let me be.” “You don’t sound fine. What happened?” “Nothing. Everything. Leave it be.” “No,” Nadia said. “The countess has done something. What is it?” “I’ve done something.”  “Then you need to talk it out. I’m coming in.” Nadia opened the door. The hunter sat on the edge of her bed in a gorgeous lavender ballgown. Blair sat, head in her hands, sobbing. Nadia closed the door behind her and approached Blair as though she were a beaten kitten.  “What happened?” Nadia asked. “What did the countess do?” “We danced.” Blair said. “And I gave in.” “You danced? I’ve never danced with the countess.” “Did you hear me? I gave in.” “I don’t see any bite mar...

A dry knocking at Blair’s door woke her. Blair came awake and sat up reaching for her pistol. Nobody had knocked on Blair’s door since she arrived at Castle Crimson. Blair stood and took a step towards the door when it opened and the countess swept in. She sized Blair up, and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I provided you with a gorgeous sleeping gown and you sleep in your clothes. Such a disappointment.” “Were you hoping for a show?” Blair asked.  The countess smiled. “Yes. But not the way you mean. Get dressed. I have something to show you.” Blair nodded, then stopped. “I am dressed.” The countess pointed to the wardrobe against the far wall. “For what I have planned you will need a ballgown. Any of the gowns there should fit.” Blair considered arguing, but that felt like an exercise in futility. She walked to the wardrobe. Opening it, she began to look through the gowns inside. She glanced back. The countess hadn’t moved. “Are you planning to stay while I change.” The co...

Midday came, and the countess remained awake. Tristan sat at his desk with his ledger. The countess stood and walked to the window. The black out curtains lay closed against the sunlight. Candles flickered in the darkened room. The countess slid a hand between the curtains and flinched as the daylight hit her hand.  Tristan watched her in silence. Not writing. Around his ledger sat an army of heavy candles. Tristan held his quill, but did not write. Instead, he watched the countess.  “She has resisted me four times now. That is impressive and infuriating. I want that tasty morsel in my bed. I should not have made a game of this.” She continued pacing. Several times she reached for an object on a stand or a shelf. And each time, Tristan flinched. Instead she continued pacing, her hands clenched. A little blood trickled from her palms.  “Tristan? What have you learned?” Tristan nodded, and adjusted his glasses. “The caravan master who survived the attack had information. Sh...

Nadia awoke, feeling rested. She felt guilty for her good sleep. She knew that her reprieve occurred only because the countess now stalked Blair. She slid from her nightgown and threw the nightgown on the bed. She dressed. And, collar buttoned, Nadia removed the cloth placed over the mirror. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Nadia eyed the scar running from her ear, down her neck, and disappearing into her high collar. She felt vain for caring so much about the visibility of the scar. But Nadia didn’t hate the scar because it marred her skin. She hated the scar because it remained a constant reminder. In it she saw her failure and submission to a monster. The scar was a reminder etched on her body.  The countess’ claws had carved a trench into her face and neck. No amount of makeup would hide the damage completely. But Nadia did what she could. She hid the discoloration under primer and concealer and more. But the shape of the scar, the jagged furrow leading down her face...

Blair caught up with Nadia in the dining hall. The other women milled around, ignoring Nadia. When they realized that Blair had arrived to speak with Nadia, the women ignored Blair as well.  Nadia looked at Blair and her brow furrowed.  “Is that blood?” Nadia asked. She pointed at Blair’s neck. Blair nodded, “You know my silver mail choker?”  Nadia nodded. Blair dropped the shredded pile of silver links on the table in front of Nadia. Hester looked up from her table at the sound of jangling metal. Other girls turned to look as well.  Nadia stared at the devastated choker.  “Are you? She didn’t hurt you too badly did she?” Nadia stood and examined Blair’s neck.  “Some cuts from the damaged mail. The poor choker did its job. She was too put off by the damage done by the silver to stay and menace me. I think she felt embarrassed.” “Did you fight off the countess? In person?” Hester said, approaching. “I didn’t so much fight her off, as catch her off guard. The...