One foot nailed to the floor

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Fandom:

The Kingkiller Chronicle

Word count:

620

Author's note:

This is just a short (very short) one shot from Denna's point of view. The point in The Wise Man's Fear where she talks about feeling trapped whenever Kellin says he might visit stuck with me. She doesn't really feel free and safe even when she seems comfortable. So I decided to write something about it. This is just a bit of a warm up and I know my writing is rough. Nevertheless I'd love to hear any and all criticism on this, from style and formatting, to grammar and spelling. English is not my first language so there's probably some mistakes. Thank you in advance if you actually decide to read this!


She took a deep breath. She should have felt more comfortable, she was warm and fed. The light coming in from the windows washed through the room. Deep breaths. She should be happier. She smoothed her green skirt. Velvet. A bittersweet smile crossed her face. Velvet one day, rags the next. How could she feel safe when her fortune depended on the whims of others? Today she sat on plush couches sipping on drinking chocolate. But who was to say her most recent friend wouldn’t tire of her tomorrow. Breath in, breathe out. She touched the emerald resting on her chest. It was comforting, knowing she could run. She would run if it came to that, it’s not like she didn’t know how. A soft knock drew her from her thoughts. The impeccably dressed porter stood in the doorway, his lips pulled into a polite smile. His eyes were cold. She knew that look, the look of someone who thought they could see right through her; a courtesan at best, at worst…

“Lady Dinael” His tone betrayed his disgust; in his eyes she was as far from being a lady as the girls three streets down. “Lord Kellin sent a gift”- He set down a wrapped box on one of the tables. Kellin, ever the gentleman, seemingly could not stop plying her with gifts. “He also mentioned his intention to pay a visit sometime this week.” With that, the porter disappeared back into the hallway.

She felt the room closing in. A gilded cage, with wide windows and every comfort. Her eyes flashed with anger. A cage is still a cage, no matter the toys they threw in. And a caged bird would always dream of freedom. But with freedom came hunger and cold nights. Freedom brought danger and days spent always looking behind your back. Freedom had brought her bruises and fear. She looked at the Modegan harp sitting in the corner; like everything else in these rooms it was Kellin’s. They were gifts, yes. But there was so much she could not take. She ran her hand over the glossy wood. It was beautifully engraved. A delicate instrument for a delicate lady… She had had to stifle a chuckle when she heard Kellin say that. A bold faced lie if she had ever heard one. The harp was heavy and unyielding. She had tried moving it the first day, if only to be able to look out of the window as she played, all to no avail. The only thing she had gotten to show for it was a cut across her palm. Thin and shallow. She had not bothered telling Kellin. Not that he had cared to notice. He was all too glad to chat idly about music, the weather or the state of the aristocracy. It was his biggest draw and greatest defect; proper and noble Kellin, always ready to ignore the flaws in a pretty picture. She played the first three notes of “Bell-Wether”. In spite of everything, Kellin was good. He had never hurt her. He was polite. She was almost sure he was much too courteous to take back his gifts when she left.
She knew she would end up having to leave, it was a given, one day Kellin would get tired or he would grow jealous or he would ask for too much or… But she couldn’t afford to run now, she wasn’t foolish enough to throw away weeks or maybe months of comfortable survival in exchange of what? Being able to roam the city guiltless? No, she knew this could not last, but nothing in her life ever did. Till then, she would wait, one foot nailed to the floor.