Intro

She would smile at night and frown at day. She would wither herself away in her robes, throwing hasty looks towards those who dared to meet her emerald eyes. She would put her chin up and walk past their gazes. She did not fit in, nor did she fancy the idea of fitting in. She was powerful and she knew that. She was aware of the control she held delicately between her soft fingertips. She pulled the red cloak around her, letting the hood fall against her long golden hair. She approaches the throne, delicately kneeling. She glanced up at the man in front of her. She smiles, her red ruby lips taunting.

"You requested me?" She says in a soft velvet tone. Her voice radiates off of the walls, making everyone in the room turn to look at her.

The man stands up off his throne. His eyes are wary, heavy bags dragging down his bright blue eyes. He gestures for his guard to join him, waving his frail hand delicately. "You know." He croaks in an old worn out tone.

Her striking eyes meet his, she gives him a smirk, "Of course I do." She affirms, bowing her head once more, "You must do what needs to be done."

"Thank you for your understanding." He takes a sword from one of his guards, raising it high above his crowned head, "Rosaline Romanov, you have been charged with crimes against humanity, treason against your king, and been accused of witchcraft. How do you plead?"

Rosaline, the woman with the emerald eyes, looks up at him with a smile, "Insane."

The King stares down at her, confused, "The pleas are either guilty or not guilty, there is no middle ground here." He barks at her, "Now say your plea aloud, so you do not die in vain."

Rosaline looks down, "I plea, insanity." She repeats it again, the word falling so easily from her cherry stained lips.

"Do not play your games in my court. You are not in power here. I am your King, and you shall die in vain for your inability to tell the truth!" The King shouts, he drops the sword, yet he hits black birds.

Rosaline had closed her eyes. In her place, dozens of black birds, all of them frantically going in other directions. The people of the court looked up in wonder as the birds disappeared in thin air, leaving black feathers to fall all over the court.

"Damn it!" The King curses, throwing his sword at the ground. "Find that girl!" He shouts, turning on his heel and returning briskly to his chambers.

2: 1

Her long red cloak laid at the bottom of the well as she grabs out her green cloak. She secures it around her neck and pulls the hood up. She glances around her surroundings, a fair farm land. There are horses chewing on the grass slowly, watching her curiously. Wondering how so many black birds could manifest into a small blonde woman. Her name was Rosaline Romanov. She was 19 years old, she was on the run from her home country, and trying to find the truth. She had been a mere 13 when her parents were slaughtered, her entire family, gone. She had sat in a cupboard, watching it, refusing to let tears escape her eyes. She since then sworn vengeance on the small kingdom that had wronged her. Thornberry was a small kingdom located in the United Kingdom. It was surrounded by rebel lands that refused to corporate under the strict rules of Thornberry. The rebels hated each other, hence they never thought to overtake Thornberry. Rosaline disappears into a flock of black birds again, flying towards Thornberry. She lands on one of the roofs. She opens the hatch and slips herself inside. Rosaline places her delicate feet on the ladder, hopping down. She takes her cloak off, setting it on the chair.

"You're home." An old withered woman says from the doorway, her arms containing groceries. Her eyes were a bright blue, her hair a silvery shade of grey. She had to be pretty once, though years of old age and hardships had taken that away from her.

Rosaline gives her a small withered smile, "I told you I would be." She crosses the small house to take the bags out of the old woman's arms, setting them on the table. "As celebration, I'll cook."

The old woman watches her curiously. Rosaline takes onions, carrots, and beef out of the bag, pursing her lips. "Are we not going to speak of it?" The old woman finally croaks.

Rosaline looks up for a moment, away from the old woman and her questions. She gazes off for a few moments, then returns to un-packing the bag, "No, we are not."

"I thought you to be a dead woman, yet here you are. Unpacking bags as if nothing happened." The old woman places her delicate hand on the table, "Rosaline Romanov, you should not be alive."

"Perhaps our King is not as consistent as he should be." Rosaline walks over to the kitchen counter, kneeling down and grabbing out a pot. She places it on the stove top, and begins chopping onions. "You mustn't be so worried, Emeline, everything turned out fine."

Emeline, the old woman in question, furrows her brow. "I must be worried, you are speaking against the King, in public, you know the sentence for that is treason. I adopted you when you were but a wee child, you mustn't throw your life away due to the sacrifice of your parents."

Rosaline nearly chops her fingers off, anger spreading through her like an inferno, "They did not sacrifice their lives, it was brutally taken from them when they were slaughtered by the same King you waste your prayers on." Rosaline turns to glare at Emeline, "Some men cannot be saved, and no amount of praying can change that."

"My dearest Rose." Emeline places a hand on Rosaline's, whose hand had been shaking, holding the knife. "You have the mightiest of thorns and an inferno in your heart, my child."

Rosaline glances down at the onion again. She returns to chopping the onions in silence. Emeline hovers for a few moments, she lets out a defeated sigh and leaves Rosaline to her thoughts.

She makes a stew, very simple. They sit and eat in silence, Rosaline glances up occasionally, but returns to her stew just as quickly. The sounds of slurping is interrupted by shouts throughout the square. Rosaline looks up and Emeline shakes her head at her. Rosaline ignores the disapproving look and grabs her green cloak. She wraps it around herself before going into the square.

The King's Guards at holding a man against a block of wood, a sword shoved against his neck. "You will tell us the location of the Romanovs, or you will die for halting justice."

Rosaline's mouth opens a tad bit, recognizing the man to be the one she grew up with. Evan Ivashkov, his blonde hair matted with dirt and blood. His blue eyes screaming for help. He sees her, but keeps his mouth clamped shut. His wife watched in horror, having to be restrained by guards. She was a young brunette woman with pale skin and bright eyes. She cries out for him, "Evan, Evan no!" Her name was Penelope Ivashkov, a beautiful young woman, wedded to Evan at the age of 17. "Please, just tell them!"

Evan closes his eyes, his lips turning the same color of his eyes, "Just do it, I will not say a word. I will not endanger her."

Penelope cannot believe her ears. She tries flinging herself past the guards restraining her. Tears fall down her pale cheeks, causing a red blotch to spread across them. "Please, oh lords, gods, no!" She shouts, "Evan, please." She rasps, her beautiful gown now torn due to her thrashing. "I love you, please, don't do this."

Evan opens his eyes, staring directly at Rosaline, "I mustn't break promises." With that, his neck is slit. Blood sprays across the square, hitting various bystanders. Screaming is heard and heart wrenching crying. Both from the same woman. Rosaline stays silent, feeling his blood on her cheek. She retreats back into her house, taking the cloak off.

"How long has this been going on?" Rosaline asks quietly, her lips barely moving.

"For a few months." Emeline responds, taking a sip of her tea, "I didn't think you'd want to know."

Rosaline walks into the kitchen, grabbing a white rag, "You were correct in that assumption." She wipes her cheek gently, rinsing the rag under hot water and trying again. "It was Evan. Who was it the other times?"

Emeline swallows hard, "Each was harder than the last, my child. Kristen, Meredith, Ruby, Lance.." She says the names slowly, as if mourning each name that falls out of her mouth. "You're fighting a war that cannot be won child. You cannot have a cage of ice around a heart of fire. You lost Evan today, yet what if it is me tomorrow?"

Rosaline storms over to Emeline, grabbing the old woman by the shoulders, "Don't you dare ever say that. It will never be you, I swear it, they will never touch you."

"If it was me with a blade against my throat, would you cry out for me, child?" Emeline asks, her eyes boring into Rosaline's, "Would you give up your war for me?"

Rosaline swallows hard, "I will never have to make that decision, because they will never come for you." She places a chaste kiss on top of the old woman's head. "I will always protect you, Emeline. You will never be in danger." She whispers against her hair, "They can take as many of my childhood friends as the please, but they shall never take you."

Rosaline doesn't sleep easily, she tosses and she turns. Feeling guilt plague her with each new fussy turn. Evan Ivashkov could have had a picture perfect life. The sort of life you could find along the pages of childhood storybooks. He would have had kids, he would have been a knight. He would have been amazing. His haunted blue eyes kept jolting Rosaline back to consciousness when she neared the edge of sleep. She would awaken, gasping, clutching her chest. She kept telling herself she did what she had to do. Though Rosaline knows it's a lie. Escaping the King was child's play to her. It was as simple as breathing, all she had to do was let out a breath and then, she was gone. Rosaline had been selfish, another nasty habit she had yet to kick.

She knew what she had to do. She got up, putting on her best cloak, her red one, and shoving a bunch of cloaks, attires, and various fruits into her pack. She reached under her pillow until she felt the tip of her knife. She pulls it out, so unused to holding it. She had always depended on magic, yet this was a safer way to keep her in check. The hilt was beaded with red and black beads, silvering shining throughout. She puts it into the holster attaching to her thigh, letting her cloak float over it.

Rosaline was headed for the Rebel lands. She leaves a note for Emeline, a quick and hasty note in her scrawly handwriting.

I love you, please stay safe, do not come after me. I'll come back for you after everything is safe once more. Love, Rose.

She leaves it on the kitchen table and disappears into the night. Tears burning in her eyes for the first time since she was born.

3: 2

The Rebel Lands were a barren wasteland to any naked eye. Yet to Rosaline, she saw raging fires and shouts throughout the snowy trees. She pulls her cloak up over her head, tying it tightly around her neck. She tightens her grip on her bag as she taps the barrier of the Rebel Lands. The invisible wall is like water at her touch, leaving a resounding circle to reverberate from where her finger made contact. Rule #1 about the Rebel Lands, never show them your fear. She steps through the barrier, closing her eyes. When she opens them, she's in the middle of a deserted square at night.

"Halt!" A masculine voice shouts. Suddenly, torches burst to life around her. Illuminating the dark square to reveal men with crossbows and swords surrounding her. "Drop your weapons and put your hands where we can see them."

Rosaline chooses to lie, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, "No weapons, I come here purely for sanctuary." She puts her hands behind her back, clasping her fingers around each other.

The masculine voice hops down from one of the rooftops as if it were a natural occurrence to be falling from rooftops. He's a handsome man, dark curly hair surrounding his brown eyes, he has scruff on his chin, "What is your business here?"

Rosaline resists the urge to give him a snarly remark, "As a rebel, I saw it fit to live in the Rebel lands." The smart remark falls so quickly from her lips, she doesn't have time to regret it.

The man instead smirks, walking in a circle around her. "Is that so?" Suddenly he makes a grab for her knife, pulling it out of the holster, "You're a liar." He observes, "I knew you would be coming soon, Rosaline Romanov."

Rosaline feels panic blossom in her chest, yet she bites the inside of her cheek, "Since you already know my name, I only see it fit to know yours."

"Darren." He says slowly, assessing her blade within his hands, "Sharp, isn't it?" Darren runs his tongue along the edge of the blade gently, "This blade has not tasted blood... yet." Darren playfully lunges at one of the guards, then twists on his heel, walking back to Rosaline. He puts her blade against her neck, "Now tell me, beautiful, what's your true business here?"

Rosaline gasps, holding her chin up, "Safety."

Darren presses the blade deeper, "Liar." He proclaims.

"Aren't we all?" Rosaline quips, retaining her bravery although a blade is pressing against her neck.

"Clever one." Darren assess, "Very pretty, too." He takes a strand of her curly blonde hair, "Perhaps we could try this again, now tell me, what is your true business here?"

Rosaline swallows hard, causing the blade to bounce against her throat, "I am going to kill the King."

The Guards around them start laughing, shouts of, "Who is she kidding?" Is heard throughout the laughter. Darren drops the knife, putting it back into her holster, his face a mask.

"She isn't kidding." Darren announces above the chaos, "She is not joking. You really do mean to kill the King, don't you?"

Rosaline looks up at him, "Of course. I don't make such claims for a few chuckles. I am going to kill the King." She insists to the men surrounding her, "It'd serve you best not to doubt me."

Darren walks circles around her once more, "Not to doubt you? A petite girl, blonde hair, green eyes, means to kill the King? I could lift you with my pinkie. Any man here could beat you to death, yet you think you can kill the King? Those before you have tried, child, yet none have succeeded. What makes you so different from the other fools who came here before you?"

"Motive." Rosaline says, eyeing him as he circles her, "The others who came here before me were children. I am no child. I lost that title long ago."

Darren tilts his head to the side, "The slaughter of your family, is that your motive? They call it, 'The Red Romanovs'. There was so much blood they could have painted a castle with it. They could have made murals with the blood of your mother, father, brother.. your baby sister. Just screaming in her crib, while you hid. The last Romanov." Darren puts a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, "The King would pay me a hefty price for you."

"Grab her!" One of the Guards shouts, but Darren holds up a delicate finger.

"Escort her to one of the guest chambers." Darren says, taking his finger away from her chin.

The Guard stutters, "Pardon me, sir. Have you taken a leave of your senses? Taking in one of the most wanted fugitives in the land is treason. That would surely bring down the King's wrath on us."

"We are all traitors. We are all meant to die, we have all committed treason." Darren spits at the Guard, "Henrik, do as I say. Escort her to one of the guest chambers before I decide to take your head."

Henrik, the Guard in question, glares at Darren. He walks over to the two, grabbing Rosaline ruffly by the arm. "Now you've truly lit the fuse, sir." He says, escorting her into the dark of the night.

They pass through alleyways made of stone. She runs her fingers against it, feeling the cold cement was reassuring. Rosaline gathered her cloak tighter around her, Darren's words ringing in her ears. The Red Romanovs. They had a name for the slaughter of her family. They stop at a large wooden door, Henrik inserts a heavy key into the lock and twists it. She hears a loud click and he pushes the door open.

"Your room, m'lady." Henrik says, holding open the door as she steps through the doorway. The room had a large fireplace embedded into the wall. The walls were made of stone and floors made of rough wood. She walked through, spotting a small oven and a twin-sized bed. She turns to Henrik to thank him, but a door slams in her face instead.

She goes over to the door, clicking the lock. Rosaline hears noise outside and she puts her ear against the door, listening intently.

"Pssssst! Dimitri! Come here!" She hears Henrik's voice whisper.

"What is it, Henrik? We're supposed to be on watch. Not giggling like girls at this time of night. We have a duty, whatever you need to say can wait." Dimitri barks at Henrik.

"There's a woman in that room." Henrik whispers, "Says she's going to kill the King. I hear he's terrified of her, can you believe that? King Francis, terrified of a woman." He sneers, "He'd pay a hefty price for her, would he not?"

Rosaline gathers that Dimitri nods, he says, "What do we do?"

Rosaline pushes away from the door, grabbing a chair and sticking it under the knob. She grabs the knife out of her boot, holding it at the door. She hears their footsteps growing closer. The heavy breathing of the two large men. Her heart is racing, pounding against her ribs, she worries that she'll faint. The door unlocks and Henrik pushes against the chair. The freakish strength of Henrik, who was inordinately large, breaks the wooden chair. The chair snaps in four places, in the legs, the pathetic chair topples to the ground. Henrik grunts.

"Grab her." Is all he says.

Dimitri makes a move for Rosaline and she dances out of his way. Her feet gracefully forming a circle around him as she bends down and sweeps her leg out. He falls to the ground with a grunt. Henrik comes after her and Rosaline slashes at him with her knife. There's a long stream of blood from his cheek after it makes contain. Rosaline elbows him in the face, then runs out the door.

"Get back here, you coward!" Henrik shouts from his place on the floor, he barks at his friend, "Dimitri, get up, or may our Gods help you, I will have your head!" He shouts again, "DIMITRI!"

Rosaline keeps running because she doesn't know what else to do. Her red cape blows in the wind as she runs. She rounds a cobblestone wall, bumping into one of the guards.

"Well aren't you a pretty little thing." The large man with his disgusting breath and unibrow picks her up by her cloak, "Little Red Riding Hood isn't at Grammie's anymore, is she?" He chuckles.

"Unhand me!" She shouts, kicking her legs.

"Now why would I do that? What would you do for me? Mighty fine price on your pretty little noggin, only seems common sense to take you in."

"And get yourself killed in the process you ignorant oaf!" Rosaline spits at him and he drops her. She hits the pavement, landing on her feet as if she were swift as a cat. She looks up at him.

The oaf is wiping his face furiously, "Argh, you stupid bitch! How dare you spit in my face! I am the protector of this village, I am the reason we let you in! Then you spit in my face! You disgusting, cowardly brat!" He picks her up again, "Now tell me, you watched your entire family get slaughtered, right? You just sat in that little cupboard, and you watched, didn't you? Tell me, what did their blood taste like?" He throws her against the wall, she makes a noise of pain. "What did their screams sound like? Do they sound anything like yours?" He pulls out a knife, holding it up to her throat, "Tell me, what does a pretty girl like you sound like when she screams?"

"What in Gods name are you doing?" Darren asks, pointing a crossbow at the oaf, "Release her immediately. She is under my protection, under no circumstances is she to be harmed."

Rosaline is dropped then, except she doesn't land on her feet. She crumples to the ground pathetically, her legs underneath her. She gets up quickly, readjusting her cloak and looking between the two men.

"Come here." Darren says, Rosaline obliges, walking wearily over to him, "Tell me, are you hurt?" He asks, placing his delicate fingers under her chin, "Getting into trouble already, how Romanov of you."

"Sorry my King, I didn't know." The oaf drops to his knees.

Rosaline looks over at him, "King? You're a King? I thought since we lived in the Rebel lands, there was no place for kings."

"I am not an official King, my people just treat me like one. I'm in charge of the guard, so they see me as if I were a king." Darren explains quickly, his eyes becoming dodgy and nervous, "Arise, there's no need for you to be on your knees. Your punishment shall be three lashings." He says to the oaf.

"I am ever so grateful for your mercy." The oaf says, wiping his nose, "Thank you." With that, he scrambles off into the darkness once more.

"Mercy?" Rosaline asks, "Lashings do not sound merciful, they sound barbaric."

Darren chooses to ignore her, "Come, lets get you cleaned up. You've gotten scratched up." He says, letting his fingers graze over a cut on her cheek, "Wouldn't want the last Romanov to die of infection, would we?" He puts a prompting hand in the middle of her back, leading her to the large castle. "I do not ask to be King. I have become King because the people still need to be lead."

"Is that your excuse, then?" Rosaline asks, "So I'll just assume you'll take over the kingdom when you deem it fit to do so? Then take the crown and place it atop your own head? Am I right?"

"I am like any other man, I crave power." Darren says, walking along the desolated streets, "Tell me, if you were not a woman, and given the chance to be King, you would take it, wouldn't you?"

"A woman can take power just as easily as a man." Rosaline quips, glancing up at him with fire in her eyes, "It would do you best not to underestimate me."

Darren throws back his head, chuckling, "Of course not. I would never underestimate a Romanov."

"Why do you do that?" Rosaline suddenly asks.

"Do what?"

"You talk about me as if you know me, as if you knew my family." Rosaline says, meeting his eyes in the dim light, "Did you know my family?"

Darren gives her a smile, "That's a story for another day."

Rosaline's eyes grow big, then she's distracted by the light of the castle. The castle had to be the brightest place in these dank lands. The castle was black but shimmered a toxic gold that made her feel like the castle was made out of sleek black gold. The tips of the castle could have touched the heavens. The drawbridge lowered slowly and chants of 'my king!' were heard throughout. They walked across the drawbridge, leading into a square. The square, like the town, was desolate of people but not of light. Small bulbs of light would float in the air.

Rosaline reached her hand up to touch one of them, to grasp the warmth of the light in her hands. It tickled her fingers, and when she touched it, it suddenly disappeared and fell like confetti. "How is this possible?" She asks, awestruck.

"Why magic of course." Darren says, "Come along, there's so much more to see."

4: 3

Darren dabs at the cut on her cheek, she hisses but he presses harder. "You nearly killed two of my men." He says, dabbing the bloody rag in hot water once more, "You are more dangerous than I thought."

"Yet you sit here, dabbing my battle wounds. You don't seem the least bit frightened of me." Rosaline says, lazily looking at him, "Do Kings ever get scared?" She mocks, "Do they ever awake from nightmares, sweat staining the sheets? Do they ever feel anything at all? I know King Francis does not scream, not even when I try to beat him to a bloody and pathetic pulp. So tell me, do you scream?"

"Are you a philosopher or a warrior?" Darren asks, "It's getting harder and harder to tell with you. I'll ignore the underlying threat and answer your incessant questions, of course I feel, I'm scared, all the time actually. Which is my secret. I have nightmares, nightmares of the family I left behind. Which makes me different from King Francis."

"Comparing yourself to the king already." She scoffs. Rosaline gives him a look of disdain, "A family? Did you leave your Queen writhing in the sheets? Praying everyday for your return? How about your kids, crying out for their father while some poor woman tried to keep food in their mouthes?"

Darren chuckles, looking down at his lap, "No wife, no children, nothing of that sort. I left my Mother and my younger brother. Not that you care. All you care about is killing the king. What happens after you do? Do you settle down, have kids of your own?"

"If I'm not dead, that does seem to be the logical thing to do." Rosaline says, knotting her hands together, she looks back up at him.

"Logical isn't really your thing though, is it?" Darren asks her, a smirk lighting up his rosy pink lips.

Rosaline gives him a smile, "Course not. I'd travel, I'd see different worlds, learn about different cultures. Maybe fall in love with some faraway land and never come back to Thornberry, or these Rebel Lands, whatever you lot call them."

"Or fall in love with some faraway simpleton that doesn't quite measure up to you." Darren says, setting the rag aside, "Tell me Rosaline, what do you hide in that heart of fire?"

"Doesn't measure up? Why don't you just give me the sun and the stars too, loverboy?" Rosaline asks, she looks down at her lap, "That's what my Gran used to tell me, that no man could measure up to me."

Darren smiles sadly, "Your Gran was a very wise lady." He takes Rosaline's ankle, lifting up her stockings, glancing at the scrapes. He retrieves his rag and starts to scrub it again, "Loverboy, that's implying something."

Rosaline can't help a small laugh escape her lips, "She is a very wise lady. She's who I left, actually, now that we're talking about that. She was safer without me around."

"With the bounty on your head, I can see why she would be safer." Darren says, wrapping her ankle with bandages, "I would hear stories about you in the village, when I was there. Stories of a woman erupting into birds and flying through the skies with her golden hair and fiery heart. The stories would help me sleep at night. The idea that revolution was still alive. That we at least had some kind of spark."

Rosaline looks at him and realizes he's staring intently in the distance, "You're not going to tell me I'm the reason you came here, right? Is that why you feel this need to protect me?"

"What's a flame without a spark, I ask."

"I am not a spark."

"Much apologies m'lady, you're more of an inferno." Darren stands up from his kneeling position, "With your curly gold hair." He lets his hand rest in her hair for a moment.

Rosaline raises her eyebrows at him, "I dare say you're trying to seduce me."

Darren chuckles, "Is it working?"

"Not a bit." Rosaline takes his hand, giving it a chaste kiss and placing it back at his side, "You don't quite measure up. No man ever will." She says, quoting her Gran. She glances into his dark brown eyes, "Your eyes, they seem so familiar."

"I should leave, this is highly inappropiate." Darren suddenly stands up, the flash of fear so brief in his eyes, she nearly missed it.

"Why so squirrel-ish all of a sudden, loverboy? You were ready to rip off my stockings only a few moments ago." Rosaline leans forward, enthrilled by the new mystery that was thrust upon her. "Perhaps I should ask what you hide in your heart of fire, loverboy. I'm asking all the wrong questions, aren't I? That's why I'm not getting satisfying answers."

Darren hands the bucket with the bloodied rags to one of his maids, "Take Miss Romanov to her chambers, Penelope. She is to be under lock and key, and I am to possess the key."

Penelope bows, "Yes, my King. Miss Romanov?"

Rosaline looks between the two, "We both have our secrets." She says to Darren before following Penelope out of the room, "Yet you can't have any as a King." She scowls, hissing under her breath.

As Penelope and Rosaline walk, she notes the great Revolutionists of their time on the walls. Though each painting had a red X across the face. Each of these great Revolutionaries died terribly, pitiful men with their pitiful dreams.

"I had a friend once, named Penelope." Rosaline says as they walk the smooth gallery-like halls, "Bright eyes, bright future, dark hair though, much like your own." Rosaline says idly, "Pity."

Penelope, with her dark eyes and fair hair turned to look at Rosaline, "Pity?" She questions, "Pardon my asking, but how is it a pity?"

"She died just for knowing me. I'm sure you've heard of it. All of the people I'd ever conversed with, dragged out into the square, like pigs for slaughter. As the King's guards shouted threats, yet they kept their mouthes shut, even when the blade came down. Bravest woman I ever knew, that Penelope. Would walk into fire with the skin on her back." Rosaline chatters idly, barely a hint of sadness in her tone, "As noted before, a pity."

Penelope becomes very silent after that, only speaking when they arrive at her chambers. "Here you are, m'lady." She opens the door, "The King will be the only one with the key to this room, so you have nothing to fear." Her voice is shaky and her eyes are dodgy.

Rosaline nods, looking down at her feet, Penelope is about to close the door, "Penelope?" She pokes her head back in.

"Yes m'lady?" Penelope asks.

"Very sorry for frightening you.. my people skills.. need quite a bit of work if you couldn't tell." Rosaline offers her a smile.

Penelope nods, "No need for apologies, m'lady. Understandable, you've gone through many hardships, it'd be wrong of me to judge you by if your people skills are up to par."

Rosaline nods her head, "I like you, Penelope."

"Thank you very much." Penelope smiles back at her, "Have sweet dreams, and may no night terrors await you." She shuts the door behind her then, and Rosaline hears the click of the lock.

Rosaline washes up and lays in her comfy canopy bed. She tosses and turns in her nightgown, unused to such luxury. Rosaline would clutch her pillows and open the windows every few minutes only to close them once more.

"Rosaline." She hears whispered.

She pops open her eyes to see Penelope leaning over her bed.

"You are in great danger." Penelope whispers frantically, although her eyes, they aren't quite as dark, they're a bright blue, nearly white. "You must leave the Rebel Lands, this is no place for a Romanov. Blood, blood will rain and you wil run. Always running. That is what you're meant to do." Penelope hits the floor then, gasping for air, "You are in grave danger."

"Penelope?" Rosaline asks, leaping off her bed to kneel beside her, "How am I in grave danger? Penelope? Penelope! Answer me!" She shakes her shoulders, "Penelope!"

Penelope awakens then, her eyes returning to their dark muddy brown, "Miss Romanov? What am I doing in your chambers?" Penelope gets up slowly, grabbing her head, "My oh my, Miss Romanov, have you possessed me?"

"Oh heavens no, child." Rosaline says, putting her hand on the back of her head, "You took a very harsh bump coming in here to bring me warm rags, you heard me fussing about in bed."

Penelope's eyes glaze over, "Oh yes, those rags.. where on earth have they run off to?" She hurries about, "Rags, yes rags, that's why I came here. So sorry to awaken you Miss Romanov, I was only trying to help.. you were screaming so much, I just saw it fit to.." She clutches her head again, "Oh my, what a mighty force I must have hit the ground with, by chance did I fall atop a rock?"

Rosaline gives her a sad smile, "Go to bed, Penelope, don't worry about me, you seem like you need a warm rag more than I do."

"Ah yes, well, sweet dreams Miss Romanov, and just so you're aware, you are perfectly safe." Penelope says, bowing and leaving the room.

Rosaline shuts the door behind her, yet she realizes.. Penelope didn't lock her door this time.