TIME LAPPED AND bayed, after that, passing so obediently as a mastered dog.
  The men spoke loudly of the day's tributes, thumping one another and congratulating the King with unbridled excitement, each eager to be the one to catch his eye.

  Not one of them did, however. The King looked at no one but himself, gazing down at his reflection in the bronze of his empty bowl.

  I watch him and wonder which he sees; the man or the monster?

  The food fades quickly and at last, the King rises wordlessly, nods to Sir Deimos, and then leaves. In his wake, whispers follow. Merciful Ares, brilliant Ares, King of all Sparta.
  Sir Deimos too departs shortly after that, though no whispers of greatness follow him. No whispers of any sort. Just silence.

  And then we women are left alone as one by one, the men vacate. But not for long, for soon one of those empty-eyed slave maids comes for us, and leads us to rooms far greater than any we were expecting. The walk is long for the palace is large, though I try my best to drink in each and every curve of it — every turn and twist. Like Daedalus' labyrinth, I try my best to memorise my way out.

  In all honesty, I expected no room at all, instead, thinking we would be fed straight to the lions' dens, forced into the beds of strange men on our first night. For all the tales I have heard of these Northern men, a first night of that calibre would be the least I could expect.
   So I sit on the bed and wait for Sir Deimos to come for me. Will he want me here? Or will he take me somewhere else to be raped and filled with his mighty seed?

  With that thought, I search the room for something sharp. And when there is nothing conventional, as quietly as I can, I pick up a small hand mirror that's been left on the vanity and shatter it against the floor. Then I pause, waiting for someone to come, alerted by the sound, but when no one does I kick the rest of the broken fragments under the vanity and throw the dented gold shell of the mirror from the balcony.

  I pick up a particularly nasty shard. In my hand the light twists it like an icy dagger, tendrils of cool blue and violet hues refracting onto other surfaces as I turn it this way and that, examining the edge. Sharp enough, I think, then sit once more, on the edge of the bed, palms folded neatly in my lap and the dagger bound to my thigh by a makeshift garter — a short length of fabric I tore from the hem of my dress. And there, I wait.

  Minutes pass, bleeding into hours and silence haemorrhages a hole in my heart. Empty. Aching. Hollow. I wait and I wait and I wait, never blinking, scarcely allowing myself the liberty of breath.

  And then, at last, when the sun's long gone, the knock finally comes.

  I've been waiting hours, and yet, now it finally comes I'm frozen, mind racing. Maybe if I say nothing he'll go away — if he thinks I'm sleeping, maybe he'll let me rest. But these are the men of the North, there will be no such kindness here. He'd drag me kicking and screaming if he thought he had to.

  The door creeks open.

  A shadowed head, tressed with long, dark hair pokes in, "Ophelia?" She asks, torchlight streams in from behind her, illuminating a thin strip across the floor. I hadn't realised how dark it had become until now, but the sky outside is in near blackness.

  "For fucks sake, Ascella!" The gasp that comes from me is involuntary, "You nearly frightened the life out of me!"

  "— Just go in already!" Whisper-hisses a second voice, "Or would you rather we wait outside until someone comes along and finds us!"

  The door creeks open fully to reveal both my sisters, still dressed in their ceremonial robes, though now their veils hang loosely around their shoulders. "What are you doing here?"

  "It's a pleasure to see you too!" Ascella grins, closing the door, and Andromeda rolls her eyes, "I tried to tell her that the odds are we would see one another tomorrow anyways, but she would not listen." No surprise there then, I think with a genuine smile. It is dangerous — foolish, even, but nonetheless, I'm glad they came.

  "Do you not worry Daedalus will come for you?" I question, thinking of my own makeshift weapon strapped to my thigh and doubting my sister would've had the same train of thought.

  "You saw his face when the King told him. The craftsman scarcely wants me at all," She says, "I doubt there will be much of anything between us, let alone tonight of all nights, and besides, even if there is, he doesn't seem cruel as the rest."

  "You think he won't force you?" I scoff, "Even if the urge strikes him?"

  "I'd like to think better of him than that."

  "— But you don't even know him."

  "We do not know any of them!" Andromeda snaps, but she is wrong. And the moment the words leave her lips we all know it.

  My voice lowers, all the darkness of it heavily implied, "We know enough."

  This King, his men. They are all the same. To know one is to know all, for innately they all think alike, simple and stupid as men are in that way. The world over men will be doing just as they are here, terrorising, raping, pillaging. It is what they are born to do. It is what they will die doing.

  "Ophelia, that is quite enough," Ascella pleads, "We did not come here to argue. I only wanted us all to see one another to make sure you're both alright. Even here, we need to stick together."

  "Especially here." Andromeda agrees and I find myself nodding too. After that, there is quiet; an awkward, stretching silence that swallows the air and makes Ascella fidget uncomfortably, looking around for somewhere to sit. Eventually, she settles for  perching next to me on the bed, "So... What do you think of him?"

  "He is not to be trusted, none of them are," The words are almost instinctive, pouring straight from the soul. I eye Andromeda, "Not even the craftsman."

  She nods; solemn in her silence. Unlike our other sister, she does not dare try to share the bed, and it is not because I would not let her — it is something more complex than that. There is an unspoken distance between us, always has been, even since those early days of youth. We share blood and love — and mostly, resentment for one another, but still, in practicality, we remain strangers.

  In the quiet that follows, I stare out onto the balcony, past this life and into the next where the stars sing a faint gleam to the sky. They would be hard to distinguish from the distant glow of firelights in the city below if not for their paleness. White as bone and nearly as haunting.

  Not far from the base of the mountain there is a temple, vastly grand compared to the squat houses beside it and burning bright with acolytes for the merciful Spartan King and his Northern Gods. People dance around the open fires, small as ants and barely discernable from this height. Though I can just about make out the refraction of firelight off their face, thrown back in the rampant jeers of ritual sacrifice and tan from many days of work in the sun.

  All this, I think, all this for a King who does not even know you exist. He does not care for you, he will not protect you. How can you possibly have such love for a man you do not know?

  I scarcely like the men I do know, let alone love the ones I do not.

  Ascella's lips are pressed thin, downturned at the edges, "You don't think you may learn to love him one day?"

  A humourless laugh bubbles up within my chest at the thought, "Never." The word alone leaves a sickly taste in my mouth, "You heard him, he does not even believe in love himself, much less to be capable of it. He's a monster like the rest."

  Ascella and Andromeda exchange a pious look, one that I am not aparty to.

  "What?"

  The older of the two sisters grimaces, prepping the blow, "She was not talking about the King, Ophelia..."

  Was she not?

  He's seeping his way inside of me, slowly but surely, taking over my thoughts, and now, bleeding from my tongue. I bite my lip, as if that will keep him out. It is a bad habit and one I need to fix fast, but how do you cure yourself of the curse of men?

  "Then who?" I ask.

  Another look; more concerned this time. "The soldier, Sir Deimos?" Ascella ventures carefully, as if she is worried I may snap, "You know, the man you are betrothed to?"

  "— Betrothed!" I laugh, "Ascella we are betrothed to no man! Did you not hear the Spartan King — we are concubines at best, and perhaps not even that!"

  "Why must you always think the worst of everything and everyone!" Hisses Andromeda, "No wonder you are always so desperately unhappy!"

  Silence. It rings in the air louder than any shout ever could, and if looks could kill then my sister would be something far worse than dead.

  I lower my voice in an attempt to keep it steady. I hate her so much it hurts, it is a wicked ache that homes itself deep inside me. It hurts worst of all because I know in some small way, she's right. But she's also wrong, too.

  "If you believe for a single second that these men have a one drop of goodness inside of them," I spit, each word a venomous kiss upon the air, "Then you are a fucking fool."

  Her nostrils flare, "I would rather be a fool than a coward!"

  And I'm on my feet at once, fists balled, knuckles white, "Excuse me?" For Andromeda of all people — the girl who could not even say 'no' to her own father — to call me a coward...

  Every step I take forward she takes one back until she has nowhere left to run. There is a fear in my sister's eyes I have never seen before. I like it. Her back hits the wall and then suddenly Ascella is between us, holding her arms up and yelling, "Stop it! Stop it — both of you! For crying out loud — what good is turning on one another going to do!"

  I don't move away, not yet.  "Go on, say it again. I dare you." We are so close I can practically see the thoughts swirling about behind her eyes. They are sharp, angular, and have small flecks of green around her irises. She doesn't say anything, lips pressed tightly shut, but defiant in the rigidity of her posture. She knows I will not hit her, even if I am not certain myself. Maybe that is what makes me a coward, in the violent sense at least. For I have never struck another living being, I have never spilt blood or killed. Until now my damage has been dealt with words alone. I have never known the feel of a heart so mortal and beating beneath my palm, and had a thought to still it.

  When enough time passes that it becomes clear she will say nothing I step back with a wicked sneer, "That is what I thought."

  "Come, Andromeda. It's been a long day, let us rest." Ascella beckons pleadingly. Guilt stabs like a blade in my chest. There's sadness in her eyes. Ascella never meant for this, and yet, she claims the faults of this night as her own. My sweet sister. I want to apologise, not to Andromeda but to her, but then it is already too late. They are already gone, and I am left alone again. Just me and my silence and this gnawing feeling, eating away at the hardness in my heart.

***
QOTD- Who is your favourite sister? Why?