Setting the Stage – The White Citadel
I wrote this to help me get into the feeling and characterization of the White Citadel, one of the main locations in my story. Let me know what you think of it and the Characters.
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Zack followed Melisandre bleakly through the cold white hallways. As always she rushed right past, as though she didn’t even see them anymore. He supposed it was part of living forever… things that you saw everyday lost their luster, no matter how incredible they were.
The halls were incredible, beautiful in their cold sterile way. They were made entirely out of a white marble, and they gleamed under the bright glare of the florescent lights. The weight they offered reminded him that no other race here had ever reached such heights. They were bleak though, almost entirely without carvings or distinction. Every once in a while you were able to find a corner where the light didn’t reach. Looking into one such alcove, he saw one of the mindless servants, a “blank” as they were referred to, lying down as if he’d been dropped in a heap. “Blanks” had no souls, though they had come from regular human stock originally. Certainly if they had, the years of depravities forced upon them as their masters abused them and fed off them would have killed it, shriveling it like skin burned in flames. They had no hope of escape, and they had lost the will to defy their capturers at all.
Looking down one of the endless hallways, he saw an attractive woman walking towards him. She was dressed as a blank and Zack worried for her as she was thrust into a dark corridor by a male vampire coming from the opposite direction. As much as he wanted to do something to help the girl, he could hardly help himself, let alone another. He turned his eyes back towards Melisandre, still worrying about the blank. However, the frustration he felt at his own situation helped him to shake off his concern. In the end she was just a blank and Melisandre had already promised him ‘punishment’ for his earlier “lack of judgment”. He glowered at the walls again, hating their unending smoothness, seeing in them no cracks for him to hide.
He had helped Xiam in her escape attempt, although honestly, he hadn’t been entirely sure he wanted to leave. He had everything here, even if he was too new to hold any real power yet. He didn’t want Xiam here, but that really didn’t mean he wanted to go with her. Even stark white walls were better than the dark forest outside.
Melisandre stopped, her crimson dress fluttering sharply as she turned to him. He was suddenly put in mind of a bloodstain, spattered against the background. She smiled at him, a predatory smile and pointed at the door on her right. He bowed his head with the proper amount of humility and walked in.
The room inside was large and had a feeling of emptiness to it. It was dimmer than the halls, and lit only with the dying flames of candles, held in dreary cast iron candelabra’s on the walls. He had thought that the halls outside were bare and bleak, but compared to this room, they were lavish beyond belief. The walls were gray cement, chipping in places, with obvious wet marks where water had seeped in. His gaze caught on the shackles set every fifteen feet. Had his heart still been beating it would have fluttered unevenly at the sight of the rust coloured spatters that irregularly covered the walls and floor.
The sound of the door slamming behind him and the darkness that followed conjured up images of being shackled and left to thirst. He spun around hoping that Melisandre wasn’t that displeased with him. She had entered behind him and the corner of her mouth was caught in a smirk as she pointed him further into the room. He turned slowly, not wanting to let her out of her sight, but finally turned to look around. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed the tapletop of tools in the centre of the room. He picked one of the tools up and realized that it was a knife. It was too dull and pitted to be used as a weapon though. Tossing it back to the table, he felt a greasy sensation where his fingers had touched it. He brought one of his hands close to his face to see what he had gotten on them. The scent of dried blood overwhelmed him making him want to retch. He wiped his hands on his pants desperately hoping that the stench wouldn’t follow him. He started to back away from the table but he heard a small groan of pain past it that stopped him. Fear crept back into him as he squinted at the dark corner, hoping in vain that she wasn’t there.
“Zack…” a timid female voice whispered. His worst fears came to life. Xiam was there, her clothing ripped and torn, bound by shackles. He wished he could be sure that the brown dust on them was rust, and not dried blood. The shackles were mounted to the wall and held her up by her wrists, leaving her toes to just touch the floor. Her face was covered with bruises that reminded him of the wet stains upon the walls. He started to move across the room to her, when he saw Melisandre step out a shadow to his left.
He stopped immediately and took a step back. It was Xiam’s own fault she was here, and not in the comfy prison that Jarius had been keeping her in. As much as he wanted to help her, he’d already told her that escaping was futile. He’d offered to battle Jarius to keep her himself, but she’d insisted on the escape plan.
“Dr. Jarius is probably asking the Mistress of Cats for leniency, as we speak.” Melisandre started, and he heard in her voice a tone that said she couldn’t believe Jarius’s stupidity in the matter, “but I wanted to show you what happened to traitors.” She spoke casually, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop even as she said it. She walked over to Zack, stroking him possessively. “You don’t want this to happen to you, do you?”
He shook his head and Xiam strained against her bonds, futility. There were tears in her eyes, though he thought that she was more angry than afraid. The chains clinked, and he saw the rust coloured dust on them fall off and drift down. It covered Xiam and the floor around her, carrying the disgusting scent of dried blood with them. He moved backwards into Melisandre’s embrace. Fresh blood started running down Xiam’s arm from where the cuffs dug into her. Her struggles seemed to become more frantic and he took a step towards her.
Then the red ribbons of blood neared her neck and the omnipresent hunger rose inside him taking him by surprise. A hungry growl made it past his lips before he could stop it, and Xiam blanched. Where the scent of dried blood had filled him with disgust, her fresh blood smelled better than anything he could remember. He wanted to go to Xiam, to lick that blood off of her, wanting to taste her as he never had before. He wasn’t aware that he was actually moving forward until he felt Melisandre’s arms clutching him suggestively, almost possessively. Then she whispered in his ear, “If you’re a good boy, I might even let you feed tonight… But only if I’m completely satisfied with your performance.”
He nodded as she pulled him gracefully back out of the room. Xiam’s face contorted with frustration and she screamed, a sound that reminded him of a wounded animals snarl more than that of a human woman. He saw her start to change form, her smooth skin growing silvery fur. Her sounds, whatever they were, cut off abruptly as the door shut. Looking at Melisandre, the sterile white walls and the dark alcoves, he blinked, reminding himself of how good he had it here. He focused on Melisandre, a curious mixture of lust and fear gnawing at him.
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When he awoke the next morning the blue silk sheets had drying droplets of blood on them. He looked over at his wrists, and was pleased to see that ropes were no longer confining him to the bed. The lifeless body of the blank had been removed, and the Navy carpet gave no hint as to if she’d been dragged or carried out. He used some of his stored blood to begin healing his wrists where they had been rubbed raw. Melisandre’s room was always easy to identify. The silk sheets, expensive paintings of Spain and the gilded bed and table presented a civilized view of its occupant, which warred unceasingly with the handcuffs lying casually on the dresser and the black cage strung up in the far corner.
Last night had been an eye opener even for him, and yet he found himself smiling. He’d finally come to a decision while Melisandre had abused his body in ways he’d never found so enjoyable before. While he might try to help Xiam escape this place, he would never leave. He had realized that he felt more at home here then he had ever thought possible. Perhaps when he was older and had taken power, he would be able to change those hallways… perhaps he’d put rugs up on them, covering their lifeless stone like the ancient Persians had. And as he stretched on the silk sheets, feeling them slide under him, he thought for the first time about customizing his room.
A set of soft cotton sheets would muffle the screams quite well, he thought pleasantly. And perhaps I can even get a diamond studded collar for Xiam.
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© B.A. Matthews – 04/September/2010