Melissa Spatiatis.
I hand the last of my luggage. It consists of red gowns, the unform of those that are working in the stewardship department. I haven’t had to wear anything that is of different colour or design. I don’t care for it that much. Back at home, I was always in my work clothes too. Quickly, I rush out of the hallway, afraid that the king’s door might open and I would have to be in his presence. Since the last three days where he bruised my wrist by his better judgment, he hasn’t spoken to me—we haven’t spoken to each other.
I have been around him in those days, it is hard to stay away when I am his healer. My eyes have been emotionless, he could almost forget my presence which was my intention from the very start. I would grind the ink which he used to write in his scrolls a
