Memoirs of the Girl Who Followed a Cat: Part the Second | Teen Ink

Memoirs of the Girl Who Followed a Cat: Part the Second

January 19, 2009
By Sabryth GOLD, Lawrence, Kansas
Sabryth GOLD, Lawrence, Kansas
18 articles 1 photo 25 comments

“So you're the mortal girl Myrian brought in from the city,” says the fancy man with the long brown hair tied with a ribbon in the back. He is dressed elegantly, although somewhat out of fashion, with his pants that only reach just past his knees, with his white stockings going into his black shoes, and his maroon jacket with the ruffles sticking out. He is handsome, for sure, but there is a cold cruelty to his voice, a flash in his eyes. “Funny,” he says, placing his hand under my chin. “I expected her to bring something more...seemly. But you will do, I'm sure you will serve our purposes well.” I sneer and bite his finger. He recoils, shaking his hand, but still smiling. “Ah, feisty. Don't get rid of that attitude, it may help you here. Come Vlad, let's be off.” He walks out swiftly, the huge, hairy man who knockd me out by the lake hastening behind him. I spit at their backs.

I hate how dirty I feel, not to mention the fact that my arms are going numb from being chained to the walls. I'm starving and I have to pee like crazy, but there's no way to escape these chains. The echo of the chains as I rattle them sounds hollow, and unfamilar. Why am I here? Who are these people? WHAT are these people? I try to enjoy things, and have fun in the moment, but right now, I'm not sure that applies. The room I'm trapped in is long, and thin, the wall behind me is slanted, so that the barred window behind me soaks me to the bone every time it rains. There is a loud creek as the heavy wooden door at the end of the room opens, letting in a tall woman in a maroon coloured dress, she has long blond hair that is tied in multiple links down to her heels, and I note her tall pointed ears sticking up farther than her head, past her big lime green eyes.

“If you give your word you will not attempt to escape,” she says, holding up a heavy skeleton key. “I shall take you to relieve yourself, and get something to eat.”

“Why my word?” I ask. “How can you trust that I will keep my word and not try to run anyway?”

“Word is law,” she says.


“Yes, So do I have your word then?” I sigh in defeat.

“Yeah, sure, I give my word that I will not attempt to escape. Bathroom first please.” She takes the chains off my hands, I rub my wrists gratefully, as she takes a-hold of the back of my neck, her long fingers are cold and unfeeling. She leads me out of the room, and down a blank white-washed hallway with many doors of varying shapes and sizes. She opens a small pink door and waves me into the tiny room beyond. I go in. Like the door, the whole room, walls floor and ceiling are all pearl pink. There is a white porcelean toilet, like the kind back home, a small counter top, and a white wash basin with pink flowers painted on it, a glass pitcher of water, and pink rose shaped soap.

“It's so nineteenth century,” I whisper, spinning in the amazingly girly restroom. After relieving myself I pour the water into the basin and attempt to wash the dirt off my face and arms. I scrub until the woman knocks on the door asking me if I'm still there. The soap by that time is just a pink sliver, so I go out to meet the strange woman. We're walking even further down the hall when a thought occurs to me.

“So...what are you? I mean, you're not human right? And what is this place? Where am I? Everything's so old fashioned here.” She smiles distractedly.

“Ah, you are observant, yes, but not very educated. I am an elf. The place you are in is the upper dungeons of Doma Roe, the king of the elven land of Syriavid.”


“You shall learn my dear, all in good time. But as for right now, we must get you something to eat.”

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