Personal Narrative: The Servant Girl

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Darkness swarms in from the windows of the castle walls, covering the room. I pace up and down the length of the room, muttering under my breath. Water floods through my veins, wanting to escape. Pausing mid-step, I make shapes with it in the palm of my hand, getting more and more precise with the second. All the while I can only picture two people; the servant girl, the one that just walked in my room before sundown, and my father, telling me to find someone that has the same magic as me in order to prosper. Slowly, like emerging from the deepest fog, I snap back into reality and glance down at what I have made. Standing on my hand is the servant girl, my father next to her, looking as if he wants to be anywhere but there. He draws something
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