Spools of green, spools of black . . .

Those words echoed in Helaena's head with a quiet voice, her fingers turning a needle and threading it through fabric. As she worked, she found herself whispering the words that played again and again in her head. "Spools of green . . . and spools of black." Her teeth tugged at the skin of her lip.

The princess' lips were well-bitten, a nervous tick that she'd always had despite her mother's insistence she quelled it for it was unseemly. Yet, she nibbled anxiously at her lip, mother's chiding all but forgotten as she sat embroidering; trying to discern a way in which to make the words in her mind fall silent.

The door opened, and the sudden noise caused the princess to flinch and raise her eyes, almost nervously, to whoever had entered. Most would offer a greeting, but Helaena would not. She wanted to be alone. It was nicer that way, quieter.

Helaena felt the blood from her bitten lip slip into her mouth and onto her tongue. She swallowed. Even the taste of iron was not enough to steel her.