Erzsébet

I cannot see. How long has it been? I feel the bones of my legs begin to crumble as I shift in this small, wooden box. I stretch my skeletal fingers out in front of me to carefully feel along the semi-rotted planks. As I reach out, my arms brush against vegetation, which has sprung up from my chest. The familiar yet ancient memory of a hyacinth bounces into my mind's eye. I curl my boney digits around the stem and pluck the flower from myself. How very odd a sensation.

Why is it that I've become aware again? I focus on remembering where I was before; before I became alive to sensation once more. There is a vision, just at the edge of memory, something I cannot grasp. As I chase down the recollection, it runs further into darkness. It's like a dream you know you've had but cannot remember, no matter how hard you try. I am certain I was somewhere else all this time. I just do not know where. I let go of the focus hoping that relaxing will make it come back to me in due time.

I wonder, is there any flesh left to me? I begin to pat my hands gently down the rest of what's left of this body, checking for any signs of the girl I once was. I start with the top of my head, feeling for any traces of hair.

I can hear the hollow clanking of fingers landing on skull, the sound reverberates through this lengthy hollowness. There is a single strand of my once thick locks left. I twist it around my finger, and there it stays. Having been so delicately attached, it hardly takes but a slight movement to feel it pull away from its ancient home. This doesn't disturb me as I think it probably should.

My once soft bosom is nothing now. Softness all stripped bare as a penance to time. Penance. The word sticks to me like hedge-parsley. I owe something to someone.

Suddenly, it feels as though I've been engulfed in flames. I scream out, but there is no sound. Deep squeals of laughter pierce the silence. The unpleasantness leaves me gasping. A finger falls away from me as I unclench my hands. There isn't any pain, but a long-lost feeling ... fear, grabs ahold of my senses.

The bathtub. Yes, I was in the bathtub. I'd been enjoying a glass of wine, admiring my reflection drenched in the reservoir.

My once sharp features have all fallen away. Oh, how I would mourn them if I were living. Youthful skin, peeled away from bone. I wonder if I could stomach the sight.

This box grows smaller and feels as though it's sinking further underground. As it's swallowed by the Earth, the air becomes thin. I choke from a lack of air. How is this possible? I feel around for any trace of lungs and find none. Only plants fill the cavity of my chest. But it's as if I cannot breathe.

The sinking stops.

A memory: shackles sway overhead as I glance upward at the ceiling. Drip, drip, drip.

I remember now. Those pathetic people coming to find their daughters, as if they could save them. I'd invite them inside, have servants pour them tea. They'd tell me their stories about a missing nobody, and I'd nod sympathetically.

At the same time, another servant, usually Dorotya or Ilona would be drawing a bath. Another young, virginal servant girl would be strung up by her ankles and bled like a pig into the tub. Her blood leaving her and seeping into the aging places of my body. When the bath had finished, I could always see the youth of the girl infused into my own skin.

A reflection of vitality shone back at me; assuring me that all would be well. Curing me of any ailments.

After other servants had gone to bed, Dorotya and Ilona would unclasp the girl's ankles, letting her fall with a heavy thud. Under my command they'd bury her just outside castle walls under the cover of nightfall.

Then there came a day when parents, siblings, friends and the like all gathered together outside the fortress. I suppose I'd taken one too many of the girls; suspicion grew like fungi in the forest. We'd done our best to stave off any attention, choosing girls we reasoned no one would miss. But it hadn't worked; they'd come bearing shovels.

As they dug around the edges of my ancestral home, I could see them from my bedroom window. It was sickening. I demanded the servants stop them at once, but once they'd discovered the first body, there was a collective cry of outrage. Torches were lit and swords were drawn. They advanced like vermin into each crack and crevice they could find in the palace walls. If I knew anything about rats, we didn't have much time.

Servants either fled or joined the mob. All but four, who stayed loyal until the end. We barricaded ourselves in the grand bedroom and held tight to each other as angry townspeople slammed into the door, eventually breaking their way through. The last thing I saw before sight left me forever was Ilona begging for mercy as the group descended on her.

Someone whispers my name. I do not call out to them, but it doesn't matter. They've come for me, to collect the penance they believe I owe.

As I am being dragged through the center of the Earth by my ankles, I hear the screams of each servant I had killed. Their distorted faces the only thing I can see. They form a circle around me, and I hear the instructions given: 'do unto her as she has done unto you.'

This is where I had been before; before I became aware once more. I recall now. Here is where I've been, and here is where I'll stay. Until one day, I'll briefly rejoin my crumbling corpse in a tiny coffin once again and feel each of my limbs fall away. It is a small respite from this place.