Lysa pulled her hooded cape closer to her as a small chill raced up her spine. It had been years since she was a prisoner there but the old fears seemed to have remained. The scars along her back seemed to ache anew.
When she had heard that the Prince's castle had fallen and he himself a prisoner she could hardly believe it. Maybe that is why she had come back...to see for herself.
She slowly knelt down and dangled her fingers in the cool stream that ran past her. She studied the water for a moment reflecting on the past. There was a time when this water would occassionaly run red. It was said that was the time the Prince was making room in the cells. It seemed to her that she could still hear the agonizing cries cut short by death.
She once again stared at the castle, doubting she could continue on. But she had to. It was more for herself than anything. It was time to face her tormentors' ghost, her fears, her nightmares. She stopped short just at the foot of the hill. It was painful to remember. The fear overwhelmed her and tears started to fall. She felt foolish as she quickly brushed them away all the while looking around making sure she was alone.
The shadows of the past lingered there still as she reached the castle. The wind wiped through making a mocking laughter sound at her. But one step at a time drove her in. The place was left as is....a shambles. Tables knocked everywhere, blood splattered here and there. Some bodies still lay where they fell. Lysa became more fascinated than fearful with each step.
She continued down to her old cell. The torture devices long rusted and covered in old blood, rust and cobwebs. The door was locked so she could not go in, so standing on tiptoe she peeked through the heavy wooden door. There sat the Prince in all his finery, completely mummified.
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