It was time. She couldn't remain in this room any longer, couldn't depend on someone to come fetch her from it, or for her mother to finally see light and take pity. If she was going to get out, now was the time to do so. Lesly had spent day slowly cultivating a soft friendship with one of the guards. He would slip a note under her door whenever he was on duty, and she would slip one back. They would play little games, share games, secrets. He had informed her of the situation at Igen, news concerning her family, and of hatchings at Benden Weyr.
But it had only been to harden her resolve to escape, and she would not remain in this forsaken Hold a moment longer. She would not remain within this blighted territory either. The continent of the North would not satisfy her any longer, and she was set to confront her brothers and make her own pathways in life at long last. She would help to save her blood in her own way, if any of them still lived, but she could still do that if she was no longer hidden and confined behind closed doors.
The note slid under her door, and she knew it was time. She stood from her vanity, the useless piece of shit, and walked over to pick up the piece of stiff leather. "What can I get you tonight?" The last time he had stolen away chocolates for her. Tonight, he would fetch someone important for her, someone that would release her, help further her plans. She knew they would help too; they had always been kind to her, would likely have wondered where she had gone.
She would just have to do this carefully. She did not want the woman caught, did not wish to see her wher put to harm. Returning to her vanity - really, why was she still thinking of it as such, she had long ago converted it into a desk, carved it up with a hidden knife, the very one she had used to slice away her hair. Faranth, her mother still didn't know about the lack of locks. She glanced at the bin that held the tendrils and decided she'd splay the golden strands on her bed before leaving, a final present to her parents. Let them know she'd taken off of her own accord.
The symbolism was just too delicious to ignore - cutting the cords of her bonding to them. She nearly broke her quill pen in her excitement, and he to pause to breathe and reminder herself to continue writing rather than stand and move in the sudden rush of restlessness. She scribbled the note, a message to the guard that would read simply "Fetch Myonna for me. Knock three times if you will, twice if you won't."
She folded the paper, real paper, not the stiff hide that he often used, and stood to slip it under the door. Then she started to pace, waiting for the inevitable knocks, knowing it would mark her fate one way or another. Slowly, there came one, then two, and her stomach sank ad she waited... a third came. She nearly sank to her knees. Now, all she needed to do was wait for the woman to arrive, and then she could explain.
