The clatter of empty pewter tankards rolling across a stone floor; the frantic whir of wooden bowls spinning on their rims, as they tried to right themselves; and amidst it all, the distinct, raspy tones of a female voice yelling a deluge of profanity. Some rather imaginative profanity, at that. It was a cacophony of noise, and this particular din was emanating from the great hall of the Esquires.
With another forceful thrust of her arm, Fera sent more tableware flying to the floor. Had anyone stumbled upon the scene, they might be forgiven for thinking her a woman possessed, and perhaps that assessment would not have been far off the mark. There was nothing about this display that would point to the work of sinister forces, however. This was the work of a woman possessed by anger. Wherever it stemmed from, it bubbled up and was released through the thrashing of her arms and the lashing of her tongue. Yet, there was no audience to which she directed it. Instead, the hall remained empty, as it had done for days.
Finally exhausted from the exertion, she slumped against the wooden pillar behind her, slowly sagging until her bum hit the floor. There she sat, her breathing ragged, as her gaze darted about the chaos she had created. Fera ran a hand over her face and up through her hair, pushing her tousled locks away from her eyes, which now seemed oddly serene. The outburst had been cathartic, and now that she had released everything she had upon the room, there was nothing left but silence.
She missed them, the departed Esquires, even those who irked her. She was loath to admit it, but she felt alone. Everything felt so hollow, so small, like looking at the world through an old dusty glass pane. It was still there, she could still see daily life continuing around her. But nothing seemed sharp or tangible, any longer. What would it take to bring everything back into focus? To feel as she had done before, when days seemed full of promise and life embraced her? It would take more than an overturned kitchen, that much she knew.
Calmly, she got to her feet and dusted herself down, seeming utterly detached from the disarray around her. Picking her steps carefully, Fera moved across the hall, placing her feet between the spaces where tableware cluttered her path. If she wanted to change things, inaction was not the way to do it. She wouldn't be returning to the hall. What good did it do to dwell in a place where she found herself alone? The door lay ahead of her. She decided she'd change things the only way she knew how. With that thought, she stepped out into the pale winter sunlight, closing the door behind her.
