“As soon as you have been trained to our standard and your body has recovered” She said, she gave a slight nod to one of the guards who lifted Francis easily, Being nothing but skin and bone. The guard walked at a slow pace, allowing him a chance to keep his feet on the floor until they were out the door and away from her watchful azure gaze. As soon as they were in the dark corridor Francis was being dragged painfully. He could hear others laughing at his despair as they moved through the castle.
The guard dumped him unceremoniously in a small room with a simple bed, wardrobe and desk. He left and returned with a small bowl of questionably contents and water.
“Don't eat it too quickly, your the one who'll clean up the puck when your guts rebel” The guard said before shutting the door. Francis waited but didn't hear anything be locked or bolted. He took the guards advice and ate the gruel at a slow pace. When he was finished he stood up, using the bed and walls as a support. He noticed the window with its blinds down and went to open them. His eyes stung with tears from the onslaught of sunlight, something he hadn't seen in....he didn't know. He had no idea how long he'd been trapped in the mud-crusted, stinking cell. In that constant darkness it was impossible to measure days. He tried it based on when he got fed, but for him it was sporadic, weather it was that way for every prisoner or just him he didn't know.
Using the walls as an aid he moved to the door. Outside was an empty corridor, Francis picked a direction at random and started walking to his right, he stumbled upon the guard from earlier who gave him a toothless grin.
“Normally takes them longer before they venture out of the room” He said, something akin to respect glittering in his dull brown eyes, but it was quickly covered.
“I need to wash” Francis said, the guard nodded in understanding and led him to the baths. Francis was relieved to find he was alone and immediately began scrubbing at the dirt on his body. After a while he came across dirt that just refused to move, he grunted at it them before realising they were in fact his scars. When he was finished Francis looked at his skeleton body in the mirror, his ribs were sticking out and if he looking carefully enough he could see the area of skin where his heart was move up and down slightly. Francis looked around the towels and other things in the storage cupboard and found a pair of scissors, it didn't take him long to hack most of his matted hair off. What was left was an unlayered mess but he didn't care, he was just glad to look ahead without hair blocking his view.
Once that was done he looked at the pile of rags that had been his cloths. They stank and he had no intention of putting them back on. He grabbed the towel he'd use to dry and wrapped it round himself so he had some cover before leaning a head out of the door. Sitting next to door was a pile of clothes neatly folded. They fit perfectly as he knew they would, though a little loose on his shoulders and waist. A belt was with the cloths though so it was no problem. Once he was dressed he walked back outside, searching for the guard from earlier. He had no idea how to get back to his room.
Part of him wandered why he wasn't being closely watched, why he was being allowed so much freedom. His past would suggest he was dangerous after all. He still had the scissors clutched in his hand. As if Lexington would appear at any moment to drag him back to that living hell. But he was dead. She had confirmed that for him. He continued walking until he came across a corridor he recognised as being near her office. He heard movement inside and the clip-clap of heels. She was still there. He knocked softly and heard her say “come in” with a rushed voice. He opened the door and walked in, closing it behind him. She paused to stare at him before putting down whatever papers she had been holding.
“You look better” She said with a brief gesture at his hair and clean face.
“Yeah, and you seem to be doing well for yourself” He paused before adding, “Sis”.