Calliope noticed very little - not the tone of his voice when he told her to call him Alexander, nor the fact that he slipped her now bloodied handkerchief into his pocket. For the first, she would not, [i]could not[/i] call him by his name. After all, if her family heard her calling him by his name, they would think her far too familiar with him. That wouldn't do at all. 'Sir Guard' it was, or no name at all. It was better that way.

As they reached the crossway, she felt his hand on her shoulder. She let out a sigh at his question. The way he said the first part was still as if she were a child. Calliope couldn't help but bristle a bit at that fact. "Yes, I am perfectly capable of walking to my room alone, Sir Guard." She said, her tone icy. "And I never run off. Running off implies leaving the estate. I never go father than the gardens, and even that is only the semblance of freedom. You are not trapped here, you go where you please; you do not find this place a prison." She did not raise her voice, but it was a good thing this part of the halls was empty. Imagine what her father might think if only he knew her thoughts. "Unless I am married, I will never leave here. And when I am married, it will be to trade a prison for a tomb. But no, Sir Guard, I will not 'run off' again. I shall stay inside and rot." Calliope turned on her heel, and swept off to her room.

Thankfully, she found her rooms empty. She threw herself on her bed, and let out a sob. So much for Alexander seeing her any differently. So much for hoping that he would let her sneak out to the gardens again. She was going to be stuck inside for forever, it seemed. The walls seemed to close in upon her, making her large room seem very, very small. Calliope felt trapped, with no where to go, and no way to break free. A bird in a cage. She drew herself into a ball and cried, tears of anger, and frustration, and hopelessness, her cheeks and pillows soon quite wet.