As always, he’d put the kettle on for tea. She awoke to the whistle. Today I will escape, she resolved, throwing off the bedclothes.

She encased herself in her royal-blue robe and waited. The sad-faced jailer appeared. He set the breakfast tray on her table, and then dragged out the ornate chair.

“Tea again? I prefer milk.”

“Yes, but tea is what we have.”

“And sugar instead of honey.”

“Again, we make do, my lady.”

He bowed deeply to her.

“I will escape today, jailer.”

“There is always hope.”

“Yes,” she said. “There always is.”

She drank the honeyed tea.

I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #406 at Velvet Verbosity.