Summary: It is said that the sun is the source of all life. The sun provides energy to plants, which in turn provides energy to all living creatures. It provides warmth, light, and hope. But, to Elizabeta, it means her longing; her want to leave to tower. Her desperateness to see the lights. And she may have found just the vagabond to take her there.
A/N: Ok. I know I have tons of other stuff I should be working on. But I had to at least start this before I lost my inspiration. Along with Ancestory, Bare-Knuckled and Broken, Nya Lan, and Novocaine, I have ANOTHER Disney/Hetalia fic that's still a wip. That one's on the back burner for now. Honestly, I'll be putting most of my effort into Ancestory, Nya Lan, and Novocaine, since I have at least one pre-written BKAB chapter and won't be publishing my other Disneytalia one for a while. If you'd like a better idea of when I'll update things, check out my "about" page.
Cover art has been graciously provided by hubedihubbe on tumblr! A big thank you goes out to them!
Without further ado, here is (the beginning of) Verheddert.
It is said that the sun is the source of all life. The sun provides energy to plants, which in turn provides energy to all living creatures. It provides warmth, light, and hope.
But in this story, we'll be taking all of this a step further. You see, this is a fairy tale. One that you may have heard before, but different.
And like every good fairy tale, it starts with Once Upon a Time.
Once upon a time, a single golden flower bloomed somewhere in the middle of Europe. Some say it was in Germany, and others say in Hungary. The country doesn't matter. The flower does.
Though most would say that a flower blooming is a normal occurrence, I'm sure that you will agree: this is no normal flower. It was magical, and was said to have been born from a single, pure sunbeam. It's petals looked like fine gold filigree, intimate patterns coming together to form delicate flowers. It gave off a gorgeous silver glow, like moonbeams on a clear night.
An old, crippled crone walked by. Shadows hid her leathery, wrinkled face from the world. Vanity had been both her friend and her enemy for many years, but it had had an ultimately negative effect on her.
She was dying. Slowly, yet surely, dying.
A sad, forlorn smile crossed her face as she remembered her glory days. She sang softly.
"Blume leuchtend schön,
kannst so mächtig sein.
Dreh die Zeit zurück,
gib mir was einst war mein.
Blume leuchtend schön,
lass mich nicht allein.
Halt das Schicksal auf,
gib mir was einst war mein;
was einst war mein."
A short distance away, she saw a silvery glow. Her eyes widened, and she hurried there as fast as her legs would carry her.
"What are you?" She asked, her bony fingers grazing one of the petals. Like a shockwave, the magic of the flower hit her, and she began to change. Her skin became smooth, her hair changed from grey to jet black. All the pain and stiffness left her body.
She had discovered her eternal life and youth.
Now, it happened that several hundred years later, a large kingdom had formed not too far from where the sacred flower was. The kingdom was called Blumen, after an abundance of flora in the area. Blumen was ruled by a caring king and queen; Gerhard and Calpurnia. Gerhard ruled with a steady, fair hand, and those that opposed him would taste the steel of his sword. Calpurnia was the people's queen, always looking out for them.
It happened that, after a while, the queen was expecting a child.
It also happened that about 37 weeks out, she became gravely ill.
The king was devastated. Desperate for a cure, he sent his soldiers out to find anything that could be of help.
In the meantime, the witch had made her home next to the flower, planting her garden around it. Whenever she needed it, she would just go and sing to it. When she had heard that the king was searching for a cure-all for the queen, she disregarded it. They would never find her cottage, much less the flower.
Needless to say, she was enraged when a soldier from the castle found it and took it.
The flower was taken back to the castle, where it was taken to the royal apothecary, who administered it to the queen. She healed, and the king was overjoyed.
Three weeks and a day later, the queen gave birth to a healthy baby girl with light blonde tufts of hair. The kingdom rejoiced over the birth of the infant princess, Elizabeta. Lanterns were released into the sky to celebrate.
During all this, the witch was still angry, of course, but she bided her time. She knew everything about that flower, and what she had to do. Once the infant had enough hair, she snuck into the palace, gently singing the song as she tried to cut a lock of hair. The hair began to glow as she sang, and her youth returned to her.
Her success was short lived, though. As soon as she cut it, it faded to a light brown. Powerless. She knew what she had to do.
The next morning, Elizabeta was nowhere to be found. The entire kingdom was searched, but to no avail. The rulers were heartbroken, and though they tried to remain optimistic for the people, their sadness shone through the facade.
Every year on Elizabeta's birthday, the eighth of June, lanterns were released into the sky in hopes that the lost princess would find her way home.
And every year on June eighth, from an entrance-less, hidden tower in a small glen deep in the woods, a young girl with golden blonde hair would sneak out of the room she shared with her mother to see the glowing lights in the sky.
This, my friends, is where our story begins.