I am alone. I am eating my heart out.
Simon De Beauvoir
Love is a joke. Love isn't real. Love is for fools. That's what my father taught me.
And that's what is carved on my back, like a permanent reminder.
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This is the story of a lost princess. Now, let me remind you, she didn't even know she was a princess. She thought she was just a normal girl. And I guess I thought that too.
You see, a long time ago, something fell from the heavens and descended onto our earth. It was strange. Just a tiny, red rain drop. And when it struck the soil, a flower grew in its place. It was a crimson lily.
Believe it or not, we didn't care much about it. To us, it was just another plant.
So we didn't bother with the lily.
Until the queen became ill.
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The queen was everything to the kingdom. She was the sweetness and the tenderness the people needed in order to live. She was the warmth of the candle and the caress of a small hand.
When news of her sickness spread, all chaos broke loose. Soon, everybody wanted to find a cure. Thieves and murderers and rapists alike, I tell you. It was like the queen was our connection to life itself.
After endless attempts for a cure, an old man came forward. He was wrinkled and appeared ready to wither away. He spoke slowly and with intent. He talked of a flower. A red flower. That could heal any ailment, any affliction, any dire condition.
And because hope had briskly deteriorated, the royals listened to him and they went searching. In multitudes. In masses. They clabbered to any field and ripped out flowers, one by one.
And then they found the lily. Floating on a small pond. An impossibility.
Eaten by the queen, she was cured. And her blonde hair was marked by a single, red strand. We never questioned how the flower had wielded such power. We were just relieved that the gods had answered our prayers.
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And then the birth of a baby girl was declared.
And the festivities began and continued, a reckless time of beauty and joy and innocence and heart.
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Like a nightmare plagues a child, all the cheerfulness drained away from the kingdom. A woman by the name of Amatis stole the king and queen's baby.
Just like that, everything was gone.
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All searched for her. In every home and forest and castle and church.
And Amatis, well, she raised the girl as her own.
But the kingdom never forgot about her. Every year, on her birthday, thousands upon thousands of lanterns floated into the sky. In their illumination, they hoped that the lost princess would return.
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Short, I know. It's just a prologue. Thanks! Review.