A/N: So a new story... Alright this is the first installment of The Chronicles of Avalea, a magical kingdom of my own design. In the Chronicles of Avalea, you will find the stories of many downtrodden princesses who take their lives into their own hands- mostly without the help of a certain Prince Charming, and they make their situations better. These stories are modeled after the well-known and well-loved classic Grimm, Anderson, and Disney fairytales that I'm certain you are familiar with. This story is the story of Aurélie, and you will soon see which princess she most identifies with. You'll also see that all of these princesses are related in some way, by blood or marriage. I hope you enjoy the first installment of The Chronicles of Avalea: The One with the Fire

Love always,

Anastasia

Genevieve Amonet lived a luxurious life as a courtier of the castle. Her mother was a lady to the queen, and the princess Amelia was her best friend next to her cousin Nicolle. Life could not be grander for the three friends, as they grew together and enjoyed one another's company, for as children, this was their only duty.

When Genevieve was sixteen, Henri arrived. The Duke of Perdington, a small but wealthy community, was just a bit older than the three girls and was adored by many, including Genevieve. The moment she saw him, she knew that he was the one whom she would marry, but through the scheming of elder forces, it was Nicole who came to be betrothed to Henri.

Genevieve loved Nicolle like a sister, but she was in love. In time, she discovered that Henri loved her as well, and the day before the wedding, the ordeal was called off, in favor for a new courtship of the no-longer-bride-to-be's cousin, Genevieve.

This was the end of their friendship. Nicolle married elsewhere, out of the scope of the castle grounds, but Genevieve and the princess Amelia remained great friends. In fact, they were each other's maids of honor.

Genevieve lived with her love, Henri Leon, as the Duchess of Perdington, in a beautiful manor with ivy-covered walls and climbing trellises of roses. Soon they began a family. Their first daughter, Beatrice, had dark hair like her father, and his wide blue eyes, and her smile was angelic as a sunrise. Not even a year later, they were blessed with a second daughter, Aurélie, with the same light blue eyes, but a crown of golden hair that curled around her face. Three years later, their last child, Henri II arrived, with his mother's golden hair and clear grey eyes.

The family could not have been any happier. Meanwhile, the Queen Amelia was also blessed with a son, Louis, the spitting image of his mother, with tan skin and chocolate brown hair and eyes. Aurélie and Louis became fast friends. The King would often hunt in the forests by the manor, and he would leave Louis in the care of the Duke and Duchess. Aurélie and Louis would walk to the creek with the fast current and dangle their feet in the water, watching small tadpoles and algae float by.

Life was a pleasant wash of robin's egg blue, seemingly endless and rich as a real robin's egg. Aurélie, whom she had taken to calling Elle, Beatrice, and Henri, both father and son, were content with this peaceful existence, but without warning of any kind, their wash of blue was replaced with no color at all as disaster struck.

In the brisk wind of fall, a fire had been lit in the downstairs kitchen, and left unattended. It spread quickly, catching the whole manor alight. Genevieve was in the garden, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, when she saw the flames lick at the windows. She raced inside to a scene of pure havoc, as people raced about trying to quench the flames, but they proved too great. Smoke stung Genevieve's eyes and sent her back out to the gardens in a fit of coughs. She saw Henri, on his little toddler legs, race out of the back drawing room, his hand pressed into six-year-old Beatrice's. Beatrice was always so responsible, and Genevieve knew she could always trust her eldest daughter to do the trustworthy thing, but Elle always seemed to be off in space, taking a stroll in the endless corridors of her own mind. She was pensive, but self-righteous almost to a fault. Where was she?

Genevieve saw her husband racing out of the house, but Elle was nowhere to be seen.

She thundered towards the door, desperate to reach her child, whom she just knew was somewhere in those swirling flames, scared and alone, but her arms were torn from their sockets as her servants held her back. They were loyal to their mistress, and didn't want to see her perish in the fire.

The entire population of the manor congregated on the grass, far from the smoke and flames. The entire population save for one, small, six-year-old girl.

Genevieve shook in the arms of her husband, Beatrice's hand on her shoulder, and she mourned for her little girl, whom she knew she would never see again. If only she'd stared at her face a bit longer; if only she'd memorized the depth of her blue eyes and the white of her hair just a bit closer.

Her little Aurélie, her precious Elle, buried in the cinders.

The next chapter will be posted some time next weekend, and I assure any readers of my previous works that I will be on time for this series because I've already written nearly a quarter of the story. I hope you enjoyed and see you next weekend (New York time)!

-Ana