—a/n: for maggie-chan (from here to the moon), who beta'd this story. thank you so much for the support, it helped. oh, and thanks to you, the reader, for bothering to read this. enjoy. (^_^)
ah, yes. this lovely idea of mine (sarcasm intended) derived from my undying love for fairy tales and current obsession with bleach, particularly ichihime. lovely idea, say hello to reader. reader, wave back. now that introductions are out of the way, we shall get on with the story.
p.s. sorry, but this fanfic isn't for kiddies, meaning the rating will possibly go up. and, in case you haven't noticed, this is my very first fanfic. be nice, please?
prompts: forbidden love, love triangles, fairy tales, "wonderland" by natalia kills, heartstrings, and heartbreaks.
(disclaimed.)
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The start of every story is triggered by something. Each fairy tale begins at some point or another, either by some twist of fate, an absurd wish, or even a whispered secret that a passing mortal/immortal just so happens to overhear.
Cinderella's started when she met her fairy godmother and rode to a ball in a pumpkin. Alice's started when she fell into a never-ending hole. Snow White's started when her own mother wanted her dead. Hercules's started when his parents had sex.
And his started the moment he met her.
the enchantress
prologue
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Once upon a time,
in a land far away,
lived a young and handsome prince—
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Clack. Clack. CLACK!
The footsteps become heavier and heavier, and the tall, flimsy man who wields them travels through the castle in a hurry. He's anxious, very weary, because of the news he has come to the castle to deliver. Regardless, the man reaches the end of the hallway, standing before a pair of large, golden doors. He knocks before he is given permission to enter from the other side.
A moment passes before the doors slowly peel open, revealing a man lazily perched on a throne. His short, spiky hair, orange and inferno-like, falls over his chocolate eyes that give a burning glare. His cold demeanor, his unapproachable aura, and his manner creates an invisible sphere around him, causing the announcer to extract the distance between the two.
This is the son of King Kurosaki Isshin, the great ruler and military general of the kingdom; the same person who renewed the kingdom from its post-war ruins. In order to follow into his father's footsteps and successfully rule the empire, he must become as strong and powerful as his father.
He must make his father proud.
In truth, this would be a simple task. His father is a cheerful, lighthearted person—the complete opposite of his appropriate behavior. He tells himself, as well as the villagers, he must make his father proud. But, truthfully, he wishes to make her proud.
Before the prince opens his mouth, the announcer loudly clears his throat, licks his lips. His voice is hard as the news roll off his tongue, "She's here, Your Grace."
The prince sits up indolently, turning his glance away from the announcer. An instinctive scowl plasters onto his face.
"Bring her in."
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—and with the prince in his kingdom
lived an enchantress who lurked in the shadows.
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"Stay away from the evil enchantress!"
"She's up to no good!"
"I've heard she's cursed men to fall in love with her!"
"You don't think she'll do that to the prince, do you?"
"Possibly!"
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There, she stood alone with a tarnished reputation.
Hidden in the dark corners of the streets, the woman allowed herself—forced herself—to hear the quiet voices of the villagers. Her heart would sink every time she caught a rumor from their lips. They were talking about her, after all.
Her name was Inoue Orihime. At seventeen years-old, she was dripping in beauty. Her dark, orange hair fell carelessly over her shoulders and perfectly sculpted the frame of her grave, charming face, filled with austere and feminine features: amber-dusted eyes, rosy-pink cheeks, and soft, red lips. It was like she mirrored Aphrodite, the goddess of love, desire, and beauty. She sported a long, black cloak, formerly owned by her brother, that cautiously hid her rounded breasts, lissom waist, and slender legs.
She was also a bastard child, with no one to care for her. After the sudden disappearance of her mother, only her and her brother remained, abandoned on the streets of the village to fend for themselves. And as time went by, so did the severeness of her brother's illness, leaving her to steal food and medicine for him, finding anything that could assuage his sickness. This routine, frantic and distressing, continued for several months, until that one dark and dreadful day...
He passed away.
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It was cold outside, and the weather was dark, filling clouds into the sky with raindrops that matched her tears.
The man flashed the girl a weak smile and slowly parted his dry lips, "You know I love you, Orihime."
The girl's insides suddenly felt warm from his voice. Her small hands tightly gripped onto her brother's shirt, to such extent that they were beginning to shake from the pain. A salty droplet escaped her hard, hard eyes as it rolled down her flushed cheek. She opened her mouth in hope for words, but nothing escaped, leaving only the soft sound of her brother's heartbeat.
Th-Thump. Th-Thump. Th-Thump.
"I want you to stay strong, Orihime," he said sternly, yet weakly. He found it more difficult to breathe as his chest rose and fell slowly. "Find a job in the village, marry someone who will care for you. Move on."
"No!" She squeaked, more tears streaming down her crimson face. "Don't die, Onii-chan! Please don't die!"
Defeated, the man released a loud sigh, and closed his eyes. She watched in terror; it was like she can no longer breathe. Her skin was tingling, nerves were pulsing, and her heart was trying to purge itself from the position in her throat. She took a deep, long breath to calm herself, and listened the heartbeat that filled the room once more.
Th-Thump... Th-Thump... Th-Thump...
"Stay strong, Orihime." His words were in sync with his heavy, nonrhythmic breathing.
The girl watched silently, intently, wiping the remaining tears hidden under her large, hazel eyes. A soft sniffle escaped from her nose, and her eyes are sealed shut, trying desperately not to scream. Her shaky hands gently glided across his shirt, damp with her tears, and landed on his chest.
Th-Thump... Th-Thump... Th...
No.
No.
No!
"Onii-chan?" She called out, softly shaking the large, warm body that laid motionlessly on her lap. When no response was made, she shook harder and harder. "Onii-chan!"
Silence. Pure, pristine silence.
"Please don't leave me, Onii-chan," she whispered incoherently under her breath before gradually placing her head on his chest as the flurry of emotions bled through her skin. She bit her lips, hoping—praying—for a sound. When a sound was not made, she broke.
And she sat there, crying, alone.
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Please don't leave me, Onii-chan...
The oh-so-depressing memory would send sudden chills down her back. The stinging sensation would cut into her subconscious, snapping her from her train of thought. But, nonetheless, she enjoyed the feeling. It kept her mind away from the villagers' rumors.
There was a time where she would always convince herself that the villagers' harsh words were merely false accusations. She tried so hard to ignore the things they would say about her and move on. But she cannot bring herself to do so, for their words were nothing but lies.
Lies. Lies. Lies. Lies.
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Two years after her brother's death—(See also: present time.)—, she is arrested, charged for theft, and is escorted to the castle for punishment.
And she still hasn't moved on.
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Now, she is surrounded by guardsmen in front of two large, golden doors. A sudden gust of wind whirls about, sending cold chills throughout her body. She grabs the end of her cloak and presses the fabric closer to her body in hope for warmth.
Finally, the doors open, and the guardsmen escort her, rather roughly, through the doors and into the castle. As she trudges through the castle, her eyes scan the exquisite halls in fascination, for she has never seen anything like it. Tall, shiny armor align the edge of the hallways, the floor is fresh-polished marble, and the ceiling, which is her favorite, is covered in delicate and intricate lines and curves of various watermark paintings.
She casts many glances at this composition; her fingers itch with the craving to touch these beautiful features, and her arms stretch longingly towards the ceiling only to fall back again helpless to her sides.
The guardsmen suddenly halt in the middle of the hallway, followed by the girl. Puzzled, she blinks her large eyes and glances around, in hope for a reason for such actions. Her head shifting ceases when she hears a voice from the opened doors ahead of them, and her heart nearly stops when she hears someone demands loudly, "Bring her in."
Without warning, the guardsman roughly push the girl ahead of them and through the open doors, leaving her completely vulnerable to the eyes she had never imagine to see in reality.
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The prince shifts his eyes back towards the entrance, and near the open doors reveals the notorious enchantress.
His eyes widen in surprise.
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The prince is the first subject she notices, and her heart flutters when she realizes how handsome he appears, much more handsome than what the villagers have described him to be. Her cheeks feel warm and flushed, and she reverts her gaze to another subject.
Suddenly, her honey eyes become larger, and the air in her lungs quickly leaves her body. Her large eyes turn into envy when she sees the person sitting next to the prince; she has heard positive words about her from the villagers. Yet, she couldn't disagree with them, she is drop-dead gorgeous. Every female would wish to be her.
After all, she is the bride the prince shall marry in two weeks—
Lady Kuchiki Rukia.
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to be continued.
