Author's note: Angst. It's a one-shot, at least until the Princess is able to find her answer (aka. not necessarily autobiographic). Review if you like, but please read my other works. They're better, I promise.
Yes, the Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara was rather pretty and sharply intelligent. Her fingers were always busy: knitting and crocheting, and tatting, and when she played, her fingers fairly flew across the harp. She was skilled at calligraphy, sketching, painting, and could make the most cunning little things out of folded paper. All day long the Princess worked at her handicrafts, but not only were her hands busy: her mind was always occupied. The Princess was a voracious reader—histories, myths, legends, treatises on law and philosophy and anything else that she was able to lay her busy little hands upon.
The Princess had a circle of ladies-in-waiting and was in the center of every party. Although she had never solicited them, she had had several sincere offers of marriage by the time that she had turned seventeen. The Princess bided her time, never granting her particular favor on any particular gentlemen for she had not found any who held her heart.
There was little that held her heart, except her family and her God. And even they felt distant from her. Even her country held little charm for her—the Princess longed to travel and to see what the world held for her. She wished for a virtuous foreign prince who would sing as she played her harp.
Every night as she sat at her vanity brushing and braiding her hair, she prayed for a future or a change. She knew that there was something missing, some emotion that she was unable to feel. The Princess never would tell this to anyone; as chatty as she was about her thoughts, this no one ever knew. For even if they did know, what was there to be done with a discontent Princess?
Sometimes, as she smiled kindly at one admirer or another, she wondered in her heart of hearts if her soul was made of ice. Perhaps she was not meant to feel emotions like contentment or passion at all. Perhaps she was not meant to love. It was all in her intellect—the Princess knew many things. She knew what she believed. But she did not, could not feel these things. And until she did, she knew that she could never be whole and content just to be.
The Princess grew to hate her surroundings; every day she was reminded of how trapped she was and how much her emotions needed to grow. In time, the Princess let herself become complacent. Her best became poorer, her hands less busy. She let her mind wander and her thoughts become lazy.
One night, while the Princess was brushing her hair, she noticed in the mirror that tears were streaming down her face. Was she crying? Yes, they were tears. She threw down the hairbrush; the handle snapped off. The Princess was sobbing now, trying to thaw the ice in her soul.
As suddenly as her crying began, it stopped. The Princess loathed herself for crying over nothing, but perhaps it was a start. Her crying felt. And it felt real—not the brave sparkling show that she gave to the world. But now what was to be done?
The answer came to her: the Princess would go on a journey that summer. Alone. She would set off on Midsummer's Day at Midnight. How long she would be gone she was not certain. But Princess Christianna Ardelia Rosaria Cecilia Elfenara at least had the courage to start.