Summary:
Burdened and tired of royal life, and plagued by past horrors, Princess Stella of Tenebrae finds entertainment in the strange behaviour of the groundskeeper and the guards, only to end up as victim to a rebellions schemes. (This was the original one, and describes the plot better.)
PLAGUE ON ALL YOUR HOUSES
By: Vicis Est Eternus
(Yes, I'm back to my original Penname)
Chapter I
IT was as if there was a blanket over the night sky, a thick, pitch-dark blanket, covering some ethereal light. This blanket had holes though, and while no light escaped the actually fabric, it peered through the millions of holes that the blanket had; due to loose stitching she imagined. The stars were the tiny holes in the blanket, but it seem right to just call them stars, for the whole sky seemed to glow. The Milky Way, someone had told her once, perhaps in a lesson, something she really didn't care for, but remembered now.
The cool wind brushed against her face, lightly blowing her hair so that it was pushed off from her face, and it ruffled her pearl white nightgown, a gift from some family member; she couldn't care to remember whom at the moment. She was immersed in her own heaven, staring in wonder at the sky above. The moon, as it were, was behind her, so all that it did was serve to illuminate the palace grounds in a haunting glow.
Stella, to her embarrassment, was once afraid of the moon, how it always seemed to hang precariously in the air, so much so that if it ever came directly over them, it would fall from whatever it invisibly hung from, and come crashing down on their heads. Perhaps the fear came from after she was told the fable that the sun was the god of life, and the moon the goddess of death, cold and pale, like a corpse, whilst the sun was warm and vibrant, like a living being.
It wasn't that far of a stretch to believe that it would be the moon who ended up killing them all, for if she were the goddess of death, wouldn't she want to die as well? It made perfect sense in the young Stella's mind, and now, many years later, an older Stella smiled at the memory, a laugh bubbled up, but did not escape her lips, and was gone in the next second.
Children were full of magic and wonder, adults of logic, reasoning and science. It took a strong person to believe as a child did, to grow up in a world where reasoning, logic and science took precedence over magic and wonder, and still believe. Fear of mockery, fear of ostracism, fear of being abnormal – yet, Stella found herself wishing to meet someone who did believe in magic, even just slightly, simply to feel free again. To feel free of the binds that chain her to where she was, to be free of being dressed by others, to be free of maintaining perfect mannerisms, to be free of being her. To meet someone who didn't care what others thought, a child in a man's form, so to speak.
With a sigh, she pushed away from the open balcony of which's railing she had leaned on, and stood straight, looking up at the sky, then back out, to see the glittering ocean. She spread her arms out wide, closed her eyes, and let herself feel the salty air clearly.
It almost felt as if she were flying, with the salty air cascading around her body like a lovers embrace, curling around her figure, making the nightgown feel like silk. Her hair ruffled in it, and her body felt light, as if she were flying. The wind chorused in her ear, tasted lovely against her tongue, and smelled wonderful to her nose. Her skin felt slightly tingly, now that she paid it attention – due to the salt in the air, she imagined, that was the excuse her maids gave her when they forbade her from leaving the sanctuary of her room after a bath, at least.
There was only one thing that ruined her illusion of flying, ruined her dream of freedom, and that was to firmly placed feet of hers that touched solid ground.
A swallow, her arms dropping, looking like they were sagging in defeat; she held herself her eyes opened, looking more lifeless than they had in such a long time. She felt like a caged bird, a bird caged not by bars, but by other living beings expectations. She felt so chained she might as well have had the world on her shoulders, for how heavy the figurative chains were, yet still she had the strength to lift her shoulders so that they weren't sagging with a depressed air. Still had the strength to smile and be cheerful.
Day after day went by, year after year, and as the chains got heavier, so did her smiles seem more fake, more forced.
She felt like she was dying, resorting only to live in a shell.
With a final look at the endless, boundless, magnificent night sky, she turned, her face showing its burdens to no one but the darkness, as she sauntered back to her king-sized bed, covers still rumpled and overturned from where she had her nightmare. Something that was not truly frightening to anyone but her; she was glad she hadn't cried out, and alerted attention to her robotic-like maids.
The nightmare, she shivered as she thought on it, and quickened her step to reach her bed faster, to reach the false sense of security quicker. Nearly jumping into bed, her skin painted with goosebumps, she curled deep into her thick covers, burying her head in the feather pillows.
There, she thought.
The nightmare had started out normal, a scene probably stemmed from her own memory; she was in a brightly lit ballroom, with everyone wearing beautiful gowns and handsome tuxedos. There were gold and silver and sparkling gems. She wore a champagne evening ball gown, that clung to her figure like a glove, her golden tresses done up in a intricate up do, so complex it took hours for her maid to complete it, her face glowing with the make-up they put on it (subtle, but noticeable), with a breathtaking diamond necklace latched around her neck, and matching earrings dangling from her ears.
Now that she thought on it, the nightmare had stemmed from a memory, that particular evening was of her cousin, the Lady Adora, and to celebrate her seventeenth birthday. Adora had many suitors; she was the gem of the jewel that night. It was almost a pity that not two months later she was married off to some other lord twice her age.
The dream had continued on as normal, she danced and drank champagne and socialized, it all seemed so easy, as if she were in a dream, though now that she was awake, she knew that was how it really had felt like; a dream in reality. In the dream however, she had gotten more and more uncomfortable over time.
It got harder to breathe, harder focus, and continuously her hand raised to the diamond necklace. Each time, it got tighter. The dress got heavier, and strangely enough, everyone started to circle her, trapping her in an impromptu cage. The dress weighed a ton, till the point she could no longer stand; it had wrapped around her in a strangling grip, and forced her to her knees. The diamond necklace continued to get tighter and tighter to the point where she could no long breathe. It was then that she had twisted to look up, to see the people who were watching but not helping.
Her face was red, her eyes felt like they were bulging – she had needed air, desperately. She then, turned her gaze, still gasping for air as the necklace got tighter and tighter, effectively blocking off her means of breathing, and she looked right into the cold eyes of her father.
Some part of her brain told her that he didn't look like that, never to her, his only daughter, but there he was, looking at her as if she were the world's greatest disappointment, not bearing enough sympathy or compassion for her to help, not even enough to look at her in any other expression that cold indifference.
Then, he had slowly shaken his head at her, in what was clear disappointment, and the others followed suit. Pain hit her, pain that had nothing to do with how the dress was slowly crushing her body, or how the necklace was choking her.
It had felt like her personal hell.
She had woken up coughing, throwing the heavy blankets off of her, and running to her balcony, breathing heavily the whole why, a hand lightly stroking her neck, an unconscious act to make sure the necklace was not there.
An hour could have gone by, as she stared up at the stars.
Now, her eyes felt heavy, the fear of the nightmare faded with time, and with the existence of the new thought in her head, and soon, she began to imagine – once more, of a prince charming, so magical that his existence defied reality, how he would whisk her away to a place where she could do what she wanted wear what she wanted, and not care because no one else would.
Her next dreams would be pleasant, but not memorable, and soon, before she even woke up, forgotten.
"Milady," a voice began, the high-pitched sound that distinctly belonged to a rather mousy woman, so skittish she backtracked on every word she said. "I mean, Mistress, no, you're Highness, Miss, It's time to wake up, supposedly, if you don't want to I'll leave!" The poor woman squeaked out, so intimidated by those of higher status she couldn't form a decent sentence, and so used to having to watch her words she couldn't be informal in anyone, even her friends and family.
"Isola," a disgruntled voice from within the mess of blanket of and pillows called out, "fetch me some morning tea." Anything to make the woman go away, Stella thought, it was too early in the morning to hear her prattle on, trying to get a single sentence such as 'Ma'am, it's time to wake up', which should normally be followed by 'breakfast is almost ready to be served, and your father expects your presence,' or something along those lines. "Please." She then added, realizing that this was still Isola, and if she thought that she did something to anger 'Princess Stella', she would be grovelling at Stella's feet for forgiveness.
Forgiveness that wasn't needed because there was nothing to forgive, but it would happen anyway.
It was far too early in the morning for that.
"Um, of course, Milady, um, ah, Princess Stella, right away! I'll um, send in Regina and, um, I mean, you're most honourable maids, and, oh, I'm not one, you're most honourable Miss, I'm just ah, I mean, I'll be going now, you're Highness." Isola stuttered out, tripping over her words, using gestures that would make anyone pity her, even Stella.
It was a shame that at current, Stella still had her head buried underneath a heap of pillows, and unable to see it.
It was a relief when Isola's jittery gait left the room, followed by a softly shutting door. Underneath the blankets and feathers and linen, Stella let out a sigh of relief, and began to stretch like a cat, propped up on her hands and knees, and leaning forward, and then backward, rolling her head in a slow circle. She collapsed back into the fluffy mattress, not wanting to move another inch.
The door opened again, and this time without any words, the owners purposeful strides went straight to the edge of Stella's bed, and, without any warning, the comforter was pulled off harshly and unexpectedly.
Stella managed to crack an eye open.
Standing in front of her was Regina her head maid, wearing the dark navy and white maid's uniform, her curly greying black hair done up in a bun, and her piercing blue eyes fixed onto Stella's. Stella groaned, not wanting to deal with Regina even more than she did Isola, but while Isola could be dissuade by a trip for tea, Regina didn't fear Stella in the slightest – the woman was Stella's wet-nurse, of course.
"Stella, get up! This is no way for a princess to act, all spoilt and unable to move from her bedchambers." The woman chastised. She bent down and grabbed Stella by her shoulders and nearly dragged her off the bed. She pulled Stella's legs so that they dangled off the edge of the bed, and heaved her upper body so that it sat up straight. Regina then did what no one else in the castle would dare do; Regina slapped Stella on the cheek.
The slap didn't hurt, but it did manage to bring Stella's focus to Regina, and wake her up slightly.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," Stella mumbled as an excuse, causing Regina to raise an eyebrow.
"I figured that when you sleep in an hour after I tell you to wake up." The woman said, continuing on with, "Go now, go wash your face; I'll have an outfit for you when you're done." She pulled Stella up, and pushed her lightly to her master ensuite bathroom. Stella complied, her feet moving almost robotically.
"There," Regina declared, taking a step back and appraising Stella with her eyes. "Now you look presentable."
Stella frowned as she stared at the floor-length mirror in front of her, or, rather, herself in the reflection. A light blue dress was put on her, a darker shade ribbon beneath her breasts, tying into a small bow at the back, then the dress fell into an empire waist, the fabric falling around the rest of her figure with no tightening. A transparent dark blue material decorated with flower and ivy designs layered the fabric of the floor-length skirt. It had a modest portrait neckline, framed with another dark blue ribbon, matching colour and texture with the ribbon beneath her bust.
"What's the occasion?" Stella asked, marvelling the new dress as Regina, who was taller than her, began to brush her hair with a ivory comb.
"You're father's having another suitor come in today." Regina answered, distracted as she brushed through all the knots. "I think if I take some of the hair from the bottom," she pulled lightly on the hair nearest the nape of her neck, "and take it and braid above the rest to make a pony tail, and use some blue ribbon, that would look nice, don't you think?"
"Yes," Stella replied, "do you know who it is this time?"
Her maid was silent for a while, as she did her work, only leaving for a second to retrieve the blue ribbon that she tied to the back strands. Stella heard a slight jingle, and looked hard into the mirror to see what it was.
The ribbon had a bell at its base. She had to admit, the style appealed to her, but it made her all the more wary. Previously, Regina had put her into everyday, normal gowns, regardless of whether a suitor was coming or not, yet today she was wearing a new dress, and her hair was being done up with a ribbon that did not just come out of Regina's pocket.
"My father favours him then." She muttered, making her own assumptions, again, it almost felt as if she were living her nightmare, unable to escape. Soon she would suffer the same fate as her cousin Adora, and her loveless, soulless marriage.
"Seems like it." Regina mumbled, before finishing the braid, the bell hanging right where her hair ended. Somehow she felt like a doll, a doll for auction, for sale. It made her feel cheap and worthless.
The necklace just got tighter.
Well then, she thought, before voicing herself, "Well then, I shouldn't waste any more time dawdling." Stella then excused herself, detaching herself from Regina's fussing hands. She felt numb – was that right? Before she always seemed to feel something, regardless of how empty she felt.
Now she was empty and numb – because of the prospect of a husband? Who knew such an inconsequential thing would tip her over the edge. Next thing that would happen was her causing herself bodily harm simply to feel something.
The future was looking rather bleak.
"Oh," Stella paused, glancing back at Regina who had previously been rolling her eyes and had begun to clean up Stella's room, "Regina, tell Isola that you girls can have the tea; as a reward for all of you're hard work."
"Of course, Miss." Regina replied, nodding a farewell to Stella before giving her a smile and continuing on with her work.
He was handsome, at the very least, though she couldn't vouch for him past that, as he seemed to be more of a closed wall than her. At least she tried, acted, tried to grasp some sort of humanity, try to live instead being a living statue.
His name was crown prince Denato, from a small kingdom that was slowly falling due to bankruptcy, however, what was promising about Denato's kingdom was that it was beautiful; full of waterfalls and cliffs, so high that the clouds could touch – he had told her.
To her embarrassment, she couldn't seem to wait to visit, and if she were to marry the man, who was rather cold and very factual, she would be able to live there, in a world that might as well have been on top of the clouds, and rule the small kingdom, so surrounded by mountains and wildlife and so lacking in minerals that it would never be attacked, or could be attacked. It was a safe, beautiful, enchanting home. That, and after their takeover of the only city state in existence when Stella was a mere infant, there would be direct crossing to it.
Yes, she could see the pros, and could see why her father encouraged her to talk, looking hopeful that his only daughter, his 'little princess' would readily accept any invitation. Stella, however, could only see him as a means, not a person. Perhaps that was all she had to see him as, some statue she would have to keep at all times, and occasionally polish in order to live in a place full of magic and wonder.
Perhaps she could feel happy there.
Perhaps Denato was cruel, or perhaps, over time, she would actually fall in love with him, and he would remain the same cold statue.
His rust coloured hair was groomed back, his clear skin was slightly tanned, and his dark brown eyes were striking. His features worked for him, and he was tall. A perfect gentleman, however, not once did he use words like 'I feel' or 'I believe'. He was worse off than her.
It would be like living in a city of glass.
That, and the idea of leaving Tenebrae, of leaving the Flueret family for the Divum family and their country Diluculo scared her; terrified her.
When Denato had left, her father had stared at her intently, and she had stared back. She wasn't going to marry him; she did, as she believed. However, as the necklace got tighter, she knew the choices of actions for her beliefs was slowly getting smaller and smaller.
Once again she felt as if she were suffocating. Stella swallowed, and for the first time in her life, she broke their shared gaze first, unable to stomach looking at her father any longer. He was, in essence, the reason she was caged so, and the reason she felt as if she were drowning in responsibilities and expectations, weighed down by pretty words and blood money.
"You don't approve of my selection." Her father stated, Stella, still unable to look at her father, looked out the window instead, and slowly nodded.
"He's so… lifeless, father."
"Yet you can understand why I want you to marry him." Again, Stella nodded, keeping her gaze locked on the beautiful garden, Stella nodded again, slowly, surely, at her side, hidden from her father's gaze, her fist was clenched so tightly she broke skin.
"Stella, I will choose one more man; you then have to chose between the two – you're getting too old to be without a husband, and eventually you'll reach an age where you'll be a disgrace if still unwedded."
"I understand. Thank you for giving me some choice." She replied, her words forced to include some cheerfulness – she smiled, but if felt completely fake, she felt like some large black hole inside. She watched her father nod and walk off, leaving her to her thoughts from her peripheral vision
Her time was slowly running out.
A/N: Okay, new story: this one is a Noctis/Stella story, and is AU, well, sort of. This is going to be very dark, with bloodshed and murder, and will mostly be Stella-centric. Or, it will be until Noctis is introduced in...Chapter Five (literally, I've written up to chapter ten.) Stella is going to be around 16, and this is taken place before electricity, if you didn't understand. Well, read, review!