The Forgotten Kingdom And Me

Chapter1: Something Strange

Every day I looked out of the window. Every day, I saw the same scene: a lonely path flying round a garden, a vision of colours all running together, only ending when the wild branches of the old willow had been allowed to guard the rest of the way. The forbidden path.

I was always amused with the stories the old villagers told me about that path; there were those that said it led straight to the White Witch's home in the heart of the forest, others claimed that it was the path that never ended and that the branches were there only to save the weary traveller. Never mind that this was a private path on private property. These were the tales given to the tired foreigners on late nights in the local pub, or to young children who wandered off on their own, light-hearted amusements to show we were proud of our little legends. After all, what else does a small village live for?

There was one other story. Less well known and kept secret from any stranger and many of the villagers too. A story that had a curse, a beauty and a beast. The story of the Forgotten Kingdom.

The timing and the place of my story, however, are irrelevant. My father always told me that I was an old-fashioned girl in a modernised world, and as achingly right as he was, my father did not seem to realise that I was alone because of this, no mother, no friends and no way out. When we were younger the village girls only seemed to be interested in dressing up Barbie and tea-parties, gradually that turned to dressing up as Barbie and the tea-parties turned to dates with the local 'Ken'. All the while I sat on a bench reading or daydreaming about old ships and pirate mutinies, the general swash-buckling adventure that I longed for. Not that we lived anywhere near the coast. Pirating was just one of many daydreams, I had one about the Wild West too, but then I'm not too keen on sand.

My lack of friends and being so caught up in my own imagination were probably the main factors that brought on the events of my sixteenth year. The first was that 'Ken' started paying attention to me. The second… I'll come back to that.

The 'Ken' in question was one Rich Bloke. And no I am not kidding about his name. I wish I was. But as with all Kens, he was rather vain. And arrogant. And rude and haughty and selfish and all those other qualities which appear when one has polymers for brain cells.

Anyway, it appeared that even though all the village girls had the beautiful 'in' look of peroxide blonde hair and pouty 'luscious sparkling cherry' lips, well it appeared that Mr Bloke preferred me.

This is the point where I describe myself. I'm not vain but I don't exactly believe in false modesty either.

First off, I'm small for my age, it probably helps with my invisibility, but I am 5ft2 and a half, not slight but not dumpy either – curves in all the right places, if you will. My hair is fairly long, when it's down and straightened, there's about an inch passed my shoulder, but most of the time I scrape it back and let my bangs cover my face. The colour changes, I don't dye it, but sometimes I'm mousey, sometimes I'm blonde and sometimes I'm even red. Personally I think it depends on the lighting and my mood… My face on the other hand pretty much remains the same, expressionless, but my eyes tend to give me away a lot to the people who know me. A long time ago my father told me that I was the first person in the family not to have brown eyes, I'm blue instead. I don't really mind, I got the doe eyes from my mum and I got my grandmother's high cheekbones and fair 'English Rose' complexion – I don't really spend a lot of time in the sun. Then just recently I found out that I have the 'most perfect kissable rose buds' for lips, thank you Rich, just to clarify, my lips are symmetrical and not exactly strict-school-head-mistress-thin, but you know, there are only so many ways you can describe lips.

That's me. Well, no that's not me at all, that's the superficial me, but that's the me that made Rich Bloke look twice and the me that the village girls felt the need to be friends with, being flavour of the month and all. In any case, Rich did not just look twice, he stared. Constantly.

I had always gotten on better with the older generation of the village, I was quiet and helped them cross the road, and I knew that they thought I was a 'bonnie girl' and they had often told me I was going to grow into a 'beauty', but I had never believed them. Even old Mr Lumley, my boss the owner of the local book shop who supplied me with the advice and adventure I was lacking at home, was determined that I was going to be someone 'special'.

"You, my girl, are far too bonnie a lass to stay in a place like this. You should be out in the world, breaking hearts! Don't make the same mistakes I did, take any chance to get out of here while you can. You got me?"

That was one of his favourite sayings; he used to tell me every Friday night before he left me to lock up. We never really got many customers, the locals preferred their own fabrications of the village's inhabitants and the travellers were too busy, well, travelling. So, it was more than a little surprise when one day seemingly out of the blue, we were bombarded with customers.

I had been reading behind the counter, as I did every day after school 4.00 to 5.30, weekends 2.00 to 6.00, when the bell on the shop door went. I looked up expecting to see Mrs Whitmore, one of our 'regulars', but in her place stood The Rich Bloke, surrounded by the swooning village girls, batting eye-lashes and all. Startled and just a bit curious, I played my role as the helpful shop assistant (I come from a small village, I don't like it but it's in my nature to be curious about others motives).

"Hi, um, can I help you? You seem a bit lost…"

"No. No, not at all, I was just passing by and saw you through the window. I knew I just had to meet you and welcome you to the village. Welcome! I'm Rich Bloke, in name and stature, and you my darling are…?"

"Evelyn Chambers. Rich, I'm in your class. Don't ever call me your darling again, and would you please not get fake tan on the books?"

I thought the last was a perfectly good question to ask, he was so greasy and I honestly don't think anybody could naturally be that shade of orange, plus the smell of that and the village girls' sickly sweet perfume made me want to gag. Rich just pouted and tried to give me what I guess he thought as a smouldering look, impossible since his eyes were a dull and lifeless too blue colour for it to have any effect. Then he ran his hand through his sandy floppy blonde hair and said

"Hard to get, are we? No matter, I can wait. I always get what I want. I'll be back, darling, don't worry"

With that dramatic exit, he swept out the door and the peroxide clones flew after him. I debated whether to roll my eyes, punch him, or actually gag. I settled for raising one eyebrow and going back to my book, finding comfort in the fact that he couldn't possibly be worse than Roul de Chagney and that I was hopefully a bit smarter than Christine.

After ten minutes, the bell went again. I groaned to myself and was about to go and find that very heavy world encyclopaedia, thinking Rich had come back again on a death wish, when I heard a very distinctively female voice call my name.

"Evelyn"

It was barely above a whisper and there was a cold chill running down my spine as a burst of wind came through the shop turning the pages of the books left lying open. I ran to shut the door before any damage could be done. I looked round, ready to apologise to the customer and stopped. The shop was empty. I blinked. Still empty. I walked slowly back to the counter trying to think of a rational explanation, the door was old oak, heavy, there was no way one gust of wind could have blown it open. Unless it was magic… As I thought this, I looked down. In the middle of the pages of my book was a fully bloomed, perfect, blood red rose.

This brings me on to the second event of my sixteenth year. As I was leaving the shop, still in a daze, Mr Lumley called me back, he said that he'd heard that Rich Bloke had been in the shop earlier, when I nodded my confirmation, he sucked in a breath.

"Now, Miss Evie, you be careful. He's a pure bad u'n, that one. Use your beauty for his own ends, he will. You just stick to your books and ignore him. You've got your destiny to watch out for without getting bothered by the likes of him! Go on now and be safe"

If I wasn't confused before, I certainly was then. I got home and did all the boring, mundane chores of everyday life, it was quieter than usual, my father had gone on a business trip somewhere far away and there was no one else…

When that was over with, I went up to my room. My room is the room with the window. I can see out all over the garden, I can see the rose bushes along the path and the meadows over to the far right, and I can see the forest. The trees are so think and so dense that the forest seems to stretch on for eternity. No one goes into the forest. I tried to once but I got pulled away. I remember a beautiful face with emerald eyes and ebony hair, taking my hand and pulling gently. She said something.. She said

"Not yet, my love, it is too soon. Not before you find your dreams"

Then she was gone. And I never tried to go into the forest again. Thinking about it, I still don't understand, I was a curious child, I went exploring anywhere and everywhere, I even had got into the attic when I was seven, but I never went into the forest.

I lent my forehead onto the glass, things were changing and I was getting a headache. I looked down and saw that the rose was in my hands. I gasped. I couldn't remember even picking it up, in fact I knew that I had placed the rose in a vase in the bookshop, I hadn't even taken it home with me, yet here I was holding the rose in my hands. I looked out into the forest quickly again, I was confused beyond words and just wanted to shake myself from whatever had happened that day, I thought, nearly convinced myself that I was only in a dream, tomorrow I would wake up and begin my normal, ordinary life again where boys did not pay any attention to me and roses stayed on the bushes along the path.

Nearly, I was following the path with my eyes and rested on the old willow, there was a shadow where there shouldn't have been a shadow. A face where there shouldn't have been a face. I blinked and he was gone. I sat there frozen, I was scared. Scared of the man, scared of stories and scared of my own imagination.

When this realisation hit, I stood up abruptly, still clutching on to the rose concentrating on the pain of the thorns cutting into my palm. I closed the curtains and curled up deep under the covers of my bed, gently holding the rose close to my chest – I couldn't allow myself to put it down. There safe in my own bed, I waited for my dreams…

A/N:- Ok, hi, if you're reading this you've managed to read the first chapter, I hope you all liked it... Personally I'm a little freaked out by it, one minute I'm looking at my english coursework, next I've started another story... Oh well, first fairy tale fic, quite obviously going to be beauty and the beast me thinks, probably, anyway hope you liked it and i hope some people have some suggestions cause like i said it wrote itself and i don't know where the next chapter is going to go... so help please!? also reviews help me to get over the gcse blues... im not very good at hinting - please review!

ps i guess i should say that the book i refer to is Phantom of the Opera all of which is Gaston Leroux and a book everybody should read... go on it will get inside your mind...

pps Sorry for my ramblings, it comes from having geniuses as friends... you know full well who you are! also I suspect exams have made me slightly crazy...