So uh...hi there. I'm uh...I'm back from beyond the writing grave. Things have been beyond freaking insane on my end and every project I had been working on got put on a back burner that I never really forgot about but also never got to go back to. So...where is this story as of right now? Good news: it's still a work in progress. I have been praying to have time to come back and work on it again and it eventually came. In the most awkward and confusing of ways. But here we are with something of an update.
This story has gone through what I consider to be a massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive, massive overhauling rewrite. I have gone through chapter by chapter and made changes ranging from small little details to enter sections of the story. It has been so much fun and I am wanting to share it with all of you. So, along with this little update section, I will be going back and reuploading chapters Prologue-8 ALL AT ONCE in their newest and shiniest forms.
Even if you have read this story before, I highly, highly, highly suggest going back through and reading again because dang has this been some work! For those of you that have been around since the beginning: HOLY CRAP THANK YOU FOR KEEPING THIS IN YOUR LIBRARY AND NOT GIVING UP ON IT! For those of you that are new: HOPEFULLY I WANT BE TAKING ANOTHER SIXTY YEAR HIATUS AND THANK YOU FOR READING THIS PASSION PROJECT OF MINE! I love all of you and hope to see you real, real soon!
With Love, Tripsy the Dovahkiin
Prologue
Once, in a time that has been long since forgotten, there lived a handsome prince, heir to the throne of a prosperous kingdom. He was well beloved by all of his subjects and, at even a young age, was a kind, just, and wise ruler. His striking appearance and gentle behavior caused many a woman in his land to dream of one day becoming his queen. In the eyes of his people, he was perfect and could do no wrong. He loved all and, in return, was loved by all. His parents, the king and queen, saw only greatness in him and strove to raise him to be the kindest, gentlest king he could possibly be.
For many years, the young prince knew naught but happiness, growing in the purest of joys. He was frequently seen in the town among his people, aiding those that needed it and doing all he could to improve the lives of his subjects. Hardly a day went by that he wasn't in public, wearing a large smile and showing warmth to all that crossed his path. If there was anything the prince enjoyed doing, it was being among his loyal, loving subjects. Yet if there was something he cherished even more than that, it was music.
When the prince wasn't in the village doing all he could to better the lives of those who owed him fealty, he was visiting the opera houses that were dotted about the land. He highly favored the one that rested just outside the lush forest that nested against the hill the palace rested on: the Opera Populaire. He visited this particular opera house so frequently, he had been gifted a private box with the best view of the stage.
It was really thanks to his parents that the prince had such a strong love of the arts – they had instilled him with it at an early age. A private tutor instructed him in piano, the best voice teachers were hired to coach his singing and, later on, he taught himself to compose his own works. Whenever the prince was home in the palace, music flowed freely from his private music room and found its way into every corner of the castle.
As the young prince grew older, he only became kinder. It seemed that age would be unable to harden his soft heart like it had so many others. But one night, a tragedy occurred that changed the prince in a way that none could have foreseen.
In honor of the prince's twenty-second birthday, his parents hosted a large party in one of their many grand rose gardens. Every subject in the kingdom was invited to attend, but especially warm invitations were sent the young, eligible women that lived there. The party was meant to serve more than one purpose. It was in celebration of the prince's birthday, true, but the king and queen were hopeful that the prince would use it as an opportunity to find his future queen.
The celebration went on well into the night, as the king and queen were determined not to call an end until the prince had found his bride. The party was moved into the west wing, a large portion of the castle that was occupied by ballrooms, kitchens, dining halls, parlors, and the prince's personal music room. The simple celebration became a ball and it was at this point in the night that the prince found the woman of his dreams.
He had spent the day in conversation with many of the young girls, and those he had not had the time to speak to became his dance partners later in the night. Not a single one of them was able to reach his heart the way they had hoped, though he offered his friendship freely to each of them. Just when the kind and queen had started to think that he would never find a wife, a young woman approached him, asking for a dance. This surprised them all, that she would come to him instead of waiting for him to ask her as all others before her had. The prince himself was intrigued by her forwardness, even before he was captured by her beauty.
She was several years older than him but had an enduring youth about her. Her gentle, doe-brown eyes held a strength none of the other women had possessed and her chocolate curls bounced freely around her slender shoulders. She had fair unblemished skin, though her hands were rough from a life of hard labor. The dress she wore was not elegant and did not seem to belong in a royal ballroom. Its bodice was unadorned and hugged her body tightly as if it didn't quite fit right. The skirt was flat and stiff, also lacking any kind of embroidery. Once it might have been a brilliant lavender, but now the color had all but faded from it, bleached by time and the sun. But on this young woman, the old dress seemed the most beautiful of ballgowns that not even his mother's dresses could compare to.
The prince eagerly accepted her offer and, from the moment he first held her in his arms, he knew that this woman would be the one he would marry. He had found his future queen.
But it was not to be.
As the world outside darkened, so did the ballroom. Though the happy prince had found his bride, the king and queen were lost in jubilation and wanted to celebrate his selection. In order for the party to continue, hundreds of candles and torches were brought in, flooding the west wing with bright firelight. The prince and his new bride-to-be danced until they couldn't dance another step, then disappeared into the prince's music room. Here, the pair sat at his ebony grand piano and talked, enjoying each other's company.
The prince learned much about his future bride: that she had been born into poverty and had spent her childhood working so her family could have money. She freely admitted that she had been married once before, but it had been a rushed event and both she and the man had rushed headlong into it. The prince was unconcerned by this, telling her that she would not have sought him out so if she had not been sure she was ready to marry again.
When the discussion turned to how she had helped her family survive, the young woman explained had done laundry for the richer families in town and had even worked in fields once or twice, a fact which appalled the prince. The young woman assured him that it hadn't bothered her, and quickly told him that when she hadn't been working, the one thing she loved to do most was sing.
It took only a bit of encouragement to get the woman to agree to sing with him. He accompanied her on the piano as she sight-read through a piece he had written himself. The pair sang his duet, her angelic Soprano blending beautifully with his powerful baritone. Their voices complimented each other perfectly and he knew they were meant to be entwined in song like this. The prince's desire to marry her was strengthened. When they had finished the duet, the young woman flushed and said she had never sung anything quiet so demanding before. As the prince complimented her on her exquisite voice, reassuring her that she had done beautifully, the pair heard a loud cry echoing through the halls of the west wing: "FIRE! FIRE IN THE BALLROOM!"
Immediately, the prince's desire to protect his people kicked in. He was on his feet in moments, telling his new love to flee the west wing as he went to help as many guests escape as he possibly could. His future bride, however, shared the prince's kindness and told him with all the force she could muster that there was no way she was leaving as long as others were still trapped. He considered ordering her to leave as her prince but decided there was no time to argue. The prince took her hand in his and led her quickly out of the music room. Together, the pair raced into the ballroom where the guests had erupted into panic.
Looking around, it wasn't hard for the prince to discover the cause of the fire now licking at the walls of the ballroom. Some careless person, either a guest or a servant, had knocked over a table by the window that had been full of lit candles. The curtains had caught flame and, now, fire was licking at every wall around them and the ceiling high above them.
He and the woman started shouting at the terrified people, ordering them to make for the nearest exits. Already servants from the castle were doing their best to contain the fire as it swept out the doors and towards the other halls of the west wing. But the noise was too much, and their voices were swallowed. Although it broke his heart, the prince knew he and his love and to flee or they would be lost to the sweltering heat. The prince attempted to lead his bride-to-be to the hallway, but the pair never made it.
In the flood of people surging in different, chaotic directions, the prince and the young woman were torn apart, her hand wrenched from his. She was pulled along with the crowd, calling out for him. Frantic, the prince tried to reach her. As he ran, he was rammed from behind and fell. He fell on his right and the first part of him to touch the flaming curtains he had landed in was his face. The prince screeched in agony as the flames tore away at hair and skin. He rolled from the burning, clawing flames, clasping the right side of his face, but he could feel that immeasurable damage had been done. He found himself unable to do any more than writhe on the floor, screaming, screaming, screaming... The heat of the flames was so intense, and the prince longed for the release of death, the release from pain. Release from the burning, the burning, the constant burning!
Suddenly, an older woman dressed in the clothes of the royal family's service was at his side, grabbing his arm, and wrenching him to his feet. She led him from the ballroom and out of the burning west wing. As they crossed the threshold, the large doors were thrown shut in the hopes of preventing the fire from spreading any further. The prince felt the coldness of the fireless air and as he fell unconscious heard the woman screaming, "Your prince! Help your prince! He's badly injured! Help him!"
When at last he regained consciousness, he was in a hospital bed, the right side of his face and top of his head covered in bandages. Doctors and nurses rushed about him, tending to their various patients. It destroyed him seeing that many of them were being treated for fire and smoke injuries. They had been injured at his party, in his home. It was his fault.
He attempted to catch anyone's attention, but the staff was overworked and looked right past him. After a while, he managed to grab the arm of a passing doctor, asking him questions as to what happened to his guests and the palace.
The west wing had been completely consumed by flames, he learned, but thankfully the fire had not spread any further. While the doors to the west wing would not have been able to stop the flames themselves, it was the assistance of people who had heard the screams and saw the flames that finally ended the horror. Those that got free of the west wing had, for the most part, no major injuries. There were some bad burns, but nothing that couldn't be treated. However, those that had not gotten out before the large doors had closed...they had not made it out. Here, the doctor hesitated, not sure of how to continue. Swallowing, he finally managed, "Many of the deceased have been given names by family members and...I am sorry, my prince, but the king and queen were among the first to be identified."
It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. His parents...dead? It was impossible! His heart in his throat, he heard himself ask, "There was a girl... A girl with curly brown hair. She wore an old lavender dress. Not a ballgown, a day dress. I spent the night with her. What happened to her?"
At that, the doctor was quiet. "I know the girl you ask after. The servant who brought you in pointed her out to me when she came in, told me to do everything I could. I did do everything, my prince. But the burns were too severe. The smoke damage to the lungs...it was too much. She passed away early this morning. We can bring you to her, if you would like..."
The prince heard no more. He remembered no more. He knew only his sorrow, his loss, and his broken and hardening heart. It was their fault, he told himself. The cowards who started the fire. Who refused to listen. Who destroyed his home. Who murdered his parents. Who took her from his grasp. Who swept her away. Who burned her alive. The people...their fault. His heart hardened, his soul darkened.
After that day, the prince became absent. He returned to the palace where he lived alone, firing all but four of his closest staff, keeping them alone for company. He never went back to the village. He stopped funding the opera houses. His box seat at the Opera Populaire went unused, collecting dust.
When his servants came to buy needed supplies the first time after the tragedy, the townsfolk asked nervously after the prince, but all they said was that he was no longer himself. Much of his music room had been destroyed in the fire and what had survived, the prince had destroyed himself. What sheet music hadn't burned had been torn to shreds. Anything that even slightly resembled music was thrown from the palace and all traces of it were banned from its halls. Only silence filled the palace now. After that, they too were never seen in the village.
Within the matter of days of the servants' visit, the first and last word was received from the prince. A warning to all that they were to stay away from his palace. Those who wandered to close would spend their days locked in a dungeon with no hope of release. The prince made good on this promise. Those that ignored his warning and went to the palace to seek him out were never seen again. It was a while before they noticed that those that spoke ill of the prince or his parents were also disappearing as well.
When the young brunette had perished, so had the prince that had been kind and loving. In his place was an angry shell of a man who despised all but his servants, who destroyed instead of building. The townspeople grew to fear the prince and his dark promises, fearing that he had ears everywhere, listening for voices speaking against him. Now, they could only hope that somehow, someday, the old prince could be reached, and they would have their kind and gentle ruler returned.