I apologize for not updating as fast as I would've liked (it's all downhill from here!) – midterms, science fair, finals, persuasive papers, research papers, labs… arrrrghh! But thanks to Masked Dragonfly 0926¸ randmneko,and shattered rainbow for reviewing! XD

R&R

It is blood, blood, oh, so red, so pure, like the blood that I have seen in that hallucination, rippling in the well, watered. I jump at the voice, spinning around. It is Daray. I stare, frightened. "What do you want?" I whisper, my voice shaking, my whole body trembling. He does nothing but stare at me. It makes me uneasy. It makes me even more afraid.

His voice is deadly, yet silent, in a tone that I have hoped never to hear. His dark eyes pierce through my skin, crawling with the cold, numbing my pale skin in ice. His lips only moves the slightest as he speaks. "How much do you know?" he whispers.

I do not understand what he says. How much do I know of what? If he is reflecting upon the situation between himself and dear Katrina, then I know only of what he has told me. I have seen nothing more – not much, to be precise. I shake my head. "What did you do to Katrina?" I ask, worriedly. "Where did you cast away my sister? She did nothing to you!"

His dark eyes flash in fury, his jaw clenching only slightly. "Is that all you know?" he says, his voice dangerously quiet. I gasp, my body tensing. He grabs me by the arm tightly, pain shooting up and down throughout my body. I wince. He throws be back toward the well. "You are not fit to be queen," he says. "You are weak, you foolish weakling! You are afraid. Queens can never be afraid. You foolish weakling! Foolish and weak!"

Somehow, the words sound familiar to my ears, yet I cannot recall where I have last heard them. I am immobilized, paralyzed; I cannot move. He stares at me spitefully, spitting out vengeful words. "You will regret your existence." He leaves me alone as I stay by the bloodied well, staring at shock. Why was he targeting me? What did he want that he cannot have? He will be king someday, overpowering me. What more did he want?

He is up to something. If there was a prophecy, perhaps I could decipher it, but there is none. All famed prophecies were proven false and impossible, coming from old women that wanted nothing more than a few gold coins to live off of. They were, in time, beheaded for their unforgivable lies, causing the whole kingdom to tense in riot. There is no prophecy to be tricked by, nor to go by. If life wasn't so hard. If only.

I have lingered enough in the past and wasted precious time in longing for the impossible instead of taking action. I have promised it will happen no more, and today I intend to keep that promise, despite its true difficulty.

I stumble backwards, leaning against the well, my breathing ragged, overwhelmed. It was in that position that my sister Abigail found me later. She didn't notice my tight situation, but rather, she began to speak in her own thoughts.

"Prince Daray is charming, isn't he?" she says, breathless. "Oh, he called me Princess Abigail, the words so sweet and slipping off his tongue, it fits so well..."

I am mortified. Not only has Daray taken Katrina captive, but he entranced Abigail as well with his wicked spells. I can see his carefully laid out plans before my mind's eyes: he will spellbind all of those with a royal name, our minds wrapped in a sheer, invisible force in which we cannot break, living a false life for all eternity. I can picture this in a storybook, one with a broken binding and worn pages from being read so often from generation to generation, the story of an evil, wretched man that held magic within his fingers, weaving disaster for all he met. Yet where is this 'happily-ever-after' in which I always believed to happen to me? When I was young, Tarza promised me a happy life, that I'd find my prince and be swept off my feet like Belle.

I cried one night when I was nine when one of my sisters died. I screamed at Tarza, "You promised me a happy life! You said that I would always be happy!" I now know that it is impossible for anyone to have a life without sadness, for what life would that be but emptiness? It would have no meaning; it was beyond Tarza's control. Yet still, I long for pleasure, to wear a smile upon my face that is not forced as it is often times now. Tarza thinks that Daray is a charming young man. I wish I can tell her otherwise, but what kind of princess would I appear to be then?

Lemahnae, my beautiful but ditzy sister, has disappeared now, too. That's two of my sisters that have disappeared – my two youngest sister. I am oldest; I am expected to take care of them. That is what I expect of myself. Oh, why me, why me…?

If I was my great-grandfather Eyad, the one who had taken over after the previous royal family stepped down, I would have no doubt but killed off this vile man the moment I saw him. I am not that cruel, however, and I am a princess, not a valiant knight that rescues drowning maidens from the vast lakes. When I was young, I had tried to do that, purposely jumping into the treacherous waters when I knew clearly I could not swim. I nearly lost my life that day, receiving a sharp scolding from Tarza, making me promise never to do it again. I was so frightened, I did, and I never thought of doing anything so silly as that ever again.

But it is the same blood that runs through our veins, isn't it? It's just a matter of position; I am a princess, I cannot do so. Oh, this society is going to be the end of me! I am not even able to chose something for myself even once – I used to wonder as a child why I was never able to play with the other children, left alone to play by myself underneath the great oak's tree shadow; why I was never able to wear the pants that Daddy wore, and why I needed to be fitted into pink corsets; why I couldn't have vegetables but meat. Oh, how nice it would be to decide to wear green instead of yellow, deep royal blue instead of pale pink…

But that is beyond my control. For now, I must focus and do exactly as what the kingdom expects of me. There is nothing more that I can do, nor what I shall do. It is simple; determine what is best for the kingdom, and ensure that all is carried out as planned –

- oh, how difficult this task is! Can I not be a seamstress child? Oh…

One by one, they will all begin to disappear. One by one.

I wander into the safety of my chamber, my mind buzzing with confusion. However, one look at the ground and I knew my own bedroom was safe no more, for there laid Tarza, the kind-hearted maid, a cleaning rag in one hand, a note in the other. Blood has poured greatly from her side; it is too late to save her now. Horrified, I back up into the wall, my hand on my heart, shaking my head. Her eyes are open in shock and pain, her hand a tight grip around the note. Gathering my strength and courage, I approach the gore that once was my loving maid, prying the note out of her hand.

I clutch it in my own hand, afraid of what it reads. Steadying my breath, I carefully open the blood-soaked note, my fingers trembling in fear. Alas, I read it, and immediately the note drops by my side.

I'm watching you.

I suppose that the man had given it to Tarza to take it to me, or she had found it somewhere lying around. It is not signed; it does not have my name on it. I wonder faintly if this letter is not for me. I believe it is; I should not think much about it.

It was then I remembered that Tarza is dead in my room. I look at her, my breath once more caught in my throat. I slam the door open, screeching at the railway.

"Tarza is dead! Tarza is dead!"

I scream, however un-princess-like it is of me to do so. Butlers passing by look at me oddly. Had I not been above them, they would have scrunched their noses up in distaste. It does not make me falter, however.

"Murder! Murder!" I cry in frenzy. I run to my father. By the time I find him, I am breathless, tripping over my heels. "Father!" I shout. "Murder! There's been a murder – Tarza was killed!"

"Where?" he asks strictly.

"She's dead, in my chamber room," I say.

Father shrugs and turns back to his menu. "Have someone take her body away. You'll have another maid in a matter of hours. Shoo, Kellyn; do you not see that I am busy?"

I stare, appalled. Does Father care for nothing? He cannot see what is straight underneath his nose! Two disappearances, one death, one frightening note in which I plan to keep to myself – and Father does not even care! No. Rather, he is planning for the food that he wants to be served for the dinner party two months away – a dinner party in which we may not be in the throne to see to. Doesn't Father understand the slightest bit the importance of these acts? I know better than to question him, however. I recall, eight years ago, when I was eleven, I had questioned what appeared to me in the past to be an unreasonable judgment that Father had made. I suffered from his fury and wrath, cowering into the corner. I remember Mother, sitting next to him on the throne, afraid to act.

That was when I was eleven, a single year beneath Katrina's current age. She's only twelve right now – and captivated – possibly killed – by Daray. And Lemahnae, gone! She is naught but fourteen! And Abigail, at the ripe age of seventeen, is entranced, captivated under his seemingly harmless spells…

I must stop this. I must put an end to this.

But who will help me? Who? I can't do this myself – it is far too dangerous! Tarza, at one point, may have helped me, but now she is dead, too. It's a murder mystery, and the culprit is none other than Daray. But does anyone notice? Does anyone care? No, they all will say.

I think for a moment. Am I hallucinating it all? Am I so depraved of those fairy tales I lusted for when I was young that my mind creates its own images? Is that why the butlers looked at me strangely, and why Father disregards my actions?

But there's Daray. He puts an end to this thought.

But is Daray actually a true character? Is he not a figment of my imagination? Tarza said he'd come early. Since then, was I hallucinating? What if he'd really come on time? What if Katrina and Lemahane are only out to experience the ways of the outer world for a few days, as I had when I was young? These thoughts that consume my mind confuse me, every word thought making my mind hurt more and more. I would go to bed, but I cannot – I am afraid! If the man – with the note – knew that the maid was my maid, surely he'd be able to follow her to my bedroom?

My breathing increases as I frantically look about, my heart troubled. My childhood hiding place is now not fit for a princess my size. I am dizzy, my head light, dots appearing in my eyes. At last, I cannot bear it.

Darkness consumes my body.

My eyes flicker open. Slowly, I recognize the canopy of the bed as my own. A maid whom I do not recognize smiled down upon me. "I'm Prodita, your new maid," she says. "I heard your old maid died. Terrible news."

"She was murdered," I correct her, staring at my bedpost.

Prodita nodded her head. "Yes, well," she mused. Looking about the room, her eyes finally laid back onto me. "You fainted, princess," Prodita explained. "You're sick – your temperature is high."

I am sick? Thoughts spin in my head. How could I be ill? I reflect back onto my last meal – last night, at dinner. Father had offered me sauce for my chicken. Daray was watching me…

I gasp. "Food poisoning," I choked out.

Startled by my sudden action, Prodita spun around. "Pardon me?"

"It was food poisoning," I say, but I instantly clamp my mouth shut. I do not even know about Prodita – her personality, her past, her family line, her possible future. "It… the food didn't taste right last night," I say hastily, attempting to make up for my obvious blunder, one of what no princess should make. Prodita threw one last suspicious glance at me before accepting the false detail.

A small smile flickering upon her thin lips, she said brightly, "All right, miss, perhaps the doctors can help you."

I'm not quite sure what it was exactly, but something in her voice didn't flow as easily as it had when she first introduced herself to me. Some of it sounded a bit forced, but I let it pass. It would be difficult for any reasonable body to accept the news of murder and poisoning.

I frown, suddenly aware of her choice of wording. My hand absently came up to my chest. "Doctor?" I repeat. "Surely you mean nurse."

I expected her to nod and apologize, stumbling over words, saying that it was a mistake. She didn't. Rather, she shakes her head in a severe manner, an ironic smile placed on her lips as if she didn't know whether to frown or laugh. "There's an issue with the medical ward right now," she says. "One of the five nurses left the country to see her sick mother. Another one is sick herself. One is insane, the fourth still a new apprentice that cannot even tell the difference between medicine and poison. And the head of the nurses was found dead just two days ago. By the time a nurse was sent for in this vast country, it might be too late."

I swallow rather nervously. "Does Father know about this?" I ask hesitantly. Surely he would never allow a doctor to see me. "Why can't I have a midwife? They know some about illnesses."

Prodita shakes her head. "His Majesty indeed knows about this," she says lightly, "and a midwife can only tell if one is sick or not. She calls in a nurse to cure illnesses; they don't do much themselves."

All these murders are playing with my mind. Perhaps, if I ran out into the wilderness, these troubles will not find me…

…but then, would the wilderness be an even better location to be murdered?

While Prodita still has her back turned, I quickly slip through the door. Fresh air is greatly needed. I exit, holding my cloak close to my body. The harsh wind is blowing fiercely. I wince as the wind beats across my face, my dark hair flapping in the air, piercing my eyes. I wander aimlessly around, and for a moment, the wind blows away all my thoughts as I think only of the deep color of the blue sky. A voice interrupts my poetic thoughts, startling me. I do not recognize it; I am frightened. An amused laugh lifts into the quiet air. I turn around. It is a man, with fair hair and skin, with eyes that dance with pleasure. It is pleasing to see someone so bright in a time as disastrous as these.

"I never dreamed I would see Princess Kellyn personally," he says, a wide smile on his face. I stare, in awe as to how my name rolls off his tongue perfectly, though this man remains a stranger to me. Noticing my expression, he strides over to me, kissing my hand. "Pardon me, princess," he says, "my name is Erik."

"Sir Erik," I greet, attempting to keep a pleasant smile on my face, "perhaps you are wishing to see my sister Aireilyn? She is waiting for suitors at this time."

"No, I am not in search of her," he says, a small smile playing along his lips.

I frown slightly. "Well, are you looking for Lemahnae? She's a bit young for suitors at the moment, but I'm sure Father will see you all the same."

He shakes his head, laughing lightly. "Oh, no, nothing of the suitor sort," he says. "I had best be going now."

He is so friendly, so nice, I nod and let him leave without hesitation. If only the world was as kind as he. When he leaves, it is quiet once more, the same kind of quiet, but it is not the same to my ears. It was calm and peaceful before, but now it seems to be lacking something of some sort. A friendly conversation has put my mind out of place.

"Kellyn."

The voice comes from behind me, breathing on my neck. I spin around, but no one is there. I fall on the bench, my hand fingering the place where the warm breath had hit, where the voice had come from. But I am alone.

"Why ignore me, Kellyn?"

The voice is so close. I look around, but I cannot find anyone. Is it all in my mind? "Who are you?" I say. "What do you want of me?"

The wind stirs before it settles. It must have left. Frightened, I head back inside, massaging my neck, before a whisper comes to my ears.

"Blood."