There is a land ruled by a king who had the power to create the future. A quill dipped in his own blood the only tool he needed to spin the tale as he wished. For many, many years the story was good and the king and his family were happy. The people of the land never knew famine or plague, nor harsh weather or pestilence.
Everything in the kingdom seemed to go wonderfully, but mustn't all good things come to an end?
Abenleid was the youngest princess in the shining white castle surrounded by miles and miles of gardens and woods. Everyone in the royal family had their own garden, and Abenleid's was to the east, in the direction of the great sea. Her garden was full of night-blooming flowers, and night-dwelling songbirds. The garden could be called overgrown and some would go as far as to call it wild, but Abenleid loved it. When she sat beneath the shady trees on warm days, the spirals of closed moonflower buds higher than her head, a gilt-edged book open in her lap, she was peaceful, and when she danced among the fragrant jasmine and moonflower blossoms beneath the full moon, she felt happy. But Abenleid was not truly happy. Abenleid was far from happy.
Abenleid sat at her vanity gazing into her own eyes before casting a critical glance over her face. She was the very image of her father, black hair, emerald green eyes, sharp chin, creamy skin, tall and thin, long legs she had finally grown into, and a serious, almost stern expression. To anyone's eyes she would have been beautiful, even stunning… if she would smile once in a while, but to her eyes, her older sisters would always surpass her beauty by far.
Hildegard the Fortress, Phoenix Lady, Brilliant Princess, her second oldest sister, was like their mother with a rosy complexion sprinkled with freckles and wavy hair the color of glowing embers that fell to her waist, golden eyes the color of amber, and a sweet smile. Also like her mother, she had a somewhat flighty disposition, and a bubbly laugh, but, like her father, she would spend hours hidden away in her room or hiding in her private gardens writing tales of fantasy and magic, seated on the edge of the fountain in her garden, the fountain with her angelic form shooting an arrow spouting water into a golden basin. She was kind and loving, but tended to be condescending at times.
Swanhilde the Warrior, Swan Lady, Glorious Princess, her eldest sister, was unusual. Her skin was white and downy soft, her hair was so fair and fine it was almost like spider silk. It curled gently in long spirals down to her feet when it was left alone, but Swanhilde was vain and preferred her hair up in elaborate designs hung with jewels. She was usually very kind and sweet, but tended to be moody as she surveyed all before her with calculating, almost cruel eyes and pink lips pursed. She was so beautiful she could stop an entire army in their tracks just by turning her face to them, and she knew it. She spent all her free time in front of her massive marble and gold fountain, gazing either at the marble image of herself, water pouring from her copy's raised sword, or else she would gaze into the fountain at the mirrored bottom, watching her own live face.
Abenleid the Undefined, Shining Princess, was not the great scholar like Hildegard, not the unstoppable warrior like Swanhilde; she was hardly even the Shining Princess. She had not yet proven herself as a person and spent her days in her dark room or her overgrown garden of night-blooming flowers and thorny rosebushes.
Seated before her small, plain white fountain, she closed her eyes in the shadows and sighed.
"What is my purpose on this earth?" She whispered, her voice soft and almost raspy. She heard soft music coming from the direction of the castle, too soft to make out really. Her father must have been playing the piano in the studio. She rose and moved towards the sound, the white castle dazzling in the sun, bright enough to make her squint as she neared it. The music drifted out the stained glass window, making her want to waltz.
Abenleid pushed open the secret door under a rose-covered arbor and stepped into the cool, dark passage. Dressed as she was in her worn white romantic style tutu with the ripped skirt and broken shoulder strap, she only had to pull on her worn pointe shoes. Stepping very quietly into the studio, she rosined her shoes. The small standup piano on the floor was unoccupied, so the music was coming from the music studio separated by a glass wall and a curtain.
Stretching quickly as Fur Elise finished, she waited in fifth position for the next song to begin.
A bubbling, effervescent melody floated and swirled around her as she rose up on her toes and began to dance. She filled the in violins in her head as she danced across the floor. Sant-Saens' 'Aquarium' was her favorite tune, dark and hauntingly beautiful; she twirled and floated like the opalescent soap bubbles she'd blown as a child. Closing her eyes she imagined herself in an iridescent dress dancing on the sandy floor of a blue sea. She opened her green eyes to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls, tatty and dull, the tiny silver crown perched atop her head the only thing that made her look remotely like a princess. Her pointe shoes were so worn the satin was peeling off the paste toe box, the hem of her skirt was so ragged and worn that she looked like an ancient but clean ballerina doll. She thought of the closets full of slippers, pointe shoes, and tutus all bright, clean, brand new, and never worn.
She mentally shook herself and concentrated on her dancing. She danced and danced, chaine after chaine, making herself dizzy. The music had stopped and still she danced until she crashed into the wall, hitting her stomach against the barre.
Trying to catch her breath, she hung her head, staring at her feet in the mirror. Thus occupied she didn't hear the soft footsteps crossing the room behind her.
"Are you alright?" Her father came up behind her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him, a slight frown on his face and a worried crease in his brow.
"Yes, I'm fine, I just lost control for a moment." She met his green eyes with her own. She was never formal with her father. She respected him more than anyone in the world, but if anyone understood her and knew how she worked inside, it was he, her closest friend.
She turned to him and he took her hands.
"You're troubled." He said, rather than questioned. "Abenleid, dearest daughter, what will make you smile for me again? Your mother and I so want to see you happy."
"Oh Father," She laughed a little, eyes fixed on the floor. "If only I knew."
She pictured in her head the beautiful and terrible Swanhilde, the wise and courageous Hildegard, both her sisters true princesses and real women. Her mother, a graceful and beautiful queen, her father a noble, valiant, and scholarly king… Abenleid was tired of being Abenleid the Undefined. Abenleid the Suitorless. Abenleid the Quiet, the Unnoticed, the Dull.
"My dear, go prepare yourself for tonight's banquet. I have a surprise for you." He smiled a little mischievously before kissing her forehead.
Abenleid curtsied and left the room with her father gazing after her, a slight pain in his heart to see his dearest daughter so down.