This story takes place after a foreign army, in their hunger for power, invaded the castle and then proceeded to move on to the next kingdom. While many of the survivors, if not all, had left, the princess chose to stay behind even if it meant being alone.
Trigger Warning: mentions of death and corpses
Transcript:
20 days. It’s been 20 days since Rose had left her castle. She curled further into her silk sheets as she tried to shield herself from the cold that tried to nip at her feet. The window was open, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to care. A servant would come and…she let that thought drift into oblivion. Her cheeks were still damp, and when she tried to wipe her face, she realized she was only making it worse. Rose slowly, but surely, got up out of bed. Her bare feet touching the ground. If she were 20 days younger, then she might have actually yelped in surprise at the cold sensation that greeted her. With a sigh, Rose draped the bedsheets over her head and tied it around her neck, so that it wouldn’t fall off. She let the sheets flow behind her like a cloak. Barefoot and barely dressed, Rose made her way across the room to the door. It was habit that made her stop and look at the oval cheval mirror that was halfway between her bed and the entrance. The frame of the mirror was made of oak, and it was embedded with rubies. When her green eyes skimmed over the red gemstones, she glanced away. Placing her hand over her mouth, she forced herself to calm down, so she wouldn’t make a mess on the floor. Once upon a time, she would have said that rubies were her favorite gem. Now, the dark red was a sick reminder of well…everything. Careful not to glance at the frame again, Rose breathed in through her nose as she looked at her reflection. It was a little difficult since the mirror was broken, but she could fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, still see herself. She looked awful. Her black hair was clumped together on her head to form some makeshift crown, a mockery to her status. Her cheeks were still obviously wet, and her lips were bruised from biting down on them in her sleep. There were bags under her eyes. The nightie she wore was now slightly bigger than her. Rose vaguely recalls eating something yesterday. No, wait, it was two days ago or was it five? It was irrelevant.
A small voice in the back of her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her father, whispered, “This is not proper behavior for a princess.” She couldn’t tell if she should laugh or scream. It wasn’t proper behavior of a king to…to….
Head held high, Rose walked away from the mirror and left the room. She marched through the halls. Her bedsheets flowing behind her like a royal cape. Light from the setting sun filtered in through the broken windows and into the hall. She had slept the day away, which wasn’t really a surprise. This was becoming a common occurrence. What surprised her was how she had become so accustomed to the quiet. There were no servants shuffling around, nor were there any guards patrolling the halls. Even the sound of a mice would have once been preferable, but now, she was used to the only sound being her footsteps. It gave her time to think. Nowadays, thinking was probably all she did. Although, it was a nice distraction from the stench. Her sense of smell was probably destroyed by now. There was a rot that permeated the air, and she was afraid that the smell was forever embedded on to her skin, a reminder of her shortcomings. Nevertheless, Rose kept her head up high even as tears started to gather at the corner of her eyes.
After what felt like hours, it was actually minutes, she reached the throne room. Rose pushed the heavy doors open. She never appreciated the guards for always doing this for her. She never appreciated any of them. Once the door was open, she drifted in. Her footsteps were light. Rose refused to look down. She hadn’t had time to clean up all the dried blood. She was too busy giving her people the proper burial rights. There were still some people that she needed to bury. Sometimes, it felt as if corpses would keep popping up, and she would keep having to bury them. Shaking her head, she didn’t let that thought discourage her. Rose focused on the figure in front of her, sitting on the throne.
“Hi, dad.” She walked up to her father’s corpse. His head lagged and yet even in death, he still managed to look dignified. The crown on his head had somehow stayed on, and she didn’t have the heart to take it off. He would want his people to be honored first before he was buried. He cared too much, and maybe that was the problem. Her eyes refused to look directly at him or at the giant wound in his chest that could only be caused by a sword. Rose sighed and looked up. The tears were pouring now, and she could almost drown in them. “I can’t be the princess you want me to be. I’m trying, but I just-I just can’t. I’m sorry.” There was no response as she fell to her knees and wept.