II–Ashes of Innocence
‘Poisoned by my greedy stepmother,’ the Princess thinks miserable and wistful in her last waking moments in this cruel, cruel world that allows little princesses to look at Death in the face before they could have lived just a bit longer.
She feels the poison's after-effects beginning to burn painfully inside her mouth almost instantly, ‘…what a wretched way to go. But I suppose it cannot be helped now,’
The Princess shall be graceful with this loss.
In pain, she closed her eyes, resigned.
‘Let me die.’
Her dying wish was that death will be as easy as sleeping.
* * * * *
(‘I do not... run.... I cannot run…’)
This is the story thus far; the cursed Princess had been given a poisoned apple by a greedy witch playing queen.
But let me be clear:
It allowed her to swallow the poison.
It was suicide and murder all at once.
(‘...from my... enemies…’)
* * * * *
A second after–and no more than that–the little Princess suddenly let out a pained, choking gasp as soon as the artificial sweetness wore off, unveiling nothing but bitterness; one that tasted like ashes and filth on the tongue as the poison began to worm its way through her too-small throat, burning everything in its path, its venom spreading through her veins.
It… it was running rampant inside her like a starving wildfire, a million parasites intending to consume her whole inside and out.
‘Ah,’ she swallows, ‘…how cruel.’
Nothing in her life comes easy.
So, it stands to reason that her death wasn’t going to be easy too. It wasn’t quick nor was it painless as she had wished, had desperately wanted to be–even her dying wish went unheeded because a monster’s death was purgatory and hell and everything in between that one moment of searing, white-hot pain that stretched into infinity because sometimes… sometimes a single second could last on to forever.
Like a puppet suddenly cut off of its strings, for a puppeteer (the devil) has no use for broken things, the little Princess instantly fell off of her chair with a muted cry escaping past her lips wherein she lands painfully to the floor with a dull thud, writhing like a worm on a hook, a useless discarded ragdoll… whilst her greedy stepmother watch these evil events unfold before her eyes with malicious glee as she victoriously stood up from her seat and eyed the fallen child on the floor.
There was not a hint of sympathy or regret in the Queen, not even when the girl’s movements turned sluggish and slowly, ever so slowly settled into stillness that only the dead could achieve.
Then, Queen Ysabel rang the bell right next to her to call for her servant, lips still curved with a wolf’s smile, her eyes wide and gleaming with mad triumph as she stared down at her stepchild, completely blind for greed at the evil she had caused–
(And unknowingly unleashed to the world…)
Meanwhile, the young Princess' red eyes seemed to be glassy and very wide and unseeing as her stepmother deliberately stepped on her small body to pass over, her little mouth a bit slack–had the child been able to speak, she would have cried like any other child when in pain father, help me–and accursed pale features were forever contorted in pain from the poison's effects. Even in death, the young Princess remained in a never-ending cycle of misery and pain.
“Finally, finally!” the Queen chanted to herself over and over again in triumph as she waited for her servant to arrive so that she may proceed this heinous scheme of her's just as planned:
Poison the accursed heiress, poison the foolish King and name herself as Queen of the land! Oh, how lovely it would be! Her dreams finally coming true at last! The Queen can practically imagine it all becoming a reality before her now that the cursed little brat is out of the picture!
A cackle slipped from her lips:
‘Victory is mine, indeed!’
Surely no one would care if the cursed child would live or die in the end–no one would even take the strange Princess as their next Queen seriously, after all. Who would even dream of serving a rumored demon's spawn as their sovereign?
“Y- Your Majesty?” a timid voice suddenly called behind the Queen, she turned around and perked up immediately at the sight of the young servant, a boy who was merely fourteen years of age cowering by the doorway at the sight of her too-wide smile, too frightened to open the door much wider, “Y-You... you called?”
“Of course, come in! Come in! Do hurry up, close the door and wait here for I shall fetch some rope and we will have this spectacle,” the Queen gestured carelessly to her stepchild still lying lifelessly on the floor, no better than a discarded ragdoll, “...arranged so that it may appear that the wretched brat has taken her life.”
‘Like the girl’s mother,’ flashed in the boy’s mind.
Because Queen Eleanor’s name passes and goes unspoken, even in the minds of those she had left behind.
The boy gulped fearfully as he took in the scene quickly but obediently bowed and stepped out of the way as the Queen led herself out, happily.
And all was silent.
The servant boy and the dead princess remained in the room, and he cringed as he allowed his eyes to meet her's, looking away just as quickly.
Something like shame curls low in his gut.
In all honesty, there was a part of him that felt truly sorry for the young Princess; a pretty little thing that was too quiet and too sad inside a large castle that was supposedly to be her's to rule one day… a day that will never come now for sure.
Every single time he gets to catch a glimpse of their kingdom’s supposedly future queen, the Princess was surrounded by her maids and guards but the child appeared all the more lonely in the company of adults that obviously wanted nothing to do with her–where are her servants now? Where are the knights?
Did they know of this evil scheme, too? That their cursed little mistress, a child who had barely begun to live just yet, had been poisoned in cold blood by the girl’s stepmother, the Queen?
Or are they in it, too?
‘Does it even matter?’ the servant boy dared to ask himself, squirming from foot to foot as he tried to justify his own actions before the guilt completely consumes him whole because is murdering a child, the princess, really worth it... for a few bags of gold?
But he needed it.
His family needed it…
‘No one cares for the Princess anyways,’ he thought, trying harder to justify himself–certainly not him, not her father, the King or Queen–no one would care.
Not even the priests of their church dared to come near or baptizes the girl and have her officially named as the only heir to throne if it weren’t for the King’s wrath befalling them for they had claimed that the girl was supposedly a spawn of the devil–the young Princess' unusual red eyes were proof enough that she was anything but human.
The King might be secretly glad to be rid of her too.
And as though agreeing with his thoughts, the boy servant flinched for he could have sworn that those eyes of red wavered for a very brief moment in sorrow, as though they were about to burst into tears any second now… as though she had heard his thoughts but… but it couldn't be!
That was impossible!
He dared his trembling legs to come closer to get a better look. Yes, the dead princess remained unmoving, her young features still contorted in pain. He sighed to himself in relief, thinking of how silly he was being!
How could he be afraid of a child's corpse?
So, the young servant moved closer until he found himself kneeling right next to the girl that should have been his queen one day, if only just to have the decency to at least close the little girl's eyes so that she may have her eternal rest in–
(She has never known peace.
Not in life, especially not in death.)
A cold, pale hand suddenly clamped on his bony wrist hard and tugged him forward, violently sending him to crash face first on the floor, the terrible sound that was his nose cracking against the polished, hard floor echoing distantly in his ears, the pain muted for but a second and when it came, it was instant and all consuming, almost making him see white as he tried to automatically push himself off of the ground, a sobbing scream readying to bubble past his lips.
However, a foot dug on the back of his neck, the heel pressing in on him sharply, choking him and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe–!
Before he could even think to open his mouth to release another attempt to call, to cry for help that will never come (because no one came for the princess so why would anyone come to help a mere servant?), to scream–whether in surprise or pain, the boy servant will never know because he found himself lying flat on his back with a bread knife embedded in his jugular.
It took a moment before it dawned to him.
He’s dying.
Choking in his own blood and breath, the boy servant can only stare in transfixed horror as the supposedly dead Princess hovered over his body like a fallen angel rising from the very depths of hell itself, red eyes gleaming hungrily with something so evil and something so ancient to be even called simply as fury–a paradoxical sight to behold on such a young child’s face–as they met his own, wide, and very much unblinking.
Blood trickled down her chin.
Was it his?
Was it her’s?
She licked it away, eyes never leaving his.
In his fright, the servant boy instantly breathed his last, his body ceasing its movements just as the door suddenly opened and the smiling Queen entered with a rope in her hands.
But the Queen could not take another step, no more as she took in the sight of the scene, of her supposedly dead step-daughter towering over a now dead servant, looking no better than the dead haunting the living.
(Is that what she is now?)
Queen Ysabel was frozen.
Pale as a ghost, she can only stare with a gaping mouth as the Princess turned slowly towards her direction, most likely at hearing the noise and… smiled.
And it’s been such a long time since the girl smiled a proper child’s smile–pure and angelic in ways an innocent can be although her image had been eternally tarnished by diabolical red eyes glowing with dark laughter while the servant's blood pooled around her little feet and stained her gown with sin.
“Why, my dearest mother…” the Princess all but purred those words out, never mind how painful her throat felt, her voice still sounded raspy, raw from the visible throes of a death rattle and the poison that burned her inside out.
But the words were a travesty of the Queen’s sickly-sweet tone from earlier blending in a voice that should never be heard, should never have spoken again.
Red eyes alight with a life never see in her before though tainted with darkness and blood as the Princess all but pushed herself away from the servant’s corpse and took a step forward towards the older woman, making a grand show of spreading her arms as though expecting a hug.
The smile widened into a diabolical grin.
“Are you not glad to see your sweet little girl?”
In her fright, the Queen screamed and passed out just as quickly.
III – Garden of Corpses The Princess was not fond of going outside, the sunlight was too unbearable for her and even on winter, she had to wear a thick and furry cloak for the sake of keeping whatever little light there is away from her skin. So, she made up excuses after excuses that she has no business outside until her public appearances become near to nonexistent, until she was a rumor within a rumor–unless she was forced to make an appearance as the heiress of the crown–rare though it may be (no one would be glad to see her out and about, anyways…) but she was fond of flowers… so she made it a point to be seen at least daily, briefly, if only just to tend to them… her flowers, her garden. She twirled a daisy before plucking it's petals one by one, watching them being blown away by the winter winds away from her. The Princes
IV – Mirror, mirror While Sir Sanscroft was on his way to meet his old friend, King Arion after so many years and a thousand miles between them, the Queen herself was rather… preoccupied throwing a hissy fit inside her quarters. “That blubbering fool, what in the world is he thinking? Was he even thinking at all?! Why did he not even bother to consult me with these kinds of things? Had he finally lost it?!” she screeched, hurling an expensive vase violently across the room with a sweep of her arm and watching it crash into millions of pieces on the wall with little to no satisfaction before she rounded next to the closest item she could reach, “First, he had named that demonic brat of his as the crown princess, now he wants her to… to get a fiancé?! If worse comes to worst; what if the girl grows old enough to produce her
V– Anemone The Princess steps inside the palace grounds, her head rising slightly, and she narrowed her eyes as she took in the sight of the place that had been her home for oh, the last godforsaken decade. Such an awful thing to refer to my prison as such, the Princess scoffs, tugging at her hood a bit higher from the traitorous sun that was dangerously peeking in and out from the clouds overhead as dawn was close to approaching. She briefly nodded her head in acknowledgement to the guards who were stationed right in front of the palace gates, all who were automatically bowing right before her presence as is proper, never mind the odd hour of her appearance. Regardless of age, here and now, they have no right to question her. Her dark cloak was fluttering around her like a pair of raven’s wings as she
VI – The Little Knight Thirteen years old Jin Sanscroft smiled as he watched the clear skies and birds of white flying free over the vast, deep blue sea, the setting sun just shimmering ahead. It looked like the birds were going to a place where the ocean meets the sky, and he… He remembered this place. He remembered looking at the same view... This, this was home. A hand suddenly rested on his shoulder. Surprised, he turned around and his smile grew wider. She wasn't pale and sickly as he remembered during her last moments on earth. Her skin was rosy and her brown eyes were aglow with life he had never thought that could be
VII – The Little Princess His first instinct screamed at him to approach the little girl and quickly help her out–but the second he tried to make his legs work, her screams seemed to increase in volume as though she was actually being skinned alive inch by bloody inch. And like any regular living being, Jin Sanscroft’s fight, or flight response immediately kicked in at that one moment. Though this time, the flight response won over his reason at the next second and much to his mortification much, much later on, he was ashamed to admit that he quickly turned tail and ran away as fast as he can from the room without a second thought; the girl's pained screams still echoing in his ears on and on as he ran blindly, her pained noises resounding in the hall like a poltergeist, the guilt instantly inflating in his chest like a bunch of rocks, weighing him do
VIII - The Friendship “Excuse me!” Jin quickly called to a fortunately passing servant he caught quickly sight of once he reached the now-familiar painting of the juicy red, apple. Red, red, red… (Seriously, what’s up with that?) The servant, a young lady that was clearly older than him, stared back at him with startled, confused eyes before she paled the second she realized that the young guest had… he came from there, “What were you doing there, milord? You shouldn't be anywhere near those rooms! That place is–” “…irrelevant,” Jin interrupted her firmly, waving a dismissive hand, “Look, I need you to fetch me a physician as soon as possible. There is a little girl in there and I believe she's in dire need of medical attention. This is an em
IX–A shred of humanity These creatures of the night have roamed the land since the dawn of time, feasting on unsuspecting creatures, leeching off of their life, their very essence–and have existed for as long as they can and wished. They came from the depths, made through eons of sin and hatred, or so it claims, far beneath the unholy court of the Fallen was where it was born. Most of them are basically immortal. ...but at the same time, some of them are not; for they can still be put to slumber or sealed for eternity in the most unlikely places–far beneath the land or sea, if so God allow it, they will stay there, trapped and slumbering until the end of time. Just like this one will be. Thankfully, I and my household have managed to discover some of their
X – The Wish For some reason, Jin Sanscroft dreamed of that place again; the frighteningly beautiful graveyard-garden of wilting flowers and the birds robbed off of their freedom, singing and chirping their sad songs from their cages. It sounded like a hymn fit for the dead. The skeleton that was once his beautiful mother had long since turned into dusts by the sudden wind and a voice that sounded so familiar whispered to his ear: Wake up. He shivered and immediately began to unlock the cages one by one, briefly watching the birds flew up and perch on the gravestones until they had surrounded him in a circle. Confused, he stared back at them, ha
“The stars, they said goodnight So, sleep till morning light Someday, I'll stay And dream for eternity With you… O beloved from above Until then It's only a matter of when When he draws near To take thee away O beloved from above Your hymns, I shall sing with love Until time passes me by So don’t kiss me goodbye Grant me another chance Spare me a second glance Let me… be with you again Beloved…” . . . . . . When Sir Hans Bathory finally came to, the world was already burning down all around him. And there’s nothing stopping it even as he sees the first, blindingly bright rays of the sun. Utterly confused and feeling panic and something like despair bubbling up from within the depths of his chest, the feeling of wrongness roaring everywhere around him, the knight finally gathers the strength, the courage to stumble and search through the torn-apart castle, one hand crawling and clawing at his neck (because he was so sure he was supposed to be dead–) while the other
“Do you know what it is like to live but not be in control? To watch your ‘self’, your own body living a life that was supposedly yours… to becoming nothing more but a vessel of a parasitic being you weren’t even fully aware of that was just there, watching and waiting… simply existing inside you?” Proserpina says nothing to that merely cants her head a touch in a barest hint of a nod because really… she understands. Because this is the curse of things that should be dead but still failed to die… for as long it still had its consciousness, a vessel… it would continue to exist, would continue to remain. …until the end of time. And as the young goddess continues to appraise the being that disturbingly looked far too human than the others residing within the depths of Tartarus… she thinks it was like staring at herself in years she didn’t even want to think of.
Proserpina turns to the next page, squinting hard. When the next words makes absolutely no sense and still doesn’t change at all no matter how much she stares and wills for it to change, the goddess of shadows finally blurted out the words that probably will make sense out of it all because seriously– “…What the hell?” “What is it?” another voice piped up. Her entire body jolted. Quickly, the young goddess turned to look behind her with a deer in the headlights look in her face… but it was only her younger brother, William, standing by the doorway, a black knapsack carelessly slung over one shoulder, a hand in his pocket while the other was loosely holding his phone, looking over at her with a weirded-out stare. Embarrassingly enough, it took her a moment or two to final
XLI–A Grim Fairytale The bats screeched then, erupting into a violent waterfall of darkness raining down upon them and an ungodly roar of outrage seemed to fill the entire world just as Jin felt himself crumble to his knees once more, white noise instantly filling his head as the white-hot pain consumed him. For a moment, Jin felt one of his hands blindly, weakly pawing all over on his side, on the floor that was becoming stained quickly with blood… his blood. “Now, it would never have one of our own,” he heard Sir Hans Bathory saying above him, his voice shaking with what seemed to be remorse and trepidation at once, “That demon would never ever have you, who bear the blood of Sans…” Jin can vaguely feel a familiar, cold darkness creeping and licking at the fra
XL–An Execution Jin Sanscroft yanked his uncle close to him as they rounded another hallway before the old man could be mauled by an ungodly maw while firing a round of bullets towards the other beast that suddenly leapt from the shadows out of nowhere with his other hand. He could feel Sir Ainsworth speaking over the commotion, but he couldn’t hear him. His eyes were firmly locked upon some of the beasts that were snarling and gnashing their teeth at him. And the beast’s eyes locked upon him. Red eyes, those eyes… its eyes looked like Aria’s on that day she tried to kill me, Jin thought with a sense of growing dread more than a passing thought as he lowered the pistol, just as the beast fell to the ground with a loud thud. Inaudibly, he swa
XXXIX – Judge, Jury, and Executioner “...Do you hear that, though?” her smile seems to grow a touch wider. Sir Hans Bathory paused as well, a bit disturbed upon hearing the sound of upcoming footsteps and Queen Ysabel’s cries and pleas well as it was growing louder and louder–they, whoever had the Queen, they must be coming close to the throne room–yet he did not dare to move nor take away his gaze from the demon standing right in front of him. The enemy was just sitting right there– “It’s the sound of an animal being led to slaughter…oh, such music to my ears,” she… the demon was practically moaning in sheer pleasure as she closes her eyes for a moment, as though relishing the ungodly screams before they opened, regarding him once more with those surreal eyes of blood, “Which reminds me: don’t you hav
XXXVIII – A Prophecy to fulfill Ysabel all but stumbled forward clumsily in her heels with Sir Quentin leading her with a firm grip by the arm, “Are you sure you know where we are going, you fool?” He didn’t answer. She scowled, “We’re lost, aren’t we?!” “No, no milady I was just… I truly apologize for the inconvenience, but this is the safest route we can take in the palace wall, out of sight from everyone,” the knight replied, looking around a bit too frantically for her tastes, “…and safe from those creatures,” She bit her lip, opting to keep her mouth shut, cradling the sack she brought with her containing all the jewelries and gold she managed to steal and gather from her vault and the King’s chambers–it was fortunate they had not decided to clean her deceased husband’s chambers just y
XXXVII– The Prophecy Sir Hans Bathory frowned upon finding the throne room vacated. Not to mention, it was quiet–too quiet to be even considered normal. If the knight hadn’t known any better he would have assumed that the Queen and her cronies had all but fled the palace by now, abandoning her people to their fate to the beasts, gone to who knows where. Now, by all means, Sir Hans wasn’t political savvy but that doesn’t mean he was plain stupid, he had known all along that the Queen was up to no good (he’d still choose the witch over any other day than having to actually bow his head to a demon playing human) but still… it was kind of annoying to be stuck in this current predicament without an authority figure. Especially since they were all looking at him for guidance…
XXXVI – Unveiled “What is the meaning of this?!” The mirror watched on in glee as Queen Ysabel with her usually fashioned dark blonde hair now completely messed up and her gown wrinkled as she frantically paced back and forth in front of her distorted reflection, her hands running through her tangled locks as she continued to panic. News of the kingdom being invaded in the middle of the night by demonic beasts that simply won’t die had finally reached her ears in the midst of her supposedly victorious celebration, the people being hunted and devoured like livestock as they speak, the land pillaged and stained with blood and the only thing protecting her right now from them are the palace gates and very few of her men armed by mere swords and bows, becoming less and less– “Why is this happening? Wh