aurora | 1952

06

November 14th, 1952

I gulp as the casket fades from my view. The walk has been extremely slow, or I'm just hallucinating at this point. Either way, the tension around me is unmatched. A lot of the townspeople followed the casket, but I've been trailing behind the rush slowly, appreciating what might be my last breaths. And you know what, I've come to deserve it.

A few people are scattered around me, either weeping or awestruck. I'm surprised it didn't come out on the news that he was plastered when he was killed. I guess people didn't want to examine the dead body of their leader that much.

Just as I'm about to reach the crowd once again, slipping into the mass as if I fit in, I hear distant talking. Choosing to ignore it, I excuse myself between people. I don't want to let go. Not yet.

I guess that's not my choice, though. Especially not with this excessive dress, which I now regret buying. Where did my confidence go?

I jump at the urgent tap on my shoulder. Shutting my eyes before I turn, a wave of anger flushes through me. It doesn't have to be this way. Just as I'm about to argue, I'm turned around by my shoulders to see one of the most stunning women I've ever seen.

Queen Florence? Shit!

I purse my lips, mustering up the strength to say something, but instead, she just wraps her arm around me, wiping her tears arrogantly with a silk hankercheif. I look back at the crowd, shocked that none of them even turned or batted an eye.

The queen looks down at me, and instead of doing something remotely clever, I clam up. My eyes slightly squint, my tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth. My breathing quirks as I pick the sides of my freshly done nails. I'll never understand how people keep these on for days.

Gulping as we walk in silence, I pick my chin up and discreetly glance at the Queen. She looks nowhere near angry, she just looks sympathetic. Towards what? Herself?

She rubs my shoulder with her hand, and I'm almost bothered by how nice she's being towards me, almost like she's my friend. My lips purse, unsettled. I listen to her sigh as we approach the palace.

"You know, your father really was.." She pauses mid sentence, and my eyes shoot up to hers, confused by her sudden voice. "Different. You know people have their opinions, and he mistreated townspeople but really, deep inside, was a caring gentleman..." She looks at the stone walls of the massive building ahead of us, her cloudy eyes blank, yet so meaningful. I'm almost starting to wonder if that whole crying scene wasn't an act.

But either way, what's she talking about? My father?

I face her, ready to explain, but she rabbles on. My eyebrows furrow as she talks like I was related to Jasper. The ensemble plays flittering notes as we near the castle closer and closer. She talks, but all I hear are the violins. Their symphony sounds almost confused, like it's trying to find something. Between the low notes, to high, to low, my ears zigzag with a distortion that I can't get out. It seems like we're moving in slow motion.

"And I know you two didn't really get along, but he was a g-"

"What.. what do you mean?" I awkwardly smile as I break into her sentence. Whatever gibberish she's talking in is like a swirl of confusion.

"Why, I'm talking about your relationship with your father, silly!" She wraps her arm around my shoulder, and I uneasily continue walking up the path, my mind spinning.

"You mean, you mean to say that I'm-" I abruptly stutter, absolutely lost. The way she's treating me is like I'm her daughter or something.

"It's okay sweetie, just breathe." She keeps distantly talking, but I can't even comprehend what she's saying. Is this some sort of cruel act they pull before executing a peasant? If it's meant to throw me, it sure is working.

"Of course, you don't deserve all of this stress! What, with the selection and the maid, and the.." She lists off factors as my nose scrunches. Is it possible that she's really so self absorbed to not notice my bewilderment? I tilt my head towards her, craving answers.

"The selection?" I ask, voice shaky. As the doors near, guards leave their eyes on us as we walk by, her arm still wrapped around me.

My heart quickens as the throng behind us fades, and the closer to the castle we get, the quieter the music drops.

"Oh, of course! The french contestants visiting so you can find yourself a prince!" Her eyes enter a dreamy state, the selection obviously a love to her. Whatever it is. She boops my on the nose after the word prince, and the huge gates open to the palace. I look up at her, eyes squinted, but she only returns the look with a mere smile. My eyebrows furrow as she releases her hand, welcoming me into the castle that's been admired across the entire nation. And now I see why.

I marvel at the tall cathedral ceilings, painted with gods and goddesses covered in clouds. The most glamorous chandelier hangs above our heads, and candles flicker on dark wooden tables. The walls are a stone white, the doors light teal, pairing with the ceiling. My eyes widen, ignoring the Queen's laugh.

"We've been through here thousands of times, yet it never ceases to amaze you."

I don't remember being here, and you'd think I would.

She walks down the hall like it's no matter to her at all. I, on the other hand, questioning if this really is a dream. I take each step with caution, soaking in every little detail of this majesty. The Queen laughs this off and pompously continues walking, somehow rushing through the beauty.

My head turns to a table with picture frames lining it. Tan, worn photos fit inside each one, and I figure they must be some sort of old royalty. My eyes reach the middle of the arrangement, and I stifle a sharp gasp.

"Ah, hello darling! An extremely arrogant voice echoes through the halls, and I look over to see a man weakly hugging Queen Florence. It's almost pitiful.

"Oh, and hello, Aurora. Good to see you." He dismisses me, turning back to his wife. I blink twice quickly, wondering how they'd know my name.

And wondering why my picture is sitting on the table next to me.