last salvation ( the devil always wins ) .

unpublished draft : childhood requiem

START EXERPT.

ROYAL RESIDENCE OF CANBERRA,
AUSTRALIA.

"then verily I spoke among my comrades, grieved at heart: 'hear my words, comrades, for all your evil plight, that I may tell you the oracles of teiresias and of aiaian circe, who very straitly — "

"hey!"

the princess raises her head from her book, silver strands of hair fluttering. The maroon cover of the book is smooth in her hands, and she snaps it close. dione glimpses a flash of black hair before the young princess of arimight crashes into the room hazardously. the illustrious crown prince of australia follows after swiftly, reaching his hand out to grab at the strands of ribbon on anael's hair that barely flitted through his fingers.

"waaah! big sister! dione! login- logan, he's bullying me!" anael whines, skirting to a stop and stumbling behind the seated princess. but her face was all luminous, full of mirthful revelry and not at all like the shadowy frame looming towards her.

"return the book to me this instant. you're going to drop it." prince logan extends his palm, arched brows pulled into a melded frown. dione had heard of this prince; how many hearts had been shattered by this face already .. ? hair like a streaked lion, combed back to his face immaculately. his intelligence shone in the crevices of his face, in the blues of his silvery eyes, keen as an unsheathed blade.
his wrath coalesced with his frightful knowledge would prove to be deadlier as they grew.

  defeated with nowhere to escape to, as her last hope made no move to defend her, instead staring like a confused little bird, anael's mouth drooped down into a pout, her skin warm as a sun-hot stone from the momentary embarrassment of being caught. she carefully placed the book into Logan's palm, making a show of each finger dwelling on the book cover meticulously, as opposed to her usual impetuous irreverence.
logan's fingertips feathered over the book like wings, frowning when he noticed the fingerprints staining the smooth leather. "i told you to be more careful," he grumbled, "you are going to destroy all the books in this place, one day or another."

he places the book on the expensive blackwood table. "what are you reading, princess dione?"

"ulysses." she points a bejewelled finger to the crisp pages, henna staining her nails and fingers. "book twelve, line two hundred and seventy," anael climbs onto the chair excitedly as dione begins to recite, the strands of her voice mellowed silver drawing you in like a spun thread.
" — 'hear my words, comrades, for all your evil plight, that I may tell you the oracles of teiresias and of aiaian circe, who very straitly charged me to shun the island of helios, who gives joy to mortals; for there, she said, was our most terrible bane. '"
prince logan's eyes glittered, and with each fallen phrase his expression darted like a school of fish in water.

contrary to the prince's hawk - like attentiveness, dione's silvery voice was lulling anael to sleep, and the princess of arimight seems to take no fascination in the contents of the odyssey, preferring to slip through the chair and crawl under the table, akin to those sleek felines outside the estate. and she giggles, voice sweet as the summer rain.

dione lifts up her golden sandals when she felt anael's dark hair brush against her ankles, beaded anklets like a tinkling wellspring. "my dear princess," she coaxed, "please refrain from going under the table,"
anael laughs still, but logan's pointed glare burns in the back of her head. "get out if you do not plan to read. the playroom is somewhere else."
the arimighti princess tilts her head, satin black hair pooling at her shoulders. She juts her lower lip, a sheen of cherubic rose. "I don't ... understand?"

her talents surely did not lie in the languages, after all, she had just begun her english speaking lessons with her tutor, much unlike the two linguistic geniuses before her; with prince logan fluent in danish, english, palauan, sonsorolese, and most of the french language, while princess dione preferred to converse in the latin languages, english, arabic and greek.

dione sighs and reaches out for anael's arm, pulling her up and patting the other's dress down. "the prince means," she frowns slightly at a charcoal mark on the white fabric. "that the library is not for playing." prince logan nods and gestures towards the spiralling cases of books, hovering his index finger above his lips. "exactly what the princess says, princess anael." anael looks down glumly, pouting yet again. she looks as if she may cry, gold eyes gleaming with a spring honey lustre; surely feeling wronged by two older than her. dione's eyebrows shoot up as she quickly pats the girl, stealing panicked glances at prince logan who looks equally, if not more alarmed.

END EXERPT.

815 words