Villainess

Royalty (1)

Villainess

"She is a child."

Those words marked the beginning of fate. All at once, time rushed forwards and brought everything it touched to life. The decrepit old walls of this house began to glow with an ancient wisdom, looking as though they had arisen from a tale. Looking on, at the tragedy that unfolded with the same grace and awe that every audience possessed. Observing the actors—my mother. A single tear poetically rolled down her cheeks, as she struggled to appeal to him. And my father, firming his resolve by the minute, desperate to hide his own heartbreak. At the dawning of the new story, everything that had happened before would be irrelevant—a blurry prologue. The scene had been set; a small child at the centre of chaos. A forced witness.

"It is her duty as a child of Orla," he spoke again. Firmer. Harder. This was the man my mother had chosen as the family head now trying to fulfil his duty. I was familiar with his thinking. He was trying in his own way, for the family. For my mother. Even if it meant giving up on me. Given another chance, he would make the same decision; I was a clever girl after all. I could survive anything.

"This has nothing to do with duty," she spoke, and resentment built in her throat. But it was misdirected. The person she hated was not my father, but rather the supreme ruler of our tiny lives. His capriciousness has led to the grand engagement of the first prince to the only daughter of his favourite subject. The king bestowed the southern ducal house of Orla a shot at being recorded in history, as a royal relative. Even now, celebrations were held in the streets in anticipation for the wedding, ignoring the obvious truth that lay before them. The king had finally gone mad. The engagement had come a decade too soon, and now a mother must lose a child. Thus was the custom for those who marry into royalty.

"You know that man has never been quite-"

"You mustn't speak about the Most Esteemed." But he didn't mean it. He spoke to interrupt her, to save himself from what she was about to say. Those words would cut through him like a knife, shattering his heart. But he had failed to realise that a knife had already been thrusted in. And now, with his disruption, nothing would save him from the twist. She would say. . .

"Julius. Do not interrupt me."

"But Elisa_" 

"Do not interrupt me," she screamed the words. "I told you to never interrupt me and to always listen, that is why I chose you!" There was blind fury in her voice. "You ingrate!" Her mind refused to see reason and her heart forgot the lessons of love it had learned as she regressed back to her lesser nature. She said everything she could to hurt him, so that they may suffer together. So that she could be assured he felt the same pain as she did. She reframed his consideration as cowardice and scorned him as a terrible father and even worse of a man. Until he finally snapped.

"What do you want me to do!" His voice erupted. She watched in shock as her gentle husband raised his hands in frustration, grabbing at her, both not recognising the tears that stained their cheeks. His voice came again, defeated. "He's the king."

"Julius..."

"No more Elisabeth...please." The scene had been completed as exhaustion began to fill him. He turned from her, and my mother watched helplessly as her husband retreated licking his wounds. They were both hurt.

And in that agony, the magic had faded. The world became slower, more real, as I became myself again.

Reborn, I moved like a stiff puppet. Though I hadn't been a child for so long, everything felt perfectly natural. I had become the leading actress in a play, no longer a member of the audience. But in this short interlude, I spared a moment for the lifeless little girl I had seen. I couldn't quite remember what it was like think or speak like her. Though to be frank, fate didn't seem to care.

"Susanne!" Alarmed, mother called out, and appeared before me at once.

I had to deal with her; to be the child she wanted. To be as soft as that little girl from all those years ago. As delicate as the girl she would've seen yesterday. But I had the curse of only ever knowing life from this moment. It wouldn't be too hard. I always felt like a child before her eyes. She looked at me with distress, and I watched her with apathy. It's better to feel nothing knowing the people you love will die.

"Oh, dear what are you doing up," she paused for a moment to consider what to say. Then with a sigh, "how much did you hear darling."

I remained silent. There was nothing for me to say in this instance, and besides, it wouldn't matter anyway. I simply looked at her, craning my neck for my eyes to meet hers. The glow of the half-lit rooms from which my father had disappeared illuminated her back. She was like a magnificent shadow with a brilliance so bright that my eyes began to water.

"Susanne, I did my best," she choked on the words. The natural consequence of trying to sound poised and composed with a broken heart. "But you'll have to leave...Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Oh Susanne!" She didn't stop herself from breaking down now. "What can you know..."

"I know." I said as I watched her collapse to the floor in tears.

"What can you know? At your little age..."