Writing My Way Out

Chapter 7

The tension in the air was palpable as they sat in Martin's carriage, Catalina and Chattercup's lifeless bodies cradled in the prince's arms. The short journey to the doctor's seemed to stretch into an eternity.

Once they arrived, Lena's heart sank as the doctor delivered the grim news. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Both of them? Are you sure?"

The doctor nodded solemnly. "I'm truly sorry, my lady. They're gone."

Emotion welled up in Lena's chest, and she couldn't hold back the tears. She looked to the prince, her eyes filled with a mix of grief and anger.

"It's all my fault.'' The prince suddenly confessed.

She said, ''No, it's not.''

He said sadly, ''I left you there alone and quietly accompanied Isabelle on her journey. Had I known that the townspeople would come, I would have prevented them from setting the castle on fire."

Her anger flared as she learned who was responsible. "They did this? The ones we met earlier?" Lena demanded, her voice laced with fury. "Where are they?" She was ready to confront them, her frustration boiling over.

The prince's response was chilling in its emotionlessness. "Dead."

Lena was taken aback by his cold tone, realizing that his anger ran even deeper. The weight of the tragedy hung heavily in the air as they grappled with the harsh reality of the situation.

''I saw them start the fire, I wrecked their body and threw them to the same fire they created.''

Lena's shock at the prince's words was undeniable, but in her heart, she knew she couldn't blame him his actions. She understood the depth of his emotions all too well, realizing that if she were in his position, she might have made the same choices.

The bitter truth they faced was that people could be incredibly cruel, and the events of that day had only solidified that belief. They were now bound together not only by the curse but by the shared pain and loss they had experienced.

In the same morning, they solemnly buried Catalina and Chattercup in the garden of the mansion, marking their resting place with simple gravestones. The weight of their deaths hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the cruel nature of the world they now inhabited.

Lena and the prince, still numb from their loss, left the scorched remains of their former home behind. They arrived at the next mansion, which had been spared from the fire's devastation. It was grand. The house was spacious and deserted. Lena and the prince entered.

"Choose any room you want," Vincent said as he headed towards the hallway.

Lena called out to him, and he turned to see her. She hugged him tightly, apologizing for the tragic events that had unfolded.

"It's not your fault," he reassured her, his voice filled with understanding. Vincent encouraged Lena to take some rest while he promised to figure things out.

Lena didn't object; she was indeed exhausted. That night, she awoke to the sound of the prince working outside the charred remains of the mansion. However, due to her weariness, she couldn't recall exactly what he was doing and simply returned to her slumber.

Days passed, and Lena and Vincent mourned together, their sorrow weaving a silent bond between them. As they carried on with their daily chores, Lena couldn't help but notice the toll it was taking on the prince. His eyes carried shadows, evidence of sleepless nights, and it saddened her deeply.

One day, Isabelle came to visit, her presence offering a glimmer of solace amidst the pervasive grief. Together, they walked through the somber garden, stopping at Catalina and Chattercup's freshly dug graves.