Sal, Butter and Pepper || ONC2024

Chapter -1: And then there was Butter

Polpom
21st, December, 1623 CE

Fierce sirocco winds threatened to tear the tattered, trembling parchment from the young royal's hands as he struggled to make sense of what was written on it while a frail woman in faded gray tunic lay next to him... bleeding.

Endless days and lonely nights,
Each day, a Woodgrip fights.

Anchorless, the ship will be,
Adrift, alone, to wander the sea.

For centuries four, they will be,
As alone as one can be.

In darkness, a heart saved,
Thrice met, twice separate.

Nine years it shall take,
Feline, what choice will you make?

At twenty and five, love shall bloom,
Might spell joy, or be the marked-ninth’s doom.

Amidst chaos, hearts will thrive,
A struggle, a race against time.

To mend what was broken in the past,
You must bear the pain, act fast.

To win the battle fought so far,
Let love enter a heart.

His Highness, Prince Dalton Buttercutter, read the poem for- what felt like- the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes. His savior, Ms. Poppy, had inscribed it with her blood on a worn parchment paper previously home to a recipe titled: 'To create fake toads'.

The prince knew not the reason one might find themselves in need of fake toads, but then again, he didn't know much about magical beings or their dietary preference. After all, he had just become acquainted with a world beyond his. A world where practicing magic was as common as changing clothes.

He had seen Ms. Poppy, a seamstress in his kingdom, visit his mother, Queen Arabella Buttercutter, on and off. It came as a shock to him when she saved his life from human-eating duckweed and revealed that she was a witch.

Dalton knew as much as anyone- which was saying he knew absolutely nothing- in his father's circle of trusted nobles. But he had heard whispers about punishments reserved for the wicked.

He believed not in status but in actions. Since the kind lady had bravely fought and saved his skin, Dalton concluded that witches were loyal and benevolent beings.

The prince, who had managed to find shelter under an oak tree only a few paces from the place where the weed and the witch had had a show-down, wiped the woman's sweat-drenched brow with the sleeve of his ivory shirt. "I have committed it to memory, My lady," he said, holding up what he thought was a poem.

"Are you sure, Sire?" Poppy's voice barely made it past her pale lips, but Dalton heard it. It was strange, very much so, but not more than all the other things his ears had been picking up since the past few minutes.

The sounds were peculiar: a child crying a few hundred meters away, bees buzzing in the neighboring field, and ants whispering about him stepping on their nephew.

"Yes, my lady," the prince said, covering the dark-haired woman with his burgundy blazer. "Is there anything I can do to make you comfortable? I have sent for my physician. He will be here soon."

"Sire, there is something I need to tell you." Poppy got the words out with difficulty.

Dalton noticed the woman struggling to speak and leaned in. "Go ahead."