𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 29

"Leave," Prince Atlas's voice trembled as he struggled to maintain composure. His eyes bore into Flora's, a silent plea for her to obey. But Flora, ever defiant, hesitated. Her lips parted, ready to speak, but before she could utter a word, Prince Atlas's anger erupted.

"LEAVE!" he thundered, the force of his command echoing off the stone walls. Flora flinched, her gaze flickering to Victoria. With one last glance, Flora turned and fled, her footsteps echoing down the dimly lit corridor, leading her to the cold embrace of the dungeon.

In that moment, the castle seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick as iron chains. Prince Atlas stood alone, his anger a tempest within him. The weight of his decisions bore down, and he wondered if he is doing the right decision. Perhaps she's not the one who tried to kill the queen? He shrugged off the thought.the fragile thread that held their fate together—a thread that now unraveled, leaving them all dangling over the abyss.

But there was no turning back. The dungeon swallowed Flora, and Prince Atlas was left with nothing but regret and the haunting memory of her eyes—eyes that had once held trust, now filled with hurt and betrayal.

Victoria smirked and walked away, her victory complete. She'd orchestrated this downfall, sowing discord like poisoned seeds. And as Prince Atlas stood alone in the empty chamber, he knew that the castle walls whispered secrets, and shadows danced in the corners, waiting to consume them all.

The dungeon's chill seeped into Flora's bones, and she wondered if she'd ever see daylight again. But deep down, she clung to hope—the hope that Prince Atlas's rage would fade, that redemption awaited beyond the iron bars, The hope that everyone would realise she is not the culprit but Victoria is. For in the darkness, even the smallest spark could ignite a revolution, and Flora vowed to be that spark.

Three interminable months dragged their leaden feet, each day a cruel echo of the last. Flora, once vibrant and defiant, now languished in the dungeon—a statue of suffering carved from flesh and bone. Her smile, once a beacon of resilience, had eroded into a mere memory, etched into the cold stone walls that surrounded her.

Hope, that fragile wisp of light, had abandoned her. It slipped through her fingers like sand, leaving behind only the weight of despair. The damp air clung to her skin, seeping into her very soul, and she wondered if she'd ever feel warmth again. The flicker of rebellion that had sustained her now guttered, extinguished by the relentless cruelty of Prince Atlas.

He, the once-beloved heir to the throne, had become a monster. His eyes, once filled with longing, now bore the glint of sadism. He tormented her—twisting her fingers until they screamed in silent agony, slapping her until her vision blurred, and wielding the whip with merciless precision. But the darkest abyss lay in the shadows of the night, when he violated her body and soul, leaving scars that would never heal.

The queen, her protector, remained trapped in a coma—a fragile thread connecting Flora to sanity. She wondered if the queen's dreams held whispers of their suffering, if her spirit fought battles in realms beyond consciousness. Perhaps she, too, was ensnared in this web of treachery, her mind a battleground where hope clashed with despair.

Flora's existence blurred into monotony: the clank of chains, the taste of stale bread, the drip of water from the ceiling. She counted the days by the bruises on her skin, the fading echoes of her own screams. The dungeon walls absorbed her cries, their rough texture a silent witness to her torment.

And yet, in the darkest hours, Flora clung to a shard of defiance. She traced the cracks in the stone, imagining them as veins of rebellion. She whispered secrets to the shadows, promises of vengeance, and vowed that even as a stone human, she would not be forgotten.

Outside her cell, the castle breathed its own secrets. Victoria, the cunning Princess, reveled in their suffering. She danced through the corridors, her laughter echoing like shards of broken glass. Prince Atlas, too, bore his burden—the weight of betrayal, the legacy of cruelty. His eyes held a haunted plea, as if begging Flora to forgive him, to understand the choices he'd made.

But forgiveness was a luxury Flora could no longer afford. Her heart, once tender, had calcified into stone. And so, she waited—waited for the queen's awakening, for the castle walls to crumble, for the spark of rebellion to ignite.

The feeble sunlight, like a reluctant visitor, crept through the narrow window, casting a pallid glow upon her gaunt features. Flora stirred, her limbs heavy with the weight of despair. For three eternities, she had languished in this dungeon—a forsaken soul, forgotten by the world above.

And then, the cell door creaked open—an intrusion into her desolate sanctuary. The scent that wafted in was both salvation and damnation. It was the fragrance of memories—the heady blend of pine and sandalwood that once ignited her heart. Prince Atlas—the name whispered by the castle walls, both revered and reviled—stood before her.

His eyes, once pools of vulnerability, now held shards of ice. The same eyes that had once traced constellations across her skin, promising eternity. But eternity had fractured, splintered into cruelty and betrayal. His presence was a paradox—a lifeline and a noose, both tightening around her throat.

"Flora," he murmured, his voice a blade against her fragile hope. "You were my light, my rebellion. Now look at you—a stone effigy of defiance." His gaze swept over her, lingering on the scars etched into her flesh. "I did this," he confessed, the words a confession and a curse. "I broke you."

Flora's lips trembled, but she dared not speak. Her tongue was a prisoner, shackled by the weight of unspoken truths. She had loved him once—loved the boy who dreamed of justice, who whispered secrets under moonlit skies. But that boy was lost, consumed by the crown that now rested uneasily upon his brow.

Prince Atlas stepped closer, and Flora tasted the bitterness of their shared history. She could smell alcohol in him. "Why you did that? Why you tried to kill my mother?" He shook her vigorously.

"One day you'll realise..
               you'll regret...
              you'll apologize...
             you'll not forgiven.."