The Red Queen's daughter

Prologue

CONTENT WARNING: 

This Book contains graphic (ish, I don't describe the wound in great detail or anything) depictions of Violence, implied alcohol abuse, and child abuse/neglect, these topics could be triggering, or otherwise upsetting for certain readers, please proceed with caution, and I love you, go drink some water and try to eat something today <3

also the lovely cover of this book was created by the very talented Sophia Volvick, on Art station, which is a Pinterest profile, go check them out! give them some love!

The Red Queen is far too sober for this.

"Charlotte, that is quite enough!" Belladonna said to her daughter, who was twelve at the time, as she snatched away the paint set she had gotten as a gift three months earlier. She simply would not put it down, and Charlotte had other activities that had already been planned out for her, and did not involve soiling her gowns with colors too numerous to count.

"No! Please I'll do anything, don't take them away from me!" Charlotte begged, grabbing at her mothers skirts. She and her mother looked nothing alike, Belladonna had skin so pale, it was nearly see through, and her eyes were a piercing, bloody crimson, eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. She always wore her white-blond hair piled elaborately on her head in a heart shaped design that complimented her mother's decor. Charlotte always thought it was funny that her mother decorated everything with hearts, Charlotte figured it was because she hadn't one of her own. Charlotte on the other hand, had light caramel skin, that was as soft as butter, and completely unblemished, her hair was a rich brown, and very long, nearly to her knees, and it shone burgundy in the sunlight. Her eyes were a deep purple red, like crystallized wine. Or dried blood, her face had soft features, chubby cheeks, and a small, round nose, with large, down-turned eyes and lips.

The queen went by many names among the common folk, there was the most common, The Red Queen, and seemed to be her official title, there was Bloody Bella, the nickname she had earned from chopping off the heads of those who had wronged the country, (Wonderland, that is) some in fact called her The Queen of Hearts, this was for three reasons, the first and most obvious, is that she decorated everything in red and pink hearts, doorways in the palace were heart shaped, windows, and turrets, walls were plastered with heart print wallpaper. The next reason being that she liked to sleep around. She was often told it was scandalous, and unbecoming of a queen, and mostly slept with women, and had stolen the hearts of many. She sired no heirs except for Charlotte, who had been brought to her by a man against her will. However the man who had forced himself upon her had once been a prince, (the creep was beheaded once her majesty came to power, in fact it was her first act as queen) therefore the child was legitimate. The last and final reason was her penchant for card games, she loved to play anything that involved cards, from go fish, to poker, and it was rumored she even had a crown made from playing cards, that she would wear only on New Year's Eve when she had gotten wonderfully wasted out of all good sense, thanks to rapid consumption of expensive champagne. The crown's existence was only rumored, since everyone at the party either wasn't paying attention, or too drunk to remember properly.

However she was not yet drunk enough to deal with Charlotte's shenanigans, apparently she had been painting in the kitchen, for the scullery maids in exchange for cinnamon buns and pastries. The girl loved anything sweet, and had gobbled them up before her mother found her, and dragged her up to her bedroom, in order to properly scold her. It wasn't even noon, and Charlotte was already causing trouble.

"You have disturbed the servants while they are trying to work, you have run away from your duties as a princess in favor of painting in the cellar for sweets! You will not get these colors back until all of your responsibilities are dealt with. For now, however, you will stay in your room for the rest of the day. Maybe that will instill some sense into that brain of yours!"

Charlotte could not bear it. She could not go more than an hour without painting. She could not do it, painting was like breathing, it came as naturally as sleep. Her mother had failed to take away her brushes and paper, so she would have to find something else to paint with. She tried all sorts of things, none of them working on the white rose that the young stable boy had offered her. She only took it out of politeness, she did not care for him, he was too loud, and not considerate at all. She found almost all boys to be infuriating, they would not stop harassing her and whistling at her when she walked by, on the rare occasion she was permitted to go to the town outside the castle. The princes her age though, were stuck up and haughty, and far too entitled. Simply because they were promised the throne, they seemed to believe they deserved everything else they wanted as well. She was willing to believe that some of the common boys were better. In her frustration, and growing distress at having not painted for nearly an hour and a half, she turned to drastic measures. Blood was red. Blood was highly pigmented with oxygen and iron. Blood would be the perfect color to paint her rose.

She much preferred red roses to white ones. So Charlotte stumbled over to her desk, and searched for her dagger.

Her mother had given it to her as a gift a long time ago. She had never been afraid of knives, however she had the common sense not to treat a functioning blade as a toy. It was razor sharp from disuse, and sliced the soft skin of her neck easily, she was careful not to press too deep, she had no intention of dying, only painting, had gagged herself so no one would hear her screaming, and come running to find her throat slit. She was surprised to find that the pain was lesser than she had expected. It wasn't much compared to the awful feeling in her gut when she bled each month. It was a sharper pain, however not the dull ache that she had grown accustomed to. She did not scream, but tears pricked her eyes, and threatened to spill over. She leaned her neck over a small bowl in order to catch the crimson droplets shed from the wound. Once she had collected a good amount to paint with, she did, she felt a little light headed, but otherwise fine, aside from the throbbing sensation at her throat. She dabbed the brush in the crimson pool at the bottom of the bowl, and started on the edges of the petals on the flower. It was a grisly, and beautiful sight, her life force flowing from herself to the dying flower she held, her head was reeling, but she hadn't cut her carotid artery, so she didn't know what the fuss was. Her brain was awfully stingy, complaining at such a minor loss of blood. It was only when she looked down did she see that the loss was anything but minor, the front of her gown was drenched in blood, her neck was no longer the color of skin, but now tinged scarlet. And it was only then that she blacked out.