The Forgotten Princess

°•○One○•°

The artist took a step back from his finished picture as he wiped his paintbrush with a solvent-infused piece of cloth, taking a deep, relaxed breath, finally, after long hours of deep concentration when he had almost forgotten to breathe in his frenzy to lure the pictures from his imagination onto the snow-white square of canvas.

The strong scent of turpentine flared up his nostrils, making him close his eyes for a heartbeat, reminding him, as always, of a forest... a place... a trip he could not remember. No.... It was more. It made him recall... home.

Leon shook his head and walked towards the window of his studio. It was all nonsense.

This was his home, these endless streets, plentiful squares and small parks spanning the distance between his house and the distant horizon, the only home he had ever had after moving out of his parents' house which sat at the outskirts of this town years ago. The town whose roads he could see deep down, artificially straight and mostly tree-less, crawling with people and cars at any hour of the day or night.

He opened the window to let some fresh air in, then shut it quickly again as he was reminded about the price to pay for breathing the air in this place-- the unbearable noise and smell of the never ceasing traffic. He much preferred the scent of pine trees and the silence reigning within his flat.

The young man returned to his just finished picture, letting the clean brush drop into a glass jar placed upon the narrow ledge spanning the width of his easel, next to many others. He observed the castle he had conjured up with hundreds of patient brush strokes on the previously blank square of canvas critically.

The bright, fragile-looking building seemed to have materialised out of the rugged veil of early morning fog rising from the depths, and stood on top of a tall hill covered in deep mint-green conifers, as if it was floating on a silvery cloud. The view was... eerily motionless, apparently lifeless... Timeless.

This was the upteempth time in the course of the last few years that he felt the urge to paint this castle, a place only existing in his imagination, or so he thought.

Leon turned around slowly, observing the pictures covering every single surface of his studio. His breath caught when he realised that it had really been a long time since he painted anything else but different views of the same castle, its numerous chambers, vast courtyards, white towers, sweeping staircases and the forests surrounding it. And... the girl from his dreams.

The artist faced the wall by the window and stared at the life-size portrait of a lady dressed up in a fairytale-like gown. He approached it and, as always, brought his fingers gently to her full rosy lips, then to her cheek, which seemed to blush under his touch. The Princess, that's how he named the painting, was breathtakingly beautiful and perfectly lifelike.

He sighed. He had become obsessed with this fantasy, and it was growing stronger, clearer with every new dream. Leon knew that he should stop thinking about it before he went completely crazy.

But not before you find out whether this palace and your Princess are really just figments of your imagination.

He startled, letting his arm drop to his side. This thought was not his; it felt as if it belonged to someone else. As if it was transmitted to him by the girl from the painting, Leon mused, shaking his head. Of course, the palace was not real; it belonged to the realm of his dreams, but... he had to make sure.

He cleaned up the rest of his paintbrushes and then set his laptop on the desk by the window. How did one look for a castle from a painting, he mused, letting his eyes stroll back to his newest picture, observing the elegant bright towers he knew so well.

It didn't look ancient. It must be... Neo-gothic castles, he typed, then added, of Europe. It could not be anywhere else; he felt sure about it. Not too far, somewhere in the north, judging by the surrounding vegetation.

The young man looked through the pictures that appeared instantly on the screen of his laptop, not really expecting to find anything more than a vaguely similar building. Until he found it-- a photograph of a castle perched on a hilltop, of the same sky-high white towers piercing through a cloud, or a veil of morning mist, rendered in the same, unusual pastel hues as in his painting.

How could he have painted his castle without ever having seen this photograph before... and moreover, what was this place? Neuschwanstein Castle in Germany, a short article informed him, a nineteenth century historicist palace.

Pushing his chair back impatiently, Leon stood up and started pacing around the studio, feeling bewildered. It was so strange. Either this was a photograph of his just finished painting, which was impossible, or this palace from his pictures was really the German famous Neuschwanstein.

Why on earth did he keep painting a castle situated in a country he had never visited before? He despaired, walking across his studio, the pace of his steps matching that of his racing thoughts. Soon, the painter stopped in front of his Princess again. Feeling drawn to her as if she called him, unable to disobey, Leon approached her and placed his fingertips to the girl's cheek again, in a featherlight caress, taking a deep breath. He could not fight this obsession; he knew that if he wanted answers, he would have to visit that castle in Germany, that twin of his fantasy.

He spent the night consulting maps and choosing the best route leading to the village of Hohenschwangau, in southwestern Bavaria, above which the palace stood. His two bags-- one full of brushes, paints and rectangles of canvas, the other containing an armful of random clothes-- were ready in a few moments, leaving him enough time to call his parents and his best friend to inform them about his sudden travel, then read some more about the castle which for him had morphed into a mystery to solve.

It was past midnight when Leon finally ordered himself to take some rest before the long journey. However, even once he lay down, the sleep eluded him, and in the end, he set out before sunrise, leaving the studio after one last caress to his Princess' cheek.