The prophecy of a blind heiress

The Agony of Defeat

Princess Hazel's heart felt like it was shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, a reflection of the physical blindness that had afflicted her since birth. The cruel whispers of the kingdom's subjects, who believed the ancient prophecy that deemed her a misfortune, a harbinger of doom, cut deep into her soul as well orchestrated by lady Victoria and Lord Leoswood. They had succeeded in making everyone hate and fear the princess so that no one dared to come to her rescue when they threw her in the dungeon.

As she sat in the damp, cold dungeon, the stone walls closing in around her like a vise, she couldn't help but wonder if the prophecy was indeed true. Was she truly a curse upon the kingdom? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself, seeking comfort in the darkness.

The wedding of Lady Victoria and Lord Leoswood had marked the beginning of her descent into this abyss. The two had conspired against her, fueled by their lust for power and their belief in the prophecy. They had imprisoned her, casting her into this damp, forgotten cell, along with her loyal caregiver, Getrude

The days blended together in an endless blur of darkness and despair. Princess Hazel's only solace was Getrude's gentle voice, her soft touch, and her unwavering loyalty. But even Getrude's presence couldn't alleviate the crushing sense of sorrow that threatened to consume her.

As the hours ticked by, Princess Hazel's thoughts grew increasingly morbid. She longed to escape the prison of her own mind, to flee the torment that haunted her every waking moment. In the darkness, she whispered a silent prayer, pleading for release, for an end to her suffering.

"Oh, Mother, Father," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat. "Why did you leave me? Why did you abandon me to this fate? I wish I could join you, to be free from this misery, this endless darkness."

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the dirt and grime that covered her skin. She was a shadow of her former self, a mere specter of the princess she once was. The prophecy, the whispers, the cruelty of those around her – all had taken their toll, leaving her a broken, shattered soul.

And yet, even in the depths of her despair, a spark within her refused to be extinguished. A spark of hope, of defiance, of determination. It flickered, a beacon in the darkness, reminding her that she was still alive, still a princess, still a force to be reckoned with.

The cold, damp stone walls of the dungeon seemed to close in around Princess Hazel like a vise, suffocating her with their crushing weight. The air was heavy with the stench of mold and decay, a constant reminder of her own fate.

Lady Victoria and Lord Leoswood would often visit her, their presence heralded by the jingling of keys and the creaking of rusty hinges. They would stand before her, their faces twisted into cruel smiles, as they hurled ruthless words at her, each one a dagger to her heart.

"You're nothing but a blind, useless princess," Lady Victoria would sneer, her voice dripping with malice. "You're a curse upon this kingdom, a constant reminder of the prophecy that foretold your downfall."

Lord Leoswood would chuckle, his laughter like a cold wind that sent shivers down Princess Hazel's spine. "You're a prisoner of your own fate, Hazel," he would say, his voice dripping with condescension. "You'll never escape the darkness that surrounds you."

Their words were bad enough, but it was their physical torment that pushed Princess Hazel to the brink of madness. Lady Victoria would slap her, her hand cracking against Princess Hazel's cheek like a whip. Lord Leoswood would kick her, his boot connecting with her ribs with a sickening crunch.

Princess Hazel would curl up into a ball, her body wracked with pain, her mind reeling with the horror of her situation. She would beg for mercy, plead for them to stop, but her words would fall on deaf ears.

As the days turned into weeks, Princess Hazel's body began to bear the scars of her torment. Her skin was bruised and battered, her ribs cracked and sore. Her mind, once sharp and resilient, began to fray at the edges, her thoughts growing disjointed and fragmented.

She would hear voices in her head, the whispers of her parents, urging her to hold on, to never give up. But the voices were faint, distant, and Princess Hazel couldn't help but wonder if she was truly going mad.

In the darkness of her cell, Princess Hazel would scream, her voice echoing off the stone walls as she begged for someone, anyone, to hear her, to save her from the living hell that had become her life. But her screams were drowned out by the sound of her own despair, lost in the void of her imprisonment.