The Red Bride (#Wattys2016)

1 | Resurrection

Point of View: The Red Bride

Place: The Red Palace

I honestly don't want to follow Mother's dreadful footsteps. Well, I do catch tinges of delight when I see people being uncomfortable in my behalf, because my mother has always told me to be feared and not loved.

I always want to have love. But my palace's son maids are all not the kinds I want - I want a handsome beast, who orders people, then, without waiting for any sign, whips his cloak and turns around, leaving.

That sort of bad. But I have to inherit my mother, or else I'll be too soft like Grandmother Giles. She was soft to her maids and the maids killed her because they wanted power. 

I am dreadfully strict. If anybody brings a teeniest thing wrong, execution. That way, nobody would ever dare to touch me in a harmful way.

After my dear little Hanna have left, I sip the last of my tea, want to shout for more, but thought the best of it. I look at my white toes, still skinned and naked, so I tucked my great smelling rose red socks inside.

Really, I don't mind having blood red socks, though it gives me silent chills. Chantal, a lovely little girl in her thirties, got executed because she gave me blood red socks. Then my Hanna brings me the rose red ones that I wanted. 

I liked - well - admired Chantal. Mostly because she is quick and efficient with her work. But how dare she bring me things I have not ordered? My mother would have nodded great approval and whispered in my ear, That's my evil little girl, but then Grandmother Giles would have said, You could have just told her off, pumpkin, is executing really necessary?

Okay, thank you, Giles. I feel so, so, guilty. Speaking of guilt, I am so guilty that before Hanna left, I actually said a swear word that my mother hated so much she would whip anybody who said that.

Thank you.

I want to clamp my mouth with sticky red tape. It's awful to live like this, with people hating you secretly but pretend to be all happy and helpful in front of your face. I hate it. But I'm sure that Hanna's fond of me. Well, it's not at all fond... but the lower level than like. The level that you meet a stranger, then can talk about things for a few minutes, then leave.

Anyway, the rose red socks match my red puff dress perfectly, though it's a bit ticklish. I try to scratch the place, but I end up tickling myself. I keep screaming - okay, laughing, which would make my wrinkles pop out like crazy, until my Hanna runs in and stares at me like I have a blue dress. Which would be an absolutely crazy abomination.

"Are you truly alright, my Highness?" she asks me politely, with genuine worry in her eyes. Dude, I am just laughing. And why, the most royal duchess in the whole Pennsylvania, just even - thought of the word "Dude"? I didn't even know it was in my vocabulary mind!

"Absolutely," I say in the fake voice of sharpness, cruelty and power. She nods, relieved, and says, peering into my snack table and the empty teacup, "My Highness, would you care for more tea, or will you pass?"

"Kindly pass me more tea," I say, in a softer voice, though I added a spice of sarcasm inside. If she heard it, Hanna ignored it. She smiles at me in a young-child way and gallops back to the kitchen, closing my gold doors carefully and I can hear her voice.

After a few minutes, she comes back with a pot of delicious rose tea, and a napkin that smelt of rose. I just love red and roses too much. I am so not sorry, okay?

"Absolutely grateful," I murmur to her. "You can leave now."

She walks away calmly, but when she closes the door, I can hear her juggling with her toes and singing happily. She's happy to get away from the formidable Me?

I make out that she's happy that she's served me and I've been acceptably civil to her. I sip a cup of tea quickly, making a drip of precious tea slide down my chin, but I dab it with my flawless napkin before it makes it to the collarbone of my beautiful dress. 

A pleasant bark makes me uneasy, but I find out that it's Rosy, my pomeranian, staring at me happily. She makes a little baby sound and snuggle against my fluffy dress. I nod and pick her up royally, slapping away the snack table from my lap and instead, putting her pink pillow on my lap.

Is this the feeling of love, fondness and joy?

Then I crave it - and grieve for the lost of romance, due to the strong ambition of my mother's.

And I'm supposed to follow her footsteps and become the next Queen of Hearts. 

But I just want to stay as the Bride. The merciful Red Bride.