Corla sucked in a breath as she looked up toward the ceiling of the palace that she was forced to stay locked up in. The ceiling had paintings of couple’s dancing, laughing and smiling, but something about those people didn’t speak to her. She imagined dancing every once in a while, but she never learnt how and almost hoped that she never would be taught. She didn’t want to dance with someone just because she was there, just like how she would be treated at the ball that would be announced in a little while. She knew it was coming; it happened once a year, as a celebration. She had a faint feeling that the ball was for the prince’s birth, but she wasn’t too sure.
Corla’s grip loosened around her hot cup of tea as she lowered her gaze from the ceiling above her head. Her breath grew soft as she breathed in the aroma of the hot steam that blew into the air from the cup. It was as if the smoke was telling her a story of some kind. Maybe it was about the time a girl that was trapped in a palace was able to live freely again. She knew it wasn’t anytime soon, but she almost hoped the moment to be set free would be come. Her gaze looked down toward her fingernails, which were longer than human nauls and long enough to scratch someone deep enough to make thick red blood ooze from beneath their skin. Corla shook her head, as if the thought sent chills through her veins. Her spine tingled as a small grin curled on her lips. In two days would be when the full moon would appear in the sky, and on that night her plan would take place. The clock beside her ticked loudly throughout the corridor, as if she summoned the sound to play off to tick the seconds down to the exact moment. But dispite the feeling of ruling, she felt distant and trapped.
Her feet took her to the small little indoor garden kept by the large windows that showed the beautiful gardens outside. A small little rose stood, wilting as it was, in the large pile of already dead roses and flowers. Time was ticking down and she felt her grip stiffen on her mug, feeling the dread of it all. She needed to be saved; she was a damsel. No. She wouldn’t need saving. She was fine the way she was and she would stay this way. The way she was helped her survive. She was strong, she was powerful, and she could rule. She shook the thoughts away and turned away from the rose, noticing none of its petals falling from the centre. She stifled a yawn as she circled around the corridor, working through her plan swiftly.
She would kidnap the prince's father and hold him hostage, which would force the prince to come after him, making the rest of the kingdom suffer from the devestation of what could've happened to their Magesty. Corla thought for a moment more about that idea and gave a light chuckle before a focused frown curled on her lip once more. Once the prince came to the palace, her palace, she'd take him hostage and let the father free. Finally, she'd force the prince to stay with her, and make him fall in love.
Corla stiffened and paused on her mindless wandering. Did she really want him to fall in love with her? Corla shook her head softly and shrugged as she began to circle once more. The chandelier above her was kept dusted and cleaned due to her one and only servant, which was on the edge of death. She was old, Corla knew, but kept her around because she needed the company. It wasn't like all the countless objects was enough for Corla. They never even spoke; they just weighed down on the floor boards, waiting to be moved or touched or something.
Corla let a small sigh escape from her lips as she brought her mug toward her mouth. The sweet smell of the tea brought a relaxed smile on her face as she looked up the massive wall of stairs to see her servant, easily dusting the handrails.
"Madame," She said with a soft smile and a bow before she continued to dust. Her mind was away from her and Corla knew that more than anybody; she just didn't want to admit it. Soon enough she would have no one in the castle with her, which would leave her to singing hymns around her palace corridors, knowing no one was around to hear her. She stared up toward her servant as she bit her lower lip with one of her sharp fangs, hoping that she'd stay long enough for her to kidnap the king. Or was that too much to expect?
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The Dying Rose
Fantasy**SLOW UPDATES** The Beast had always been just a made up story that villagers would share about for fun around fires. They didn't know what it even looked like, or who it really was. Corla had been taken away from her home when she was six years o...
