The Forgotten Princess

Prologue

The city of Paris was burning.

Towers fell to the ground as if they were dominoes crashing upon a porcelain table. Peasants and nobles alike stood together, hands clasped onto torches, and eyes burning with more passion than the flames surrounding them. They shared no fear, no terror as the home they'd once danced upon, now crashed and fell to their feet, after all it was their own doing.

They screamed until their faces were a shade of scarlet, their lips downturned into snarls, teeth bared and spirits almost animalistic.

"We know you are in there!" A random noble shrieked, his fist white as he pounded on the two grande marble doors that towered above the mass, its walls cold and handles locked. The man, along with several other strangers, continued to punch the structure until their knuckles were bloody and their voices raw, never once letting themselves take a rest. They were relentless, obsessive, seeing nothing but destruction, seeing nothing but suffering. The people close to them joined in, one by one pressing their palms against the palace, one by own putting everything they have into knocking it over.

The boy watched, never able to move, never able to do anything. He froze as his neighbors, who'd handed him loaves of bread for his sick mother and who'd pat him on the back with each step he took,  became unrecognizable, their faces now those of monsters and shouts  ringing in his mind, scarring his young soul. He knew things had changed, smiles turning into sneers, and bright eyes dulling into glares, the streets of Paris had become deafening. His mother had warned him to stay hidden, to let the city he'd grown to cherish burn, and wait to pick up the ashes, she'd begged him to stay. She knew that he couldn't let what he loved be taken away by the flames, she knew he had no choice but to go just as well as she knew there was nothing he could do to save the one thing he loved as much as her. So as he snuck out through the already broken glass, his knobby knees scarring along the sharp edges and hands brushing over the splintered wood she let him go, he always was a stubborn boy.

He was barely 15 years of age, his dark brown hair hanging into his eyes, a few inches too long, and his stature never tall enough to see over the heads of the crowds, always a few inches too short. The mob swallowed him whole, their claws reaching his arms, attempting to pull him away from things he'd never understand, things a child shouldn't know. They liked to think that they hid their wickedness from their children, their masks perfect enough to hide their true evil, but they were foolish. The children could see the fire, they could hear the screams, they could feel the pain, but they couldn't do anything about it. His friends were most likely in their slim and wobbling beds, their eyes pretending to be shut, and minds trying to convince itself to sleep, but how could one sleep as their home turned to ashes. Tomorrow when the sun would rise onto what once was Paris they would pretend nothing had happened, and the days would go on, and all that was lost would be forgotten.

They would be forgotten.

He shook his head, the ridiculousness of the situation messing with his sanity, come morning things would be the same, for the towers would always be built again, and the streets would eventually heal, they had to. He thought back to the mornings he'd spent along those cobble roads, selling vegetables from his mothers garden to anyone willing to buy, always one to attract attention with his bright smile. The people would say hello and go about to their daily lives, they were happy, he was happy. And then he imagined her, running next to him, her long honey hair hidden under her billowing cloak, in hopes she could blend in with the crowd. He'd always told her that someone as beautiful as her never would be able to simply blend in, as she was a diamond in a crowd of coal, a star in an endless black sky, but nonetheless she insisted, and arguing with her was practically a death sentence. She would always drag him to the vendors, her green eyes wide and breathtaking as she let herself into his world, as if that's where she'd always been. That's when he knew things had to stay exactly as they were, the people would eventually realize things weren't worth the suffering, and everything would be okay, she would be okay.