Black as Night

Bad Blooded

When Winter was born, the snow had blanketed her kingdom and the wind tore through the castle towers.

When Winter was born, her father had killed a stag and brought its head as a gift for his newborn child.

When Winter was born, her mother cried her last tear and gave away precious gift.

"A spitting image of you, your majesty," Midwife Hester said, "She even has your eyes," the midwife remarked at the child in her hands.

A soft red velvet blanket wrapped around tiny Winter to keep her warm and safe from the world. She whimpered and scrunched her face in distaste. The Queen smiled weakly, delivering this child to the world had taken its toll on her mind as well as her body.

"So beautiful," she laughed, a beautiful and weary laugh. "She'll be so beautiful when she is older."

Queen Snow felt a tear trail down her face. Death was so close and she wanted more time with her daughter.

"Her name, your grace?" The midwife set the child in the queens arms, mindful of her little head. "You can't leave without a name."

"Let's see, Hester. Lips as red as my red roses, hair black as the creatures of the night, skin as pale as snow, and a power greater than light ," the Queen smiled as her vision blurred, the darkness edging as she used the last of her power. "I shall name her Winter."

She kissed her head one last time before closing her eyes and leaving Winter.

Winter was indeed a spitting image of her mother, hence when the King had made it back from his hunt to find her dead, he could not bear to look at his child.

The pain in his heart was taken out on the child in anger.

The midwife set the child in his arms gingerly and she let out a wail, a musical yet annoying noise.

"Take her!" King Gavin snarled, shoving the baby into the midwifes arms, "Prepare for the funeral!" He snapped at his guards and turned on his heels, stalking away unknowing of what his wife had whispered at the time of her death

And so Winter, or Princess Winter as she was called, was locked away and kept out of sight. Hated by her father, despised by her older sister, and hoped for by the kingdom.

Princess Morgan was a spitting image of her father, a natural born leader with an iron fist.

Yes, she was fair and clever.

Yes, she was strong but she was vain and vindictive if she wanted to be.

The Knights of the court slowly feared her growing power over the years and heard series of her cruel punishments. She had a bloody and fearsome reputation. Offend her esteemed majesty and you would be a goner by the morning.

This, however, was before her mothers death.

Upon hearing of her mothers death, she locked her self in her room for a week. Morgan would not-could not- come to terms of her mothers death. When she finally convinced herself of it, her sadness had turned to grief which then turned to anger. Seeing the crib of the sister who killed her mother, she tried to kill Winter.

Two guards stopped her from doing so. She screamed profanities at the crib that was shielded by the maids. Winter knew nothing about it, she was an innocent babe whose father had left her and whose sister wanted her dead.

Princess Morgan was seven when she had tried to murder her sister and her father said nothing of the incident.

At the age of fifteen, she assumed her title which was sorely received by the people.

By the age of sixteen, she out to death so called 'spies' who slandered her name. The day was unofficially marked as the Day of Morgan, something no man, women, or child dared to utter. To do so was to risk the her wrath of her secret guard.

When she turned eighteen, she had a following of nobles who were loyal only to her.

Then at twenty, she became a politician and Crown Princess.

As she turned twenty three, she met a nobleman's son who she fell deeply in love with. They were married and then he was simply gone. There was no trace of him and no person wanted to ask a dangerous question.

Twenty five was when it happened again. She married a prince from a faraway land only to have him vanish.

While she built her reputation and power, a small faction of the people and nobles were rooting for Winter to rise up and stop Morgan.

Meanwhile, Winter was in her tower, with her three hundred and sixty view of the capital. She knew of the wrongdoings of her sister and her followers. She did not know what to do with this information. With so little friends and no standing anywhere, she slowly convinced herself over the time that it was not her problem.

Her father, though a just and good king, did not care for Winter or Morgan. His heart was only for war, politics, and running a Queen-less kingdom of Ataraxia.

Winter had promise and fairness, she had education and wit, but her talents were waisted in a tower. She had learned at the age of eight how to pick a lot and walk about in the palace, no guards questioned her.

By the age of nine, she had paid off the guards, with some useless bauble or food to feed their families with.

At eleven, Winter learned the secrets of then palace. Which tunnel took you to the gardens, where the cook hid the biscuits, and am old balcony overlooking the ballroom. She even made a map of these secret passages ways and she shared them with no soul.

When she finally turned thirteen, she ventured out into the villages. She would dress in a scraggly burlap cloak and wear her plainest of clothes. Sometimes she would play with the local children or visit the baker. As she became a frequent visitor, she wore a farmers hat to hid her face from the guards that constantly patrolled.

Sixteen was her most treasured year.

And eighteen was the year she stuck her head outside the tower window.