DANSE MACABRE [Jaskier]

[00] Prologue: Chaos

also known as;
'Passages'

I

TO START THIS STORY TRUTHFULLY and to leave out any details that are entirely false - it began, as all good stories do when recited by the storyteller in your local tavern, with a setting particularly fitting for our magical heroine. Amid the rolling hills of Redania, at the highest point where the air met the earth. Where that same air had grown thin and breezy, whipping at rosy cheeks and billowing coats. The familiar thudding of a horse's hooves pulverising through the earth as it came galloping across a windswept hill, it's rider hunched forward to urge the steed to go faster, was the only thing to fragment the scene of a golden sunrise that morning.

A young girl sat atop a bay horse, the bedraggled curls of fiery red hair rippling behind her in accordance with a periwinkle cloak flowing in the same tempestuous fashion. Her breath caught sharply in her chest, the wind was unrelenting yet she did not seem to mind it, the expression of ultimate elation prevalent upon freckled features. The moment, in her fanciful opinion, was a slice of utopia that she and she alone could enjoy before the weather grew too hot and her horse would need some time to rest. She gripped the reigns tightly, her pale blue eyes briefly closing against the radiance of the rising sun, confident in the knowledge that her steed would take her to where she wanted to go. She needn't steer nor command, for the horse had rode this route many times before; a particular patch of a forget-me-not meadow which spanned the lands belonging to the castle situated atop a hillside nearby, looking unremarkable from this distance - like an old folly or ruin.

In a word, it was bliss. And she wished that it had lasted longer, but the unmistakeable calls of a lady-in-waiting hurrying along the grass cut the moment short.

"Your highness!" shouted the woman, clutching her chest as she heaved a breath, "Your father asks to see you!"

The girl audibly groaned, guiding the horse to take a sharp turn and proceed to gallop back towards where the woman stood. A short, plump woman to be precise, with blonde curls and a dislike for running long distances. Her name was Ophelia and she had 'handled' the girl since she was naught but an infant. The steed came speeding towards her, almost threatening to knock the poor woman to the ground if not for the girl yanking abruptly on it's reigns and causing it to veer off to the right.

The horse came to a steady halt and the girl sat there breathing hard as Ophelia stared back at her, bewilderment etched upon wizened features. From this distance, it was clear to see that the girl could have been no older than sixteen or seventeen, her hair hung in wild tangles around her pale face, resembling more of a lion's mane than anything else.

"He can never just leave me to my own devices, can he?" She said, giving the horse a fond pat to it's head before dismounting.