Amethyst and The Cursed Violet Moon

Chapter One

February 29, 1250

As the sun set on the twenty-eighth of February, a child, a girl to be exact, was born to King Amherst and Queen Aldyth. The new rulers had wished to conceive a child ever since they had wed, which had been nearly fifteen years ago. And with the recent, sudden death of the King's father, former King Ammon, the child could not have come at a better time. Or so they thought...

July 1, 1235

Prince Amherst of the kingdom of Amethyst stood at the altar awaiting his bride, Princess Aldyth of the kingdom of Diamond. The two kingdoms had waited sixteen years for the future rulers to become old enough to wed. As the choir sang, Princess Aldyth began to walk towards her future husband. The ceremony had gone perfectly, almost too perfectly! As the happy couple was being escorted to their suite by their families to consummate their new marriage, Agetha, an evil witch, appeared as an apparition. "Agetha!" King Ammon of the kingdom of Amethyst exclaimed. A cold, harsh cackle escapes her ghostly lips. "Yes... It is I, Agetha! I have lived in hiding for sixteen years, waiting for this moment!" Her voice sent chills down the King's spine, for what he had not mentioned to anyone in the kingdom, was that sixteen years and some odd months ago, before the prince had been born, he approached Agetha about a prophecy.

February 23, 1219

It was rumored that the old hag had been planning something since the King's great grandfather, King Arrice, had been conceived. So, Ammon traveled into the business district and called upon one of the old spinsters. When asked where he could find Agetha, the spinster woman replied in a frail, shaky voice, "Follow the creek until it begins to run dry. Offer up a purple rose in return for her appearance and place it on the headstone that sits, embedded in the old oak tree. Only then will she allow herself to appear before you!" The King stood there for a moment staring at the woman. "Where can I find this purple rose you speak of, woman?", the King bluntly stated. The woman shook her head with a chuckle, "I cannot say... For then I would be hung by the very thread I weave between these fingers!" Her hand rises up and her boney index finger and thumb slowly pinch together a few times as she chuckles once again. She picks up her thread and continues on spinning as if the King and his royal guards were not there. "Fine!", the King exclaims. "Here is half a crown for your trouble... " Once the King and his men had arrived back at the castle, the royal army was sent out in search of one purple rose. "Burn the villages if you must! Leave no stone unturned!! Bring me one purple rose!" The King had been consumed by fear and anger.

February 28, 1219

It took the royal army five days to find a single purple rose. The entire countryside had been searched in an attempt to uncover this rose. Fields had been destroyed, homes searched, forests trimmed, and every single stone turned over. A perfect, amethyst colored rose, wrapped in a white silk cloth, was brought to the King in secret. That night once his wife was asleep, Ammon set out for the creek. The destruction that the King's men had left went unnoticed by Ammon. His only concern was finding the witch. As he descended deeper and deeper into the forest, the water level in the creek began to lower. Hours later, as the full moon rose to the top of the sky, King Ammon reached a rather large, and fairly new oak tree growing in the creek, blocking the water from entering the empty section of the creek between it and the old, cracked oak tree. A six-inch thick slap of concrete sat embedded into the cracked oak tree, preventing the murky gray water from also filling the empty section of the creek. The stone seemed to have been hand-carved by someone with very shaky hands. The king lowered himself into the creek and slowly approached the stone.  He slipped off his purple-dyed, leather gloves that had been stitched with thread made of real gold and decorated with the finest gold beads. Ammon kneeled down in front of the stone to clean the decrepit vines from it so that he could read the words that had been sloppily carved into the stone. His hands shook slightly as the wind picked up, rustling the black death leaves that hung on the old oak tree.

The sound of a grandfather wolf howling filled the sky. Suddenly, a crow swooped down and landed on the top of the stone. At first, the crow did nothing. But as Ammon lifted his arm up to shoo it away, the crow squawked in an unusual and unsettling tone. The King jumped back, tripping on a branch that had long been stuck in the solid earth. The crow flew effortlessly on to the King's knee, as he laid on his back, starting to feel a little on edge. The crow squawked a second time before speaking, "Tisch! Tisch! Such a naughty King! Squuuaaaaawwwwkkkk!... One mustn't meddle with things beyond their control!" This taunting angered King Ammon. "Shoo you, foul creature! Be lucky I do not skin you alive and boil you in your own blood." he threatens, waving the bird from his knee. The crow jumps back to the headstone. "Squuuaaawwwkk!... Tisch! Tisch! The naughty King will regret that threat!", the crow cackled as it flew away.

Once again the wolf howled adding to the uneasy feeling. However, Ammon forced that feeling down and proceeded with his intended task. As he stood, he brushed himself off and tore the vines from the stone. As he read the wording on the stone he grew more and more puzzled.

"Here lies the body of the innocent

Amethyst Greyhound

And the stolen ashes of the guilty

King Arrice

May one's soul be freed

And the other's be condemned to Hell

February 29th 989 to 1019"

As a young child, Ammon was taught never to ask about his great grandfather Arrice. His father threatened to force him into the streets with the lowly peasants who pulled the wagons for the noblemen and women if he had ever mentioned his great grandfather's name to anyone. In fact, Ammon had never seen the portrait of his great grandfather in the Hall of Kings.

The Hall of Kings sat in what usually was the throne room of the castle. However, the Hall of Kings led the way to the throne room. It was guarded heavily with armed royal guards in silver and violet uniforms. The floor was sold marble and the walls rose twenty feet into the air, lavishly decorated floor to ceiling in deep violet, gold, and forest green colored wallpaper. A gold chandelier with teardrop-shaped amethysts hung from the solid gold plated ceiling. Every king to ever rule the kingdom had a hand-painted portrait hanging in a solid gold frame. Each king received four crowns: at birth, at the age of twelve, at the age of sixteen, and when they became King. All of their custom, handcrafted crowns stood on tiered, gold pedestals under each portrait.

The King was awoken from his shocked state by the crow cackling, "Squuuaawwwkkk... What's the matter oh great and wise King? Angry that you are not so wise and all-knowing? Or scared to know that which you do not?" The King spun around, trying to find where the crow's voice was echoing from. "Show yourself evil creature!", Ammon shouts. "If you have to demand you are not ready for the truth!", the crow replies as it swoops from his concealed spot in the dark, foreboding trees, scratching Ammon's forehead as he did so before flying away into the darkness.

With a shaky breath, the King lowered himself down to kneel in front of the stone. He bowed his head and said a silent prayer before crossing his heart. Ammon opened his pouch that was tied to his hip. To his surprise, the rose that had been alive a mere hour ago was now completely shriveled and dead. The once pure white silk cloth that it was wrapped in was soaked with blood. Out of shock, Ammon dropped it. As the cloth and rose hit the ground the wind began to blow with fury and the grandfather howled one last time before the ground under Ammon's feet began to shake. Suddenly, Ammon was thrown back against the newer tree behind him and what felt like arms grabbed ahold of him. Slowly, Agetha arose from the glowing red earth, cackling.