Tale 81- The Sleeping Rose Princess

 The Traveler found herself in a larger village as the afternoon approached, the area shaded by the tall, imposing buildings. She pulled her hood up slightly and walked amongst the crowds, before hearing footsteps approaching her and turning. She noticed the pink hair almost immediately, becoming tense but not as afraid as usual. She knew her worth now, she knew how much Sarafelle loved her, how many people had come to appreciate her throughout her journey, how many lives she may have changed and how many people she encouraged. But then, she noticed something strange. Slung around Marcielle’s body was a large pouch, tied with a strap that went from his shoulders all the way down to his waist. Clearly, whatever he was holding was quite heavy, but he seemed undeterred. She glared at him as he smirked, a few passerbys stopping to watch the ensuing conversation, sensing an air of importance to the knight in front of them. As he approached the Traveler, he held out his arm and his crow fluttered down onto it, landing on it steadily and moving up to his shoulder. The man looked positively giddy, as if his very presence was a cause for celebration, but the look of mirth in his eyes was one the Traveler recognized far too well. He stepped forward. “How many tales are left, my dear?” he asked, the Traveler’s fists tightening. She stepped forward likewise, as if to challenge him. “Nineteen.” She practically hissed, Marcielle flinching slightly. He hadn’t expected such a low number, but tried to play it off. “Well, how about I tell you a tale of my own, then?” he offered, before placing a hand over the pouch. “Once upon a time, there was a naughty little traitor living within the walls of the castle. She tried to help a prisoner who had escaped, and thus had to be punished. The King beat her senseless, screaming at her for betraying him and defying authority. She begged to be spared, but naughty traitors need to be punished. So the king asked his head knight to take care of it.” he smirked, finishing his story and revelling in the look on the Traveler’s face. A crowd had formed around them by this point, the girl unable to suppress her trembling. Had he done something to Sarafelle?! She couldn’t pull her eyes away as he reached into his bag, gripping something inside, before pulling out a head. Sarafelle’s head. He was holding Sarafelle’s head. The Traveler couldn’t breathe. She was frozen as gasps echoed throughout the crowd. Marcielle stared at them all, dangling Sarafelle’s disembodied head by her long brown hair, her eyes forever wide in fear. “And so, the wonderful head knight took care of the naughty traitor. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Did you know she hated things around her neck? Well no matter, because now she doesn’t have one.” he giggled, before bursting into cruel, awful cackles as he shook his victim’s head in his fist. The Traveler felt her fear turn to pain, then pain to anger, and anger to fury. With a disgusted, horrified scream, she pulled out her sword from under her cloak, pointing it at him. “I will destroy you.” She practically forced out, gasping for breath as he continued to laugh. Shoving Sara’s head back in the pouch, he threw it on the ground and pulled out his own sword. “Bring it on, you wretch.” he replied, his eyes crazed and insane with the power he had over others, as well as the thoughts for how he would celebrate not only his victory over Sarafelle but his capture of the Traveler. Oh the way she would scream… He couldn’t help but lick his lips in anticipation, much like a predator would. The two held up their blades, the Traveler feeling tears streaming from her eyes but unable to even care. He’d stolen that hope, that wish for a future with Sarafelle, in one sickening blow…and for that he would die. She charged forward, the blades clashing with a loud clang of metal, and the crowd stepped back, terrified of the ensuing fight. They swung ferociously, the Traveler always being blocked but continuing to fight with that silver sword, the stolen one from the very castle in which both her innocence and Sarafelle had perished. She stared into Marcielle’s eyes, her own teary yet furious ones screaming a thousand curses, and pushed him back with her blade, the man deciding to stop playing around and using his sword to knock her blade out of her hand, where it stuck into the snow. She continued to fight on, using her fists but eventually being knocked down herself, where Marcielle prepared to capture her and lock her away forever. But…no. She suddenly remembered the girl fighting the siren, the fury of the poet…Sarafelle had given her an enchanted knife. With all her strength, she pulled it out of its tie and hid it in her hand by covering it with her cloak, then standing. Marcielle grinned, a cruel yet surprised smile. “So now you fight? If you had fought all this time ago, none of this would have ever happened to you.” he taunted, the Traveler’s tired, seething breaths echoing as she gritted her teeth. “I tried. But it doesn't matter. I won’t make the same mistake again.” she spat, before charging forward. Marcielle expected a punch, getting ready to block, but then…a sharp pain to his chest, right where his heart was. The Traveler raised her eyes. “This is for them.” she spoke, Marcielle’s eyes going wide as he realized just what she had done. She pulled out the blade, the man gritting his teeth and falling to his knees, trying to grab at her, before she stepped forward again. Her voice was far quieter now, as if she was trying to hold back both her tears and her fury. “And this is for me.” she whispered, before slicing his cheek wide open, just as he had once done to her. Enraged, Marcielle tried to get to his feet, the Traveler stepping back in fear, before she watched in both terror and awe as something began to happen. His legs became still, too still, despite managing to get to his feet, and in a sudden craze, a thousand dahlias bloomed from beneath him, Roc watching in fear and alarm as his master went still. Held in place by the flowers, he could do little more than scream as they thrust themselves into his wounds, making them hurt a hundred times more, and the Traveler watched, shaking, as her abuser was turned to stone, the man flailing but it ultimately being futile. Roc thought about moving, but he’d made a promise, so in a moment of acceptance, he leant his head against his master’s bleeding cheek, closing his eyes and being encased. And as Marcielle’s screams grew silent, the dahlias disappeared, leaving a statue, a pouch, and a girl whose heart was as loud as a drum. And then everything went black.

The Traveler awoke some time later in a bedroom, instantly being reminded of Sarafelle and feeling new tears beginning. A nurse stepped into the room, checking the Traveler over and explaining she helped her after her fight in the square. She then awkwardly motioned to the pouch beside the Traveler’s bed, explaining she would help her bury the girl in the local graveyard, but the Traveler shook her head. She wanted to bury Sarafelle somewhere calm, somewhere peaceful, where she could be with her mother even in death. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, before staring at her few recovered possessions- her book, quills, sword…that’s right. She still needed nineteen tales. And Calius could easily create any number of punishments for her failure, especially now she’d slain his best friend. She stared down at the book, before getting her familiar sensation upon looking at the nurse. “You know, you aren’t the first strange person to come into my clinic.” she sighed, hoping to cheer her up even a little. Almost robotically, the Traveler reached for her book and a quill, ready to write the tale of ‘the Sleeping Rose Princess’

‘One strange day, a nurse was searching for new plants to use to create medicines, when she found a stranger with long blonde hair, dressed in an old brown cloak and covered in vines and rosebuds. She was fleeing from somewhere, the nurse discovering she was a princess from another land. An old, cruel witch had cursed her to an endless sleep, but she had tried her best to evade her destiny, and that search had brought her here. The nurse took her in, trying to find any and all cures for ancient magic and trying everything she knew, and the two began to bond in the process. They spent weeks upon weeks together, testing cures, but eventually the princess fell to her eternal sleep, the roses blooming a blood red, and the nurse became desperate. She searched every book she could find, but they had no answer, and she was at the point of giving up when she remembered the cure to such an ailment- true love’s kiss. The princess awoke due to the nurse, and they became married, living together comfortably and continuing their medicinal studies with the hope to help everyone.’

The Traveler wearily wrote, before her red and tired eyes drifted down toward the pouch. If only Sarafelle was sleeping. She’d give her a thousand true love’s kisses and mean each one, given the chance. But here she was, left with nothing. Nothing, and nobody. She stared down at her book. The only thing left was the fragile hope that her brothers might forgive her, but without them she was truly alone. She was Nemo. 

Departing, the Traveler knew the way. She picked up the pouch, tied the book, quills and sword as before, and adjusted her hood. And after a few hours of walking, numb, she finally reached Sarafelle’s home. There stood Adeline, having found a sheet in the castle under which the rest of her friend had been hidden, and Sara’s mother, in complete shock. Upon opening the door, Sara’s mother instantly pulled her into a tight embrace, the Traveler burying her head into her shoulder and letting out pained, desperate cries. That beautiful image of a future in the cottage was crumbling, and there was nothing left for her here. The three of them walked out into the garden, burying Sarafelle under the trees, and the Traveler leaned against the headstone, sitting there despite Adeline’s urges that she had to stand and Sara’s mother asking her to come inside. The Traveler couldn’t move. Everything she’d dreamed of, all of her hope, it slipped through her fingers like sand. He may have been gone, but the stain he’d left on the world was like a blot of ink, it couldn’t be removed. As Sara’s mother stepped inside, she simply turned. “Thank you for always being there for my daughter. Sarafelle adored you.” she whispered, the Traveler raising her head from her knees only slightly and nodding. She awaited Sarafelle’s ghost to come and tell her that it would all be okay, that she still loved her even in death, that she cared for her still. But the ghost never came, and at dawn, the Traveler said goodbye to Adeline and Sara’s mother for the final time, and departed.