#POV: Anjelika

[whumping-newbie]

Scarred

Was inspired by discussions with @justplainwhump in my dark!AU, so here's the fruits of my labour.

Set in the same universe as Taking What Is His (which is an AU of michal's story)

Cw: branding, threatened with a knife, creepy whumper, forcibly stripped, forced to watch, implied past noncon.

POV: Anjelika

Being frog marched down several flights of stairs by the grip of two unyielding soldiers was not how I envisioned my evening to end. Beyond the second flight of stairs was a place I've never set foot in - what I understood as a subterranean office for the military, essentially - a dim, drab place with cold, sharp stone walls lining the corridors.

The lights didn't provide much welcoming ambience, just a clinical source of light so one can see where they're going.

There's no easing my worries considering none of these rooms are marked or labelled. I have no idea what's in each one.

At the end of the corridor is a heavy metal door with a soldier standing guard beside it. Upon our approach, he immediately begins to open the door, unbolting the latches and unlocking the enormous mechanism. It's a heavy door, judging by the effort he makes in opening it.

It's even darker in here.

A spiral staircase, leading into a dark abyss, barely lit by an orange glow somewhere down there. It's freezing. I don't want to go down there.

Not that I have much choice.

As we descend, the orange light I realise is flickering. An old style burner, possibly?

The door way behind us slams shut, and I can hear every individual lock slide into place with ease, every one making the sinking feeling in my stomach even worse with every click.

Emerging at the bottom of the staircase is an unnerving experience. The walls are illuminated with torches, bright orange and imposing, but none of down here is warm. It's dark, the shadows accentuated every dark corner, every crevice looks much dingier than it would be otherwise.

Every door is metal and black, with bars that act as viewing holes at the top. Every one is a void of emptiness as we pass, and I have no way of knowing if anyone is in them or not. I shudder to think of what conditions they are in.

And all this, is underneath my home.

There's something here that make my heart race. It feels off, everything feels dangerous, all the alarms are ringing in my head that this is a bad place. Bad things have happened here, and I shouldn't -

"Ah, I'm glad you could finally join us."

The voice comes from a door much further away from us, his figure casts a shadow on the wall opposite him, a hellish orange glow is burning from the threshold he's standing under.

"Please, come inside, have a seat, make yourself comfortable, my dear." My husband all but sneers at me, standing aside as I'm marched in.

The heat hits me first. The stark difference between this, and the dank, oppressive atmosphere I was in before is like a slap to the face.

The soldiers drag me into the room properly, and I'm forced down onto this old, surprisingly sturdy wooden chair. It takes the men mere seconds to ensure I'm restrained here, my hands cuffed to the armrests of the chair, except unlike upstairs in the dining room, these cuffs are built-in to the chair. It was made for this, for holding someone in place.

I feel sick when I realise this. The second thing I realise is just... what this room is. I cast my gaze around the room. It's not small, but not enormous. The heat is coming from a huge hearth leaned against one wall, the stone around it stained black with soot from the smoke that misses the chimney. There's a lot of coals, fire pokers, and a bucket of water nearby.

The wall opposite the hearth features a barred door that I can't see into from here. Triangulated between myself, that door and the hearth is what looks to be the central feature of the room. A column from the floor to the ceiling, quite a wide one at that, with an ominous looking chain hanging down from the top of it.

Beside that column is a small table with a few items on it that I can't see from my position, but given the awful feeling I have about this room, I hold no reservations that they are anything which would alleviate my opinion on this room.

The door clangs shut behind me, I can hear the soldiers moving around back there, but what they're doing I have no idea.

“I imagine you’ve never seen down here before, have you Princess?" the General steps into my field of view from my right side. His face is almost shiny from the sheen of sweat on his forehead, most likely from the horrendous heat coming from that hearth rather than any nerves or exertion. "Well, there’s a good reason for that." He takes off his service jacket and hangs it up on a hook in the wall behind him, returning to the spot just in front of me.

"It allows you to live in your blissful ignorance and pretend that horrible things don’t happen here.”

He stands blocking me from the heat of the hearth, which I will say is somewhat a relief. It's roasting in here. I can only look up at him as he runs a hand through my hair, glaring at him with everything I have. If only looks could kill.

“This room doesn’t get used a lot, but I will admit, I have a certain fondness for it. And I think it’s time to introduce why this is to you, my dear,” my husband says, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves. I've never seen him do that in front of other soldiers. I mean, he looks like he's about to... do something himself. He'd never normally do that.

The only times I've ever seen him take off his jacket and loosen his tie like that is when he -

"Lieutenant."

At his order, the sound of a creaky metal door swings open, the door I could barely see. The soldier over there reaches in. A voice barks "come on, move it!", and quick, light footsteps follow immediately.

I choke on air when I realise who was in that room there.

All five of my Maidens of Honour - my friends - are stood lined up against the wall. All five of them, dishevelled and sweating from the heat, their hands tied up with rope in front of them. I've never seen their eyes so wide, so afraid, when they look at me. Anastazja is even sporting a bruise on her cheek that she did not have this morning. It's barely visible between the shadows and the flickering orange hellscape that this room is. Two soldiers are flanking them on either side, both of them are clearly armed, but none of the girls dare move from their spot on the wall.

The General lets go of my hair and saunters over in their direction, making a huge show of looking them each up and down, in turn. Matylda avoids his gaze completely. Karolina stares him down.

He reaches out and points at the redhead, an almost cartoonish exaggeration, as he says “Let’s start with you, Lawniczka. Bring her over here.”

The soldier to the right of the group immediately reaches for her, grabbing her by the bound wrists. She digs her heels into the ground where she stands, trying her damndest not to move from where she stands. Irena and Zofia, on either side of her, even grip a hold of her dress in an attempt to keep her there with them. But she - no, they - aren't any match for the soldier who emerges from behind me. He approaches and wields a knife. At first I thought he would hurt her with it, but all he does is untie the ropes binding her, before helping his comrade pull her away from the others. The shouts of protests that come from that side of the room are met with silence, not just from the soldiers, but from me. I would join them if I could.

The efficiency this team here has is alarming. Within seconds, each soldier has Karolina's arms restrained again at that central column. She's facing into the stone, away from me, her arms held high above her head with the chains pulled taut, keeping her from moving. Once her arms are secure, one of the soldiers reaches onto the table and grabs something, but before I have time to wonder what it was, it was forcibly shoved between Karolina's teeth and tied behind the back of her head, leaving her biting on a bit like saddled-up horses do.

Once my friend is helplessly tied up in her position, not even able to face me, I realise that the General isn't where he was prior. He's over by the hearth, using a poker to mess with a few of the coals in the scorching hot pyre, almost disinterested with the fact that he's got a woman tied up on his orders.

It's when he turns from the hearth, with the poker still in his grip, that I see what he is holding properly. The poker, white hot and smoking at the end, is not a fire poker at all. It's bigger, it's a letter.

'G'.

Karolina can't see it, but everyone else in this room can.

No! He can't!

He almost mockingly wipes sweat from his brow as he looks from the hearth to the other girls, still lined up by the cold stone wall.

"It's quite warm in here, men. Please, help these young ladies out of a few of their layers."

I want to cry out, to yell, to scream, to do anything to stop this, stop him from inflicting a terrible crime upon my friends. Another in a long list of crimes that he has already committed against them.

But I can't, I can't summon the will to scream loud enough that would make a difference, even if he would take heed and care for what I have to say. All I can do is wordlessly shake my head as the soldiers over there brutally tear at the dresses of my friends, even as they fight and struggle. Between the sounds of fabric being ripped apart and their desperate pleas, it's mortifying to behold.

The worst is the way a young soldier, probably not much older than myself, uses his knife on the dress Kasia is wearing as she stands, suspended to the column, utterly unable to fight back.

What remains of their dresses lie at their feet, leaving my dear friends standing in their underwear, barely covering anything.

And yet, the General is unphased by the brutality, marching towards the restrained redhead with the white hot branding iron in his hands.

"Thank you," the General says as he starts to stroke her long locks off her exposed back, lingering as he moves his hand down her side and stopping just above her underwear. I can see her trembling, hear her cry beneath the bit in her mouth.

The way he's touching her. How he brushes his fingers over her is sickening to watch, knowing about what he's done to them before today. The terrible thing is that I can't tell whether or not Karolina's reaction is because of this situation right now, or whether it's because of a… prior experience between the two. Neither of them are in any way comforting.

He holds up the iron, and looks over at me once more. That steely gaze cuts straight through me, he's completely set on what he's about to do. I shake my head at him, fighting with the metal restraints keeping me to this chair. His lips curl into a sickening smirk.

"Make sure she watches this, Lieutenant. Do not let her look away."

"Yes, sir."

The soldier behind me replies with a robotic affirmation to the task, like he was being asked to watch over a room where diplomats are having a meeting.

Like he wasn't being asked to participate in mutilating a friend of mine.

My husband raises the iron, and Irena screeches from where she stands. But if he wasn't listening to me, he most certainly would not listen to her.

And he presses it onto the my friend's lower back.

I've never heard such a sound come from a human before. I wasn't sure it was even possible. But the way that it pierced through me, it tore through my heart and made my stomach drop to the floor. I couldn't wipe away the tears, they obscured my vision of the horrific sight. My husband pressing a scorching hot iron onto the bare skin of my friend, whilst she's just screaming, shaking in her bindings, eyes screwed shut, pushing herself into the post in a vain attempt to get as far away from the pain as she can. I can't even imagine what that feels like, can barely comprehend what that must be doing to her.

With the same clinical efficiency as before, the General removes the iron and walks away, putting the iron back into the hot coals, as one of the soldiers picks up one of the buckets of water and tosses it over Kasia. She's still jarring, the chains clinking and her legs barely keeping her upright, but I can't tell if it's because of the lingering pain from the brand or from the cold salve.

Her long, wet hair obscures her eyes from my view as she's released from the shackles, and she collapses to the ground in front of the chair keeping me in place. I can't… I can't even comfort her. She's just sobbing, sprawled out on the floor in front of me, the red raw mark left on her lower back is glaring at me.

A mark of how I failed to protect her.

I blink away the tears and look over to the others, they're all in a petrified silence, watching the pair of us over here. Screwing my eyes shut, I can't look at them when they look that scared. They're scared because of me. Because of my stupid, stubborn -

“Who’s next, then?”

[kosmosian-quills]

His Last Letter

A sad sad piece I was inspired to make for this week’s @flashfictionfridayofficial​!

Set at the end/towards the end of the story.

POV: Anjelika/Angel

My hands are trembling as I take the hardback book from Michał's hand. It's a battered old thing. The pages worn away in the corners, the cover peeling away

"I've held on to it for almost a year for you, your majesty," he tells me, "I thought that you should have it.”

I run my fingers gently over the cover, where something has been either torn or cut out, leaving a strange hole in the centre. I open the book and on the first page, I am met with my father's signature.

Looping, controlled and with precision, it fills my heart with heavy, yet warm memories. Times when I had seen him sign his name. The way he curls the "j" in his forename, how he crosses the "ł" in his patronymic.

"Is this...?" I manage to croak out, not realising quite how painful it is to speak, tears slowly rolling down my cheeks.

"... Your father's diary, yes. Or, one of them," Michał looks down at me, "there weren't many, but this is the only one I could save. It starts around your birth, and ends..."

I turn to the next page. Sure enough, it's there - November 7th, 2005, scribed in that same loopy typography.

It has been an incredibly emotional few days. Two days ago, my daughter - my wonderful, angelic little girl - came into this world, and I couldn't be happier.

It feels wrong, it feels bad to read this. It feels like an intrusion, a forced entry into something I should never have read. Like I'm stepping on the incredibly private words of my late father.

I suppose, in a way, I am.

A part of me wants to close it here, to bury it in the deep recesses of my mind, and hide it away somewhere. Leave my father's words alone, let them stay unread and private.

But another part of me feels comforted by those words. I can read them in his voice. Feeling the love that he put into that sentence.

I skip forward a few pages and there is a photograph stuck in. An old, retro style photograph - square with a white border, slightly wider on the bottom, with a date written in neat calligraphy.

June 2006.

It's a little baby, presumably me, in front of a mirror with my hand resting on it. My head has turned to face the camera, like I was fascinated by my reflection, and someone called my name.

The entry below the photo says:

Anjelika loves her reflection, she loves talking to them. I could watch her all day.

I wipe away the tears in my eyes and realise that I'm in here alone now, Michał must have left me to read this by myself. A fact I am grateful for.

My heart aches when I look back down at the baby in the photo, little blue dress with smiling sunflowers looking back up at me. Father clearly loved me. I know he did. Why did he never show such affection as I grew older?

Why did he never play games or tell stories with me? It always seemed to be the matrons, my mother or - rarely - Dziadiu Jan.

I flip through the book further, my eyes catching on a newspaper cutting that has been stuck in close to the end of the book.

It's me, again. Except I remember this.

Crown Princess Anjelika officiates the centenery for the Związek Harcerstwa

Barely 2 years ago now.

Me, smiling to the cameras, holding a bunch of flowers that were gifted to me by the young ladies of the Związek Harcerstwa. I find it darkly humerous that this photo was published and not three hours afterwards, I had been held at gunpoint.

There's a whole three pages dedicated to this day. I suppose father had a lot to think about.

she's grown up so much... I regret that my mother isn't alive to see her granddaughter as she begins to follow in not just mine, but her footsteps... I was close to losing her today. I don't know what I would have done...

A loose piece of paper slips out of the back of the book as I flip forward again. I bend down to pick it up, and I realise that it's...

My beloved daughter, Anjelika,

My heart races. My chest tightens. My eyes fill with tears.

It pains me to write this. I have thought long and hard about what you were telling me.

You are my only child, and seeing you so upset by what I was suggesting has made me battle my own ideas about what is best for you. Please understand that all I wanted was for you to be looked after, I wanted you to become a woman who was loved and respected by someone she loved, who loved her equally in return, like the relationship your mother and I share. You never knew your grandparents on my side, but I was mortified at the thought of never seeing you have a family of your own.

I can understand now that forcing my idea of what is the best thing for you was not how I should have approached this. You know yourself better than I do, and your desire to remain unmarried for now is something I should have respected. The fact that I tried to force you into agreeing to court someone  you barely know has sickened me, and I am sorry for trying to do that to you. I hope you can forgive me.

I most especially should not have done this in light of what happened last year. I should have known better, and yet I did not see it.

I hope we can speak about this clearly tomorrow, and work together to decide the future you see yourself in, and I will be beside you with your mother every step of the way.

In my heart always,

your father

[kosmosian-quills]

Last Line Tag

I’ve been tagged like, twice by @writingonesdreams - thank you!

I feel very proud of myself, I actually did some writing today! Mainly stemming from some frustration because I SWEAR I wrote a specific thing, and I cannot find it anywhere, so I rewote it to fit a scene!

“I never did like this painting,” I say aloud, almost to myself, looking myself in the eyes as I do. Those wide, innocent, brown eyes. “That dress was itchy, I hated the fabric. I had to stand there for a long while until the artist had enough of my details. I remember I couldn’t wait to get out of it.” I finish on a slightly amused chuckle.

“I think it’s a lovely dress, Anjelika,” Karolina compliments. “It suits your eyes.”

“That’s what Mother said. That’s why I had to wear it.”

I plan on posting the whole scene tomorrow, but this is the last of the “new” stuff in the rewritten version!

Tagging @eluari, @ardawyn and @dove-actually!

[kosmosian-quills]

Last Line Tag

I have been tagged by.... a few people (off the top of my head, @musicofglassandwords, @writingonesdreams and @cirianne I think???) I’m very sorry if I missed you!

I have hit a slump recently (not great for NaNo admittedly) and haven’t actually written much in over 2 weeks so I haven’t got much to show, except a scene I was rather excited to write dialogue for and decided to skip right to instead of working chronologically.

A conversation between the General and Anjelika in the second half of the prequel!

“I was under the impression that - at the end of last year when I met my Maidens of Honour - you wanted me to spend time with them, get closer to them, so that it presents a warm and trusting image of myself to the public? You expect me to just… stop that when we’re in private? I want to keep up our relationship as much as I can.”

He sighs, looks away for a moment, before returning his gaze to me. “Your highness. You are going to be the head of state soon, and that soon will come quickly, I assure you. Sooner than you expect. The country will look to you as the leader, and want to see someone responsible at the helm, and wasting your time laughing and joking around does not give off a good impression.”

I blink at him, almost disbelieving that he is even concerned with this, but I don’t even think about interrupting him because he is not done talking.

“You’re simply acting childishly, too jovial for the situation at hand,” he continues, stare burning into me, “and believe me, it doesn’t inspire confidence in you, your highness. I am not the only one who thinks so.”

Tagging you three back, and @eluari, @ardawyn and @dove-actually!

[kosmosian-quills]

Approaching

My first piece of solid, uninterrupted writing for my story in over a month was a rewrite of a scene XD I’m trying to make use of some of the @yourocsbackstory​ scenes in the prequel, and this one is from the Week 2 - Friends prompt. I rewrote it to fit more chronologically with the story, and to include a little more worldbuilding.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Bidding farewell to my father, I leave his study and proceed back down the corridor. Karolina is waiting for me, as she usually does, ever diligent in her duty.

The sunset makes this part of the castle seem much darker than it is. The winter months of course do not help things in this regard, but at least the sweeping hallways are lit up earlier to compensate.

There’s no one here at this time of evening, except the occasional guard patrols every now and then, as well as us. It’s lonely, almost, with how the only sounds being our own footsteps and the echo of steps far away from us, ricocheting down the stone to us.

My thoughts are plagued with grandfather’s words, his encouragement, for me to speak up and say something to my Maidens of Honour. If not all of them, just one of them. After all, dividing a daunting task into manageable chunks is an apt way to solve the problem.

It’s just me and Karolina here.

I decide then and there that we’ll take the long route back to the residential wing of the castle. I don’t want to cut our journey short by arriving back at the room, and I would rather not be interrupted by passers-by. Somewhere private. I don’t voice this intention to her, simply keeping it to myself. For now, at least.

I slow my pace as we pass one of the windows on the very outside of this building, the dusk skyline a strange mixture of orange into grey, feeding into a rich, midnight blue. Karolina matches my pace, maintaining the few pace distance between us, yet slowing down all the same, not questioning my action at all. Not that I expected her to either way.

It doesn’t feel right. How do I even break this silence we have? It feels strange to simply start a conversation. What can I even say? I slow to a halt in the middle of the corridor, trying to will myself to say something, anything to break the silence. But I don’t have to, because she speaks first.

“Is something the matter, your highness?” she asks, voice rich with a genuine concern.

I close my eyes, take a silent breath, before forcing myself to answer her question.

“Actually… there is just one thing, Karolina,” I open my eyes, hold my left hand in the grip of my right hand, trying to hide just how nervous I am about this whole thing. “I apologise if this is forward of me, but may I ask you a personal question?” I turn around to face her, looking right into those deep emerald eyes of hers.

She nodded slightly, "of course, your majesty."

I took a moment, looking at her, stood there perfectly straight and tall, long hair stretching down the length of her back.

"My name is Anjelika," I fully turn my body around, so I am not looking over my shoulder, to face her properly, "please, call me Anjelika. In private, I don't mind. Please."

"Y-yes, Anjelika," Karolina seemed surprised at my request. Was this an odd one? I don't know. The only people in my life that have ever called me by my name are my family, no one else does. Karolina is the first person outside of my family to ever call me by my name.

“Let’s walk, Karolina,” I say, inviting her to come up beside me so that we can converse.

We aren’t moving quickly by any means, just slow steps down the corridor together, passing the various windows, banners, statues. Everything that decorates the hallways with life and colour.

“Do you… enjoy it?” I asked, watching her mesmerising emerald eyes for any kind of answer as we walked. She furrowed her brows to a slight questioning frown, so I continued quickly. “Living and working here, Karolina.”

“Of course, your – Anjelika. Why do you ask?” she tilted her head slightly, her bright red locks resting just so on her shoulder.

“Please, be honest with me,” I hold up a hand towards her, before returning it to its original position in my own grip, “I don’t know what you think of your positions, because you’re all so… quiet, about it. You don’t talk about it with me, and I’m… worried that I’m failing to uphold my end of the vow I made to you.”

She looked surprised at this, at my strange, odd request. My heart is racing as I watch her, and I can only hope that I haven’t offended her. But oh no, I’ve put her in a precarious position. She knows there is no consequence when I have insisted that she be honest with me, but… does she truly believe that? Does she think that I will dismiss her, based on my request? Is she thinking quickly, only trying to be honest enough that I don’t suspect anything is amiss? Does she want to try to placate me, to give me the answer I want to hear?

“If I may be honest…”

“Please, please do.”

“Anjelika… perhaps the reason we keep to ourselves is because we think you prefer your solitude.” She started almost hesitantly, carefully, not even looking at me yet. She had her hands clasped together in front of her, and nodded slightly as she spoke, before she finally looked me in the eyes and continued. “It’s not because we don’t want to be with you, that isn’t it at all, but you haven’t spoken to us much, nor initiated any kind of conversation with us.”

I listen closely to all of her words, both immensely relieved of her honesty, and a little hurt by it. Truth is always a bitter taste – you want it, you need it, but once you taste it, you wish you were still enveloped in your own blissful ignorance. But I can’t ask her to stop, I have to listen to everything she has to say. I still absolutely want to learn to be better.

“Maybe you could… try and be a little more involved, talk to us, and the others will open up just as much with you.” She shrugged lightly. She still seemed very nervous about how she spoke with me, and just what she was saying to me.

“I suppose you’re right, Karolina,” I replied, looking away from her and at the door to the main wing in the distance,  “I never thought of it that way. But what on earth do we talk about?”

There was something dancing on her lips, something like a smile, one that finally broke through the nerves. She seemed more comfortable, more at ease, and I… I like it this way.

“We have a lifetime to figure that out, because honestly, starting conversations is sort of hard for me too,” she explained, a nervous laugh edging the end of her sentence.

“I guess we both have a lot to learn,” I returned her smile, before looking down and away from her, taking a silent breath just before I continue, feeling that smile waver ever so slightly.

The nerves in the air somehow seem much lighter, not as overbearing. The atmosphere seems brighter despite the ever growing darkness in the world outside us. Taking a longer route somehow doesn’t seem as daunting. It’s nice to know that we’ll have this extra time together.

But there is one place that I didn’t consider in this particular route, a corridor that simultaneously gives me a feeling of tremendous pride and overwhelming pressure all at once.

Lining this stretch of hallway, equidistant apart from one another, are portraits. 8 of them, so far, to be exact. Each of them are painted during one very specific instance, and so every portrait shares an unmistakeable similarity. We come to a stop at the very end of the line of paintings.

Ever since our country was founded, the family that ruled in this castle have had portraits painted of the immediate family when the eldest child – the Crown Prince or Princess – turns 10 years old. Every single portrait on this wall has at least one child with the reigning monarchs behind them. The proud parents. It continues on to the next portrait, when that very child becomes the reigning monarch. It’s beautiful, in a way, that you can follow our family history right back in a very cohesive manner. You see them as a child, and then as an adult with a family, and then their child with their family.

My generation is no exception. The very last portrait here is one of me and my parents, painted on the very day I turned 10 years old. Stood between my parents, in a navy coloured dress, the golden tiara perched on my head. I was small back then, at least in comparison to some of the other 10 year olds in these paintings. Skinny, big brown eyes staring back at me, that small smile on my face. Father’s hand rested on my right shoulder, with my mother on my other side. My hair was longer back then, just about longer than my shoulders. I haven’t had it that long in years. This painting is also one of the three that have only one child featured. Even my father has his younger brother – my uncle - next to him in the painting next to ours.

The striking innocence in that painting, when life was so much simpler, it’s so strange to look back on.

But then, the pressure fills me with an overwhelming dread as I catch sight of the empty space next to them. The empty space that a portrait of my family will fill, somewhere in my future. Looking at the long line of my ancestors, one after another, all playing a very important role in this country.

I wonder, did all of my ancestors feel this way when they looked upon the many paintings before theirs? Of course, a swell of pride, but a deep rooted anxiety that their rule will be remarkable for the wrong reasons. I would hate to shame my family like that, to crash everything to a grinding halt. But then again, many of their reigns were unremarkable. Is that the goal? To be so unremarkable that I’m not a blemish on my family name, or to be so remarkable that my impression is left for generations to come?

I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never find out.

But honestly, I also wonder if my Maidens think the same way about their role.

“I never did like this painting,” I say aloud, almost to myself, looking myself in the eyes as I do. Those wide, innocent, brown eyes. “That dress was itchy, I hated the fabric. I had to stand there for a long while until the artist had enough of my details. I remember I couldn’t wait to get out of it.” I finish on a slightly amused chuckle.

“I think it’s a lovely dress, Anjelika,” Karolina compliments. “It suits your eyes.”

“That’s what mother said. That’s why I had to wear it,” I smile at my companion, and she returns it. It’s so nice to see, it feels so warm.

And yet, something is still plaguing my thoughts. All we’ve talked about, until now, is me. About my situation and my position, and I feel awful that I haven’t even extended the slightest courtesy to Karolina of the same respect. But she will have been told not to expect to tell me anything. After all, according to the older and wiser people who run the household, I don’t need to know about them. They just need to know me.

But that’s a lie. I do need to know them. I want to.

"Karolina, I feel like I don't know any of you.” I break our eye contact for the first time, feeling immensely guilty about it. “You all know me. You were told everything about me the moment you were accepted into your role."

She’s watching me, not interrupting or even making any kind of indication that she wanted to speak next, so I continued, hoping she’ll understand, hoping that this will not backfire exponentially. I was taking her earlier advice, after all. The best I can do is to prove myself to her, that I want to know her better.

"We perform the activities we do because they are the ones I chose, but I want to know what you all like to do. I..." I hesitated, my gaze fixated on the vase just over her shoulder, on the table over there, "I want us to be friends. I don't want my only human interactions with you to be on a hierarchy. I want us to be…”

I had to actively fight to stop me saying something too forward, too serious. This was such a vulnerable conversation and I want nothing more than a real friend, but I just can’t say it. This also seems to private to be talking about in this place, but I know that if I don’t do it now, I never will.

"I would love to be able to laugh with you, cry with you and do everything that friends do, but… I’m sorry, I don't know how. I've never had a friend before, just my cousin, and he, well..."

I didn’t have to continue, because she interrupted me before I could totally humiliate myself.

"Gardening."

I looked up at her.

"I love to garden," she said, smiling at me warmly, "back home, our garden was full of crops year round. We would harvest the apples and make szarlotka, and the strawberries made the best fruit tarts. It tasted better knowing our hard work made them possible."

I could feel that same smile creep back onto my lips, and for the first time in ages I felt truly at ease… truly happy, "I'm sure if we asked, we could get our hands on a portion of the grounds and we can plant some crops together."

"That would be lovely, thank you, Anjelika."

"You’re welcome, Karolina.”

[kosmosian-quills]

Camp Nano - Day 1

Wooo! Camp NaNo has started! And I’m off to a good start, so I thought I’d share this! It’s the first scene, I’ve written the basic outline of this before but I’ve changed some things slightly to make the story make a bit more sense. I have written more today but I’m not entirely happy with it as it stands, so I’m going to skip that over for now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and the best of luck with your Camp NaNo projects if you’re taking part!

November that year was bitter, but I didn't have time to dwell on how cold the gardens were. Not today.

Age 17 is the year the Crown Prince or Princess is assigned his or her companions.

I was hesitant about this. The entire premise of this... they are assigned to me. Great. The only people I will be able to interact with on a personal level that are not immediately related to me and I don't even get to choose them.

The companions (for the Prince, his Grooms of the Stole, for the Princess, her Maidens of Honour) will accompany and assist the Prince or Princess in the day to day lives and act as confidantes.

Father assured me that he had made good matches for me. Respectable matches, girls who have their own identities and achievements of their own merit. I can only assume he means they come from the various towns around Kosmos.

There shall be five companions assigned to the Prince or Princess, and they will live in the castle with the Prince or Princess.

That part always worried me. They would be leaving their families, their homes, to come live with me. They might have only ever come to the capital one or two times, maybe come on a tour of the castle with their school as children, but now they would be moving into my home, living in the room next door to mine.

The companions shall engage with the Prince or Princess through any and all public appearances.

This also means spend almost every minutes of my private life with them as well.

The companions shall be educated with the Prince or Princess and must complete their schooling.

Not that there is much schooling left to do around age 17, but it all depends upon the ages of my "companions" when I meet them. The youngest was my grandmother's, at 15 when they met, but she fit in apparently. But father said he didn't get on well with one of his Grooms, so I must always maintain a professional relationship with them. Remember that. If you get too personal, it can open cracks that can fester and infect the relationship. It could make your life much more miserable.

I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure my dress was straight. Happy birthday to me, I thought. Father always said that having my maidens would be a great chance to earn some public respect by completing acts of charity like he had done. I understood this, but my main problem was my lack of choice. The maidens will have known for weeks now, and will be all packed and ready for their Officiation.

Basically, we all meet in the great hall. The Ruling Monarch, in this case it is my father, will then ask each of them if they are willing to join me, in front of witnesses. The witnesses include the families of those who are to be my maidens. I am to bow to the maidens, and they bow to me. One at a time. I am stood in front of my father, and they are stood in a line some ten feet away. They will bow to me one at a time until they are all Officiated into my service. I will thank them individually as they are introduced to me. Then I am to lead them to their rooms where they can unpack their belongings before officially starting.

Technically speaking, the maidens will be briefed on what they are expected to do, their duties and responsibilities to me and the crown. I won't have to mention this unless I ask them to do something else, because everything they need to know is drilled into them before they start.

This journey, to the main hall from my bedroom, would mark the last time I am officially allowed to walk the corridors unaccompanied.

The day of my 17th birthday.

I made my way down the stone corridors, straightening my sleeves as I went. The guards I passed lowered their heads and didn't make a sound until I passed them. I could feel the chill from the open window nearby, and these corridors were not insulated. The rooms were, but these corridors could freeze in winter. We were out to sea, technically, since we were off the mainland. It had occurred to me how this may take some getting used to for them.

“Excuse me, your highness -” a voice from behind calls to me. One of the guards I had just passed. I turned back around to face them, halting in my place.

One of the guards was still front facing away from me, stood completely to attention. But the other one - a tall, well built man with dark hair and tanned skin, with deep brown eyes that spoke volumes. He stepped forwards, an arm outstretched towards me, something in his hand. My ribbon, from one of my sleeves.

Instinctively I look down at my sleeves, and realise that it is indeed my ribbon. The left sleeve was missing the ribbon which kept the sleeve tight, the right one still tied in its bow.

I turn back around and step closer to the guard. His head is still bowed down as he offers the ribbon back to me, and doesn’t look me in the eye.

“Thank you very much, Sergeant…?” I ask, taking the ribbon from him.

“Corporal, your highness,” he corrects me, standing tall and perfectly straight, his arms snapped by his side as soon as I take the ribbon from him. “Corporal Jeleń, your highness.”

“My apologies - thank you, Corporal.”

I bowed my head down a little, fixing the ribbon on my sleeve, before I turned back around and walked away. I could hear him salute behind me, and I continued to make my way to my destination.

I arrive in the main hall barely a minute later and take my assigned seat just behind my father's throne. I clasp my hands together in front of me, on my knees, and look up at the crowd, trying not to make any specific eye contact. I keep my eyes on the decorative banners that hang from the high ceiling, the burgundy and blue stripes with a golden insignia. They sway softly in the air, gently lit by the lights hanging nearby. I can hear the chatter of the witnesses but I try my best not to look up.

I knew the layout of this room as well as everyone else did. The door from which I had entered was the quickest way to my assigned seating, which had remained unchanged for the ruling monarch of my country since it's construction in the 18th century. Our seats were on a slightly elevated platform with plenty of room on either side for more chairs to be added (in the case of multiple siblings, assuming they ever made it to adulthood). The regal King or Queen was seated centrally, their husband or wife seated slightly behind them to their right, and any children were behind them and slightly to the left. If I had a few brothers or sisters, I would still have the seat closest to my father. This spot is reserved specifically for the Crown Prince or Princess.

The room in front of us was almost like a church. Just below our platform was a decently sized open area, and behind that are several rows of seats. These seats are not 100% filled to capacity. In the grand scheme of things, this Officiation is pointless when there are more pressing matters at hand. And at the end of the day, it was redundant to hold this. The Maidens have already accepted the role by simply turning up.

"All rise!"

The words from the usher to my right brought the hall to silence within a second. With that, my father arrived into the room. He took his place at my side, but did not take his seat. I remained stood to, I had to. I had no chance to take a seat now.

"We are gathered here for the Officiation of the Maidens of Honour," the usher proclaimed, still stood to my side, "who will serve the Crown Princess Anjelika Maciejewska Górskanka, daughter of King Maciej Pawełski Górskanki."

I wish he would hurry this along, I hate staring at the crowd aimlessly

"Would the five chosen maidens step forward?"

I watched as they emerged from the crowd, the five chosen to be my companions, friends chosen for me. What is that adage, you can't choose your family but you can choose your friends? Ha, I don't even have that luxury.

"Królewna Anjelika, please step forward."

Taking my place in front of my father's throne, I must stand straight, my hands clasped in front of me. This was the first time I had a proper look at the girls who were chosen as my Maidens.

From left to right, visually, all of them differed. In height, in posture, in looks. They all shared a similar facial expression, one of neutrality. I saw no trace of happiness to be here, but again I saw no sadness. If only I could see their eyes, eyes tell stories where words fail. All of them had their eyes to the floor.

“Zofia Mateuszewska Wójcika.“

The first girl was much darker in skin tone to the others. Her hair shoulder length and dark too. I couldn’t see her eyes because they were facing the ground. Something I did notice was how one of her legs was positioned, it looked odd for some reason that I couldn’t place yet. She curtsied to me, and I to her.

The King spoke next. “Do you accept the title and role of Maiden of Honour?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Will you fulfil those duties diligently and respectfully?”

“I will, your majesty.”

This is time for my words. “Welcome, Zofia. You may rise.”

She kept her eyes down but returned to her original posture. It occurred to me, as she stood up, just what was funny about how she was standing. She had a prosthetic leg. I barely noticed, because it didn’t make a sound and it was well hidden underneath her clothes. She did not seem bothered by it, she must have had it for a long time.

The next girl was addressed.

“Anastazja Fabianewska Lewandowska"

The wavy blonde hair rested on her shoulders, almost hiding her face as she bowed her head to me as she curtsied to me. She was wearing a similar suit to Zofia, except her blazer was longer and seemed higher up her neck than the smart cut that Zofia was wearing.

She was asked the ritualistic questions. I thanked her.

The cycle continues.

“Karolina Łukaszewiczka Lawniczka.”

A long haired redhead bowed her head this time. She was tall and fair skinned, and I did catch a glimpse of mesmerising green eyes beneath her red hair. She was skinny too, but her tall legs only accentuated this point. She was wearing a grey cardigan over a navy blue skirt that went down to her thighs.

“Irena Igorewska Dąbrowska“

The girl named Irena was a short, bespectacled girl, with shoulder length brown hair. She was more tanned in skin colour, but not as dark as Zofia was. She was wearing a white blouse with a blue ribbon tied perfectly centred, and a knee length pleated skirt.

“Matylda Benedictinska Wiśniewska“

There was a definite gap in age between this girl Matylda and the others. This one had a baby face and she looked at least three years younger than myself. She even acted like it, considering that she very, very briefly made eye contact with me before darting her gaze down to the floor, where everyone else's was. She was wearing a knee length grey skirt and dark tights, a white blouse and navy waistcoat.

That’s it, it’s over.

I suppose this will take some getting used to for all of us here.

[kosmosian-quills]

Camp NaNo - Day 7

The follow up to yesterdays Day Six Drabble! I actually changed a few things I had initially planned for this scene but this is a first draft after all, so things might change a bit later.

I hope you enjoy!

I don’t get the chance to visit my grandfather often, but when I do, there’s nothing quite like the overwhelming sense of nostalgia that washes over me as I am driven down the lonely road to his cottage.

The autumnal sunlight that streams down from the sky through the ceiling of trees is the same as always, even if the trees have mostly lost their leaves by now - if not they are burning red and orange, settling to the dirt.

The slightly bumpy path that the car takes is almost a comfort, knowing that what lies at the end of the path is so very precious to me. The wildflowers that have bloomed through the summer are still clinging on, by the looks of things, even if they don’t look nearly as lively as they would two months ago.

Soon, I can see my destination through the trees, to my left. The road didn’t turn yet, so I had a good long look at the cobbled fence that surrounds the house and land. I can’t see anyone yet, but that’s fine. Grandfather is probably in the garden tending his plot, if not in the house. He normally is, at least.

Everything is exactly as it used to be. It’s quaint and unassuming, bricks and a thatched roof, windows with flowerpots hanging out of them, shutters open with the windows closed, the water butt next to the door that connects to the drainpipes. I can see the tool shed in the corner of the garden, near the tall tree that has been there as long as I can remember, the swing still hanging from the sturdy branches.

After all these years, he’s kept that swing there for me. It was one of the first things I remember him doing for me as a child, and he’s kept it for me, even going as far as to keep the paint on the seat topped up with a fresh layer every few years. I can’t remember the last time I played on that swing, honestly. Maybe when I was around 13? I am not certain.

The sound of the car approaching clearly was a signal to my grandfather, because I saw him pop up from among the wall, where I know his little plots are. He gets up slowly, it clearly takes effort, but I don’t care about that when the smile he has on his face as he takes off his gloves is so warm and welcoming.

We pull up just by the steel gate and I wait for the door to be opened for me. I can see my grandfather slowly making his way around the house, and slow was the operative word. He’s much less mobile than he was before, but then again, he is an elderly gentleman. It’s still a little strange to see him so frail though. He even looks paler than usual.

I don’t hesitate though, I don’t try to hide my happiness at seeing him again

Leaving the driver with the car - as is normally the case when I come visit grandfather - I open the gate and step inside to greet him. He’s propping himself up with his pitchfork as he walks, but I don’t care about that.

His weathered face, wisps of silver hair on the top of his head, dirty overalls and an orange fleece that he wears when gardening. So normal. Familiar.

“Dziadziu,” I smiled and wrapped my arms around him for a gentle hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

“Ah, the same to you, aniołku,” he replies, patting me on the back gently before pulling away from me.

A small pattering of footsteps appear at my feet, and I look down to see a little smoky-haired grey cat rubbing it’s head against my legs. I bend down to greet the cat, and he purrs with delight when I scratch the little spot behind his ears.

“Mruczek, still happy to see me.”

Mruczek became a part of my grandfather’s household when I was 12 years old. He was part of a litter that my grandmother’s cat had before she died.

He liked to wander off on his own, but rest assured that he would always come back. He always had a fondness for my grandfather, keeping him company after my grandmother’s death. He liked me too, and grandfather let me choose what to name him. Mruczek - the one who meows - is what I chose. Grandfather still tells me that I had options like “Szarak” for his grey coat and “Chmurek”, for the way he looks like a raincloud rather than a snow white one.

The cat leads the way into the house, and I simply linked arms with my grandfather and helped him inside, out of the cold.

“So how have you been, Anjelika?” he asks me, taking his seat in the living room, letting out a small sigh as he did so, his words that followed spoken slower than usual. “Did you have a good birthday? Your mother showed me a photograph from your Officiation Ceremony.”

“It was good, thank you,” I replied, taking my seat on the sofa beside his recliner. “You seem a little pale, Dziadziu. Are you sick?”

“No more than the last time you saw me.”

I remember him having a cold when I saw him last, and he seemed okay with it, but I am still concerned for his health. He isn’t a spring chicken anymore, by any stretch of the imagination.

“I have something to ask you, Dziadziu, something I’m… not sure how to deal with.” I ask, my voice hopefully rich with sincerity. I’ve come for his wisdom in the past, and come for his affections, I hope he’ll continue to help me now. “Father told me two days ago that he wanted me to use my Maidens of Honour, and act like their friends, for the purpose of building a more promising public image.”

I look away from him briefly, because Mruczek was creeping across the back of the sofa and curling up next to me. I spend the moment stroking his soft coat of fur before continuing to speak. Mruczek always did seem to know how to make me feel better.

“The thing is, I’m not sure… how. Father wants me to act like their friend, not… not really be their friend.” I tell him. I haven’t made any progress on his request, and I know that this seems so wrong, but I just didn’t know what to do and felt that receiving impartial advice was the best thing to do. “I don’t want to lie to them, at all.”

“Have you tried talking to them?” He asked, cocking his head to the side a little.

I shrugged. “Well… I wanted to talk to them last week, before father’s request, but I just… I got worried, and just left without anything else because I didn’t know what to do. How to talk to them, I mean.”

“Hm,” he pauses for a moment, looking at me, but I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts at all. “So you don’t want to lie to them, but you also don’t want to disobey his Royal Highness, right?” he asks with a small smirk. It does put me at ease a little, but I am still a little concerned.

“Yes.”

“Well, I think that you should be their friend.”

I blink, unsure of whether I heard him correctly.

“Hear me out, Anjelika - your father wants you to act like their friend, and not be their friend. Honestly, that sounds like a huge conflict in instruction and impossible to carry out. The best way to act as someone’s friend is to be their friend, and you don’t want to lie to these girls, do you?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your answer. Be honest with them if you want, or pretend your father never gave the order, but becoming their friend will help you in this scenario.”

The answer sounds so simple when he says it like that, but there’s still an element of tactfulness involved in whether or not I tell them that getting to know them is on my father’s orders. They know it’s not normal either, to be friends with the Princess, so how can I make it seem genuine and not forced?

“I appreciate the advice, Dziadziu, I really do - and I shall act on it - but I just… I don’t know how to approach them. How can I start this friendship, then? I am someone who was raised as a Princess, and all they call me is “your highness”, and I’m still getting used to their names and I barely know anything about them.”

“That’s how all friendships start, Anjelika, with total strangers coming together. Start with your name. Friends won’t live on a hierarchy, Anjelika. Ask them to call you whatever you want to be called.” He nods at me. “Of course, as you stated, your situation is different. Your mother will know that more than anyone. She married into your father’s family not knowing the first thing about how the Royal Family truly operates. Of course she had to learn these things, but you’ll learn more from these girls than you would if you don’t become their friend.”

I nod, “I’m aware that these differences can and will be good for me. I want to learn from them what I can, they’re all so… unique, but the thing is that I don’t know how is best to approach them. To tell them that I want to learn from them, to make myself improve.”

“I understand your concerns and they are all completely valid worries. As you stated in your last visit, they are girls chosen for you and not by you. That means that double the effort is required to get to know each other.” He sounds so compassionate and wise all at once, his brown eyes just like mine are so warm in contrast to the bitter air outside. “I’m sure they’re a little bit intimidated by you too. You’re in a position of power and security that they’ll have never experienced before. They’ll be worried about saying the wrong thing, upsetting you, and getting in trouble.”

“I don’t want them to have that worry, though.”

“They are not mind readers, you will have to communicate this with them. Communication is the solution to this entire concern of yours. It’s all very scary, I know it is, living with near strangers and working with them too. Start by initiating polite conversations at mealtimes. How about asking them what their homes are like? Their families? Their interests? This will be an opportunity for not only you to get to know more about them, but for them to get to know more about you.”

He is right, of course, again this just sounds so much easier than it is in my head. In my head it’s all a mess, a fear of getting things wrong and insulting them with my questions. I don’t want that at all. It’s probably why I’ve avoided speaking with them much since I met them, that debilitating fear of being… being insensitive, and rude, when I’ve been raised to be anything but.

“Just speak to them? It seems like a lot of work all at once, Dziadziu,” I feel Mruczek move from under my hand and skip out of the door quickly. I briefly wonder where he’s going, but he’ll be back soon no doubt.

He shrugs. “Well, if doing it all at once is so daunting, try breaking it down into more manageable chunks.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Speak with them one at a time. If you find yourself with just one of these girls, it will be easier for you both, won’t it? Rather than submitting to the ordeal in front of everyone.”

“I suppose so - okay, thank you, Dziadziu.”

He coughs and splutters loudly after I thank him, and it seems to go on for a moment too long. I lean forward, and just as my question of are you alright? forms on my lips, he stops, and looks at me with a hand raised. Stop.

“I’m alright, Anjelika.”

I nod slowly, not quite believing that this is true. I want to believe he is, but all the same, he isn’t a young man anymore. “If you’re sure…”

His familiar smile lights up his face again as he relaxes on the seat properly once more. “Now then, why don’t you tell me about what incredible feats your mistress Anna is putting you through for your training?”

I don’t recall how long I was sat there, exchanging stories with him for. Some my own, some of his long distant memories of his youth with my grandmother and mother. He’s got a gift for storytelling that I’ll never be able to match, always able to keep it interesting and meaningful.

So when the time finally came for me to say goodbye until next time, it felt like a huge loss. Grandfather Jan always has been able to give me the love, attention and affection I’ve craved since I was a child, and I adore him for everything he’s done for me. Fitting me the swing on the old tree, painting the wall in my bedroom, all wonderful things that I treasure forever. I am his only grandchild, so I suppose it’s only natural that he would shower me exclusively with such treatment.

And whilst he never went against the things my parents raised me with, he did give me something that they didn’t, and that was the praise and support I needed to face everything.

I don’t think he realises just how much it all does mean to me.

“Thank you, Dziadziu. I am very grateful that your support can always be relied upon.”

“I’ll always do what I can for you. Aniołku. Just don’t get worked up. Write to me, and let me know how things go, yes?”

“Goodbye, Dziadziu.”

[kosmosian-quills]

Camp NaNo - Day 6

I hope everyone is doing well! Sorry for the lack of updates, I have been having something of a rough time with family at the moment but I’ve been trying to keep on top of writing at least.

Anyway, this is a direct follow-up to the drabble I posted on Day 1. I used (and edited) a small portion of the Week 2 Backstory drabble I did for Anjelika, because I could make it fit :)

I hope you enjoy!

Why is it that whenever I enter a room, the smiles fade and the laughter dies?

It’s every time, without fail, and I can only feel immense jealousy at the thought that they are laughing. Smiling. Enjoying their time together and my absence is the only reason they are able to do so.

It has been three weeks since they moved here to work for me, and have done their jobs as required of them, but they all seem rather reserved, keeping to themselves. I’m not surprised, or rather, I shouldn’t be. They’re away from home, probably for the first time in their lives, and in a very hands on job that they were chosen for. It must be intimidating, for them to leave their family and friends behind like that.

At least, that’s what I thought was happening. I thought that all I was seeing was the whole story. But as I should know by now, it never is.

I can hear them from where I stand, behind the cold wooden door. My hand is poised just an inch away from it, but I daren’t knock. I just freeze in place, listening to the conversation on the other side of that door. It’s Zofia’s bedroom, but she isn’t in there alone. It sounds like the other four are in there too.

I want to go in there and join them, I want to know what they’re laughing at, I want to know what makes them so happy.

But I can’t.

I just know that it will stop the moment I do, and it will only deepen the rift between us. I can’t help it, though. I would like to be a part of that, a part of their normal conversations. All of mine are some kind of script, whether I like it or not.

I want to go and be with them, but I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how.

I concede defeat here, and soundlessly walk back to my room, closing the door behind me, leaving me feeling more alone than I have ever felt in my life.

I like to think that I have a good relationship with my father. He trusts me, he treats me like an adult, and involves me in some matters regarding the running of a country.

Today, we’re having lunch together and discussing such matters. Nothing too outlandish or problematic. Thankfully trivial matters. Easily solved matters - the regenerative projects in wildlife conservation sites.

Father is a good man, I believe, doing what he can for the betterment of our citizens. It’s not an easy job for him, and I should know based on what I have been studying under him.

He’s not a young man anymore. Nearly in his 50’s now, and that was certainly clear in his face, yet his appearance still maintained the dignity and vigour of his younger years. His dark brown hair thinning out with wisps of grey sneaking through.

He’s sat as perfectly postured as he usually is, spine straight yet leaned forwards towards the desk, looking over his documents with me. The various files and reports of the non-urgent matters that need dealing with.

Someone outside knocks on the door, and father calls to them. “Come in,” in that commanding tone he’s used to

I take a sip of my tea as the door swings open, and in steps one of my father’s most trusted advisers.

General Gniewek was rather like father, certainly not far behind in his age, but he was a soldier for many years before ascending the ranks to become my father’s military adviser. I personally see no need for him. We aren’t at war, and don’t ever want to be. We are only a small island, after all, antagonising another country would be suicide.

The General was tall, well built and you could tell he still partakes in exercises to maintain his fitness. Well, he needs it I suppose, as a military man. His dark green coat with golden shoulder pads and the little stars on the lapel of his jacket, all fine intricacies that really show what he has done for this country.

“Your Majesties,” he stands by the door for a moment, saluting us with his cap tucked under one of his arms.

My father acknowledges him, and bids him to approach.

Just because I see no reason for his job, does not mean that I don’t respect him and his loyalty to my father. I nod as he approaches. I have no reason to speak with him, just as he has no reason to speak to me. Well, I think, anyway.

“How are things, General?”

“Personally or professionally, your majesty?”

Father chuckles. “Well, both, I suppose. At ease.”

“Things are good, personally. I have a few concerns, however, that I feel need to be addressed, your majesty.” He tells us, looking right at my father, with him still stood across the desk from us.

I put my teacup down on the saucer, and wait for him to continue.

“Like what, General?”

“I have received multiple reports that there is growing dissent among the population regarding the Royal Family. People are wondering what you even do in this day and age, as opposed to the democratic leaders.”

I shortly look over at my father. This is certainly worrisome to me, at least a little, because this is indeed the kind of thing that father needs me to be aware of. This is a problem that will pass to me if not dealt with, but how to deal with it is a mystery to me. I don’t know how on earth I would start to deal with this.

“And there has been a slow rise in hate groups in the last month. Not many, but if this is allowed to fester things will get worse.”

Father looks across at me, and I look back at him, waiting for his response.

“You know, General, I believe my daughter could be of some use to us, here,” he says, adjusting his seated position slightly.

I feel my voice catch in my throat, and stammer, “m-me, father?” I don’t know what he has planned, but I am now definitely very worried indeed.

“Please, do tell, your Majesty.”

Father turns aside to face me, almost disregarding what the General said to him. “How are things with your Maidens of Honour, Anjelika?”

I frown a little, puzzled at the question, and answer slowly, hesitantly. Where is he going with this? “Unclear, father.”

“Well, the way I see it, we need some way to improve our public standing and image, correct?” he doesn’t wait for an answer, but does pause for an ever so brief moment before continuing. “You should do well-meaning public appearances with your Maidens of Honour. Act like their friend. Make our image a little more promising. And besides… you’re going to be the Queen one day, the public should see and get to know more about who exactly that Queen is going to be. Give them confidence, faith that the future is in very good hands for them.”

I think I understand his reasoning. It’s not without logic, certainly. It would be a nice way to get to know them, too, since I spent most of the last few nights wondering how to do that.

“So, you want me to make friends with my Maidens of Honour, father?” I ask him, slowly, making sure I understand what he was asking of me.

“Not necessarily, Anjelika. They are your companions, but I certainly don’t expect you to be real friends with them.”

“But you just said that you want me to be their friend…”

“Your highness,” the General interrupts me. “Your father’s idea is sound, but he does not require you to become close with your Maidens of Honour. Simply act like it.”

Act like it.

Make a big lie out of our relationship?

Make it all a fraud?

That seems… disingenuous. It seems wrong. I don’t want to lie to them. Until now, I wanted to really become their friend, but to be told to fake the relationship for the betterment of my father - of me - seems like a terrible thing for me to do. It won’t be real, what if they think it is?

How do they think I should even do this? What should I… what should I do?

“Put on an act, for the public, and things will be far easier for everyone. Do you understand me, Anjelika?”

I look down at my hands, wondering just how he wants me to do this. It seems so, so wrong, I don’t like this idea at all.

“Yes, father,” I reply, looking back up at him, “I will.”

I don’t even listen to the pair of them now, what they’re talking about in there. It just doesn’t seem real at all. What they’re asking of me. Did father ever do this with his Grooms of the Stole? Lead them on a hunt for a friendship that was never real to begin with? I can’t believe it, honestly.

I was struggling to think of ways to even approach my Maidens on a normal day, so how on earth am I supposed to make a fake friendship when I don’t even know what a real one is?

I suddenly remembered the letter I was delivered this morning. How Irena had delivered it with a straight face and a curtsy. The thick parchment, my name in loopy calligraphy, and the contents that made my chest feel so much lighter. I know exactly who wrote it to me without even opening it, and inside was an invitation. To go see them, so go back home.

Perhaps my grandfather has an idea for what to do here.

[kosmosian-quills]

My New Name

A follow up to Hunted, that I posted the other day. It took me 4 whole days to fix two lines of dialogue and honestly I hate that it took me so long, but I’m happy with how this scene turned out.

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Anjelika

“Did you hear what I said?” the cool, stern voice repeats as I remain motionless on the floor. “Hands on your head. I am not messing around.”

I slowly do as I’m told, bringing my trembling hands up to my sodden hair. I didn’t want to move too quickly. I didn’t want to make any sudden moves. I know that’s a weapon they have, and I don’t want them to hurt me.

I should have known someone was in here. I was stupid to think it would be empty.

The person behind me is not alone, I can tell that much. There’s the sound of soft footsteps on a rug at the far end of the living room, probably by the door that leads to the hallway. But are there more hidden in this house too? How long have they been here? And… why?

Oh no, this was a terrible idea. No, this was an abhorrent idea on another level.

Are they soldiers? Sent here to wait for my arrival? Knowing that this is a place I consider to be safe, to hide in?

No, this can’t be happening. I’ve walked right into this. I’m so stupid, I should have just kept going. I should have known that this place wouldn’t be safe anymore. Even if Grandfather was still alive and living here, it’s dangerous!

“W-who are y-you?” I ask the one behind me, the fact that I am very cold indeed is clearly evident in my voice, my head turned slightly to the side but not totally facing them.

“Funny how you think that you get to ask that question.” The coldness in their voice was enough to keep me silent, because I certainly held no cards in this situation. The weapon was removed from the back of my neck, and the one behind me suddenly grabbed my right wrist and pulled it down behind my back, doing the same with my left wrist. They tied my hands together far tighter than necessary, because I can feel the numbness in my fingertips from lack of blood circulation.

No, this is not happening. This can’t be.

Fighting to keep my tears to myself was a challenge. I don’t want to show how scared I am, I don’t, but I’m all alone and can’t do anything now. There’s at least two people here who have weapons, and they’ve tied me up. I can’t do anything to escape now. I tug at my bindings just to be sure, and certainly, they’re so tight I can’t do anything to get out of them.

I can hear the person take several steps back, leaving me shivering by the window, but they don’t leave the room yet. I know they don’t. I don’t dare try and move either. They still have the upper hand here. I stand no chance.

“How did you find us?” they ask, an impatient coldness in their voice.

I’m thinking fast. How am I supposed to answer that? What if that man that chased me – the man that died – was someone they know? How am I supposed to tell them that I killed a man for this?

“I, I got lost,” I stammered. I hope that they realise my quivering voice is a result of my cold, and not of deceit. “It’s, it’s st-ormy out there, I, I thought I’d be safe he-re…”

“What were you doing in these woods?”

“I… I was trying to run away –“

“You’re going to have to be a better liar than this. Tell us who you’re working for.”

“But I –“ I dare to turn my head around slightly to face them, but don’t get more than a little way before something hits the wooden floor, hard. A warning. My head snaps back forward facing, not daring to try that again. “I’m not working for anyone –“

“Why else would you just miraculously find a house like this?”

“Because my grandfather used to live here!”

There’s silence on their part as they process what I was just saying. I hope they see sense in that I am not lying, but I’m not done yet.

“Nice try. It’s been abandoned for years. Now stop lying to us and tell us why you’re really here.”

Desperation creeps further into my voice, and I shake my head slightly as I speak. “Listen, please, this was my grandfather’s house –“

They interrupted me like I had never even opened my mouth, simply talking over me as though one is trying to talk over a child having a tantrum. Speaking slowly and enunciating every single word. “Who. Do. You. Work. For?”

“No, this is really my mother’s house!” I shout, trying to make myself heard over their own petty attempt at talking down to me. They said no more once I had my outburst, so I took this as my golden opportunity to keep talking. “I spent a lot of time here as a child. I promise I’m not working for anyone. In fact, I don’t want anyone to know I’m here!”

I dare to turn my head around slightly, yet not face them totally. They didn’t try and scare me into stopping, either. I took a deep breath, and continued.

“But I can prove that I know this house to you.” I closed my eyes, searching through every memory I have of this house, things I barely paid any attention to as a child when I stayed here, trying to give the most vivid description of such mundane things, to the best of my knowledge. I just hope that a few things have stayed the same, to at least verify my story. “Outside the living room door to the right is the front door. To the left is the staircase and the kitchen door. There’s an old wood store in the cupboard under the stairs. Upstairs there’s three bedrooms – the one at the end of the corridor, the one with the blue door, it has red curtains. One of them has a tear in the corner. I know it does, because I pulled on the curtains when I was a child and tore them. Please, what else can I do to prove my sincerity?”

There is no answer to my question. I can’t hear any kind of deliberation, or any hint that they believe me. What if Mother got rid of those old curtains after Dziadziu died? What if the cupboard under the stairs was cleared out and cleaned, no sign that it once held hundreds of logs for the wood burner in here?

“Please, can you at least… get me a blanket? I’m very cold over here…” My voice trails off, as I feel strange asking such a thing of them when they haven’t given me any indication that they even heard me.

Finally, another voice sounds. It’s not as deep or gruff as the other voice. It’s still stern, but there’s no coldness beneath it. More… concern, I think. It sounds warmer. More gentle.

“Who exactly are you?” I can hear them step closer. There’s a single step, then hesitation, before they recommence and come over to my side.

I turn my head to totally face the person who is right beside me, not breaking the eye contact they established.

It’s a woman, this time. Probably in her mid-30’s, with rich blonde hair and brown eyes. She’s got a round face, and an expression that reminds me of my ballet mistress. Strict, yet gentle. Someone who takes no nonsense from anyone, yet doesn’t get angry or react irrationally.

At least, that’s what I hope. I suppose that associating her with my tutor is the only thing giving me hope at this point.

Her eyes widen slightly, yet she doesn’t move.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and faced her friend. “Damn it, Pav. Out of anyone, I seriously doubt she would want to bring soldiers to us.”

“How do you know?” the man named ‘Pav’ answered.

I turned around properly to face him, and he didn’t seem very perturbed by my identity. Did he even know who I was? Does he even care?

“She’s the Crown fucking Princess, Pav,” the woman finally opened her eyes, and I heard a strange slicing noise from my right, and when I turned I saw it was a pocket knife being unsheathed from its casing. I barely had a moment to register what it was before it was brought out of my field of vision, behind my back. The brief, momentous panic that she was going to hurt me with it flitted through my mind – I held my breath in my attempt to brace myself - before I felt the flat edge of the cool blade against the skin on my hands. A quick slice, and my wrists were free.

I move my wrists around to my front, silently and inwardly rejoicing in the freedom, as I wrung them around in my hands, before looking back up to the woman. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She said as she walked away to join Pav.

Feeling a little safer, yet cautiously aware of my surroundings and my present company, I turn my body completely around as I get to my feet. Maintaining that safe distance, trying not to seem a threat, yet trying not to appear as the frightened girl I was just ten minutes ago.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage.” I tell them, getting a good look at the pair. “You know who I am, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are."

The man named Pav was a younger man, probably not much older than myself, yet with a hardened face that had seen too much and probably a short temper. Well, if his previous words were any indication, at least. His short hair and silver eyes were cold and uncaring, but there was some curiosity in there too, I think. He’s probably wondering more about me, about how the Princess of this country is alone in an abandoned house outside Zkwiatami. A funny story, isn’t it.

"And we'll keep it that way. You've had the advantage your whole life." Pav says shortly, shaking his head at me. I feel the twang in my chest as he makes his snide insinuation, yet he isn’t completely wrong. "Get out of here, Princess. We can't have you here."

I’m shocked. Surprised. But I can’t show this, at least can’t show my fear. "Why is that?"

"You're the goddamn Crown Princess. Your face is the most recognised in the whole fucking country. That dictator wants you as priority number 1. Having you with us makes us vulnerable.” He points his finger at me almost angrily, jabbing it in my direction to emphasise the you in his speeches. “You make us a more, shall we say, lucrative target for those soldiers. Yet there is nothing you can offer us to counter this. The risk is too high to have you with us, Princess"

He’s right about all that. I’m a lucrative target, even though I shudder at the thought of targets having a value placed upon them, and I try not to visibly react to that. It seems cruel, though, to simply abandon a person in clear need of shelter to fend for themselves in a world that wants to hunt them down.

I shrug my shoulders lightly. "You're correct about that, without a doubt. However, I have to dispel that thought that I want to be known as the Crown Princess.” I shake my head as I look them in the eyes, folding my arms and moving them up and down, trying to generate heat to warm me up. I’m still wet and freezing cold. “I don't. I don’t want it. I do not want to be known for that, not anymore. I apologise for being presumptuous, but I had rather hoped that staying hidden among a group would help that persona substantially."

Pav had not lost that stubborn strictness, and kept pointing his finger at me. I’m not in a position to give them a lesson in manners and etiquette, but I hate him pointing. "You might not want to be the Princess, but if some soldier gets lucky and spots you, it's not going to help you at all. They sure as hell haven't forgotten who you are."

"I imagine there's a way to change one's appearance and mannerisms. Full exposure to such a scenario is the best way to adapt. Or so I've heard."

"… I still don't like the idea of you tagging along. It would be like handing all of us over on a silver platter. All of us who would like to stay out of prison at least."

He had mercifully stopped his pointing at me as he gestured to himself and the woman.

And these people would be very willing to send me back out there without a moment’s hesitation.

"Please, please reconsider.” I take a single step forward, unfolding my arms and holding my hands out slightly towards the pair, I’m really hoping that this does not seem forceful nor defensive.

I want it to be trustworthy, and I want it to genuine.

“We share a goal, do we not? To not face capture?"

He shook his head, not even looking at me properly. The woman who had been looking at me was now looking at him, her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to say something, and yet… she didn’t.

"That's your only point of defence, Princess, and it's not working. Besides, the more people we have, the more chance there is of being sighted."

"You’d have me leave without even giving me a chance? I am not asking much. I want the same thing as you, and I do not want any of you to be captured. Please, I would like to join your group for the time being."

“You’re asking for everything we have, Princess.”

“I don’t want everything, I am asking for a chance. Please.”

"Pav, come on." The woman tugged on his sleeve a little. She didn’t plead with him, it wasn���t begging – I suppose I was the one doing that – but there was a hint in her voice that told me she trusted me to some extent.

I think it is. If it’s not trust, it’s sympathy.

The man named Pav looked at me, then the woman, and returned his gaze to me. He looked tired, very tired. The weapon that was his firearm hung loosely on the holster at his waist, his right hand hovering just over it. He still doesn’t trust me, but would he really pull that gun on me again? Force me out of here? Or worse, outright kill me?

He must have seen a lot. He must be the one who’s been standing watch all night, waiting for a moment like this where an intruder has broken into their temporary sanctuary, and he’s had to deal with it. I wonder how many sleepless nights he’s had with this? How many close calls?

I wonder if he’s killed someone too.

"... All right, your highness. You can join us." He folds his arms as he speaks, which certainly puts me a little more at ease than the unspoken threat of having a weapon within his grasp.

I bow my head, finally able to breathe. "You have my thanks.”

“Do we have any dry clothes for her?” Pav asked aside to the woman.

“I can have a look…” the woman took off down the corridor, leaving just me and him.

He waits, watching the woman leave the room, and we both listen to her footsteps get further away as they head up the stairs. He’s watching the door, and I’m watching him.

"Just know that if you get sighted, we're dropping you like a hot rock and leaving you behind.” He finally says, his voice low, the look in his eyes is serious. There is no misunderstanding there. “I can't let the rest of us be comprised because of you. Don't even try and bring them to us. Understand?"

“I better not get spotted then, shouldn’t I?”

He does not seem amused by my response. He does not seem entertained by the prospect of me coming along at all. I understand his reasoning, completely, but there is no way I am allowing myself to lose this chance.

The man named Pav lingers for a few more seconds, just watching me there, before he turns around.

It takes me a moment more to decide on my next words, and I only speak them as he is about to leave the room. “If I may make a small request?"

He doesn’t even turn back, just speaks to me over his shoulder. "Already giving orders, Princess?"

I can hear the sneer in his voice, and I don’t appreciate it, however I am not in a position to call him out for rudeness. I broke into their – no, they broke into my grandfather’s home – and I happened to intrude.

"In fact, no. It's a request at your behest. You want me to remain hidden and unrecognised, I would think that calling me 'Princess' and 'Your Highness' is a detriment to all of that, correct?"

There’s a beat of silence from him, and he turned his head enough so that I could actually see the look in his eyes when he responded.

"... Point taken. What do you want to be called, then?"

Now it’s my turn to think.

There’s many times I’ve been called something in my life. For twenty-one years, it was the Crown Princess Anjelika. For just four, it was Andzia, that private, hidden person who only exists among my friends.

Now I have the freedom to choose, and I have no idea what I want.

"Angel. My name is Angel."

[kosmosian-quills]

OC Backstory Holiday Special

A little something I wrote for @yourocsbackstory​‘s holiday special! I think I’m on time with this one, and it’s not my best work but I love my girls and that’s all that matters.

I hope you enjoy!

POV: Anjelika

The normally brisk and chilly ballroom is full of life, warmth and colour.

The cool stone walls are decorated with our sigil, the royal colours are proudly hanging between the huge windows that – in daylight – would stream sunlight in to every corner and crevice. But now, all that is visible through the vast windows is the cloudy night sky, the snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens down to the earth, settling on everything they can touch, building up from one another.

The four fireplaces are all lit, illuminating the space with its warming glow, a few spots visible in the twinkling chandeliers. For such a grand affair, we of course have more lights. Suited to the aesthetic of a party – slightly dimmed lights, yet enough to see everything in the room without straining one’s vision.

I was seated at the head table to my father’s left, with my mother on his other side, watching the festivities unfurl before us. Music echoing through the room and down the corridors, our distinguished guests mingling around in groups, or seated at their tables around the outside of the room. There were a few guests dancing in the large open space in the centre of the room, laughing and smiling as they swirled and twirled around in large, sweeping circles. All in time with one another, all perfectly in unison. They look to be enjoying themselves, which is always a nice thing to see.

I look over to my left, slightly over my shoulder. My friends were seated together at their own table, not too far from me of course, but they had no reason to be seated with us at the head table. As soon as I have finished here with father, I shall join them.

Our “Festyn Zimowy” is not just about family, it is about friends and comradery. My friends do not have the benefit of celebrating with their families tonight, so the least I can do is extend them the courtesy of celebrating with them too.

I wasn’t paying attention to father as he spoke with someone who had just approached, my eyes were scanning the crowd and taking notice of the older gentlemen near the refreshments table before I realised that the person he was talking to was trying to involve me in the conversation as well.

It was the General, and he was looking at me with slightly raised eyebrows as though he had asked a question. He was, despite the festivities, dressed in his formal uniform, still adorned in medals and badges that served as evidence of his dedication and service. Father and mother are looking at me too, a slight hint of disapproval in mother’s eyes as she looks at me. I imagine it’s because of my daydreaming.

“Oh, my apologies, General,” I sit up straight in my seat and turn my body to face him.

“Not at all, your highness. I was merely asking your father if I may dance with you?” He explained with a smile, nodding towards my father.

I was certainly surprised at the invitation. I look across at my father, whose expression told me nothing – remaining decidedly neutral. Is this some sort of test? It seems… wrong. It seems unnatural. Like a trick question, am I supposed to just agree to his request? Or am I supposed to stand my ground and refuse of my own accord?

Father would not be waiting for me to even speak if he did not approve in any capacity. After all, the General is one of my father’s trusted confidantes. I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Besides, it does seem a little rude of me when I am not doing anything else at this moment.

“Of course, General,” I slowly rise to my feet, stepping around the side of the table to join him, making sure that I do have the smile I’m known for on my face.

He takes my hand carefully, his tall stature a little unnerving, but nonetheless a comfort with that charming smile of his, as he turns back to face my father over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your daughter, your majesties,” there’s a chuckle in his voice, and I look back at my parents as he does.

Father is amused, returning him a laugh. Mother is smiling too.

I find myself in the centre of the crowd of dancers, with one of his hands on my shoulder blade, and the other in my own hand. He spun me around in time with the music, the soft pulsating beats of the drums that accompany the strumming strings of the violins. It all wove together seamlessly, and the General knew what he was doing more than I did.

I found it strange to try and look in his eyes, the way he would use that oh so charming smile of his to cut deep into my thoughts.

“So, your highness,” his voice is low and just audible above the music, whispering into my ear as he leans in close, “are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Of course, General,” I reply, tilting my head upwards slightly so that I can speak into his ear.

The gentle circles we’re spinning here are nice, almost therapeutically rhythmic, with the occasional swirl under his arm, breaking the monotony a little bit. It gave me the chance to cast my gaze towards my parents, still seated at the head table, and watching us here. Father was leaned towards mother, speaking aside to her, and I knew he was because I could see mother responding. It was rather embarrassing, I must admit, that I am dancing with a man with my father watching. It just seems strange, father probably would not have approved were it anyone else.

But then again, no one else has ever asked.

I didn’t seem completely aware of the time passing in this strange space, until the music rose to a crescendo and faded out.

We weren’t the only dancers here, but our cue to stop was here, and we joined in with the light applause that came as our gratitude to the performers.

My partner bows down before me, “I wish you all the best for the coming year, your highness. Wszelkiej pomyślności, Krolewna.” He doesn’t break his eye contact with me, his silver eyes sparkling in the firelight.

“And to you, General,” I courtesy in return, as he escorts me back towards my table, except I do not move to re-join my parents. I acknowledge them, and proceed beyond them, to my friends over there.

My chaperone has not been unnoticed however.

“Andzia, how scandalous!” Irena whispered with a grin, getting to her feet with the others as I huddled close to Kasia. “There’ll be rumours for weeks!”

“Oh please, it will be the most interesting rumours in a while!” I whisper back, giggling with them quietly, trying not to raise my voice too much.

But it’s only when I look back across the happy faces around me, that I realise there’s one of us missing.

“Where’s Matylda?” I ask, looking around.

There’s a moment where everyone else seemed to realise that she was not with us either. There’s Kasia and Irena on either side of me, with Anja and Zosia opposite us.

“She… said she was just going to get a drink, I think –“ Irena started, looking towards the refreshment table, but I cut her off when my eyes scanned the crowd and recognised the sunshine blonde curls on the outside of the room.

“I see her.” My smile vanished when I realised who was stood next to her.

She was stood up against the wall by a fireplace, looking up at the man engaging with her, an uncomfortable smile on her lips, clutching at both her dress, and the drink she was holding in her hand. I could see, even from here, the fact that her knuckles were white from holding them so hard. She hadn’t noticed me, but I could tell she was desperate to just walk away from him.

I made sure to put my polite smile on my face as I prepared myself to deal with my predatory cousin.

“Matylda!” I called out, not even looking at my dear elder cousin, but he did back away from her by a single step. Matylda herself had faced me, her eyes wide, yet relieved that I have arrived when I did. “There you are, we were looking for you –“ she didn’t need further prompting to step around my cousin and towards me, with the others right behind me. I linked her arm in mine and took off with everyone. “- we were just going to go for a walk. Come on.”

With every one of us pointedly ignoring my cousin.                          

Because none of us will even give him the satisfaction of our attention. All we want is our friend away from him

If no one else will stop him, we will.

I didn’t even care where we were going. In fact, we looked like we were leaving the hall entirely, like we were leaving the party without acknowledgement. That would be most rude of me, and no doubt cause me to get in trouble. I made a slight diversion beyond the door that would take me back to the residential wing, and instead towards the glass door further along. The door that leads out into the gardens.

It’s more private and secluded that way.

The pair of guards in front of them stood aside for me and opened the door, and the six of us stepped out into the sheltered patio area just outside the door.

It was cold outside, but not too cold. It was actually quite nice out here in the fresh air, the crisp breeze was gentle and refreshing. There wasn’t any snow on our platform, thank goodness, but seeing the fluffy white blanket the covered everything around us was fascinating, how it clung to everything and was so preciously untouched, undisturbed.

We won’t be disturbing that tonight, no matter how much I would like to.

“Are you alright Laleczka?” I heard Irena ask as we all formed a small circle in the middle of the patio.

“I am, thank you. Thank you for coming for me,” she nodded at Irena, but then faced all of us in turn. She was still holding that glass, yet her grip was no longer an unbearable tightness, but a gentle grasp.

“Anytime, Laleczka,” I smile in return, “we all know he can be an insufferable person. I didn’t want to see you alone with him.”

She nodded again.

“Let’s not let him dampen our spirits,” Kasia speaks next, huddling close to all of us. “It’s a beautiful night. Wszystkiego najlepszego, everyone.”

“Dużo zdrowia,” Zosia is the one to offer her wishes next, holding her hands with Kasia – who was in between us – and Anja on her other side.

“Dużo miłości,” Anja is the one to continue the cycle.

“Dużo szczęścia,” Irena presses her glasses up her nose as she says it.

“Wszelkiej pomyślności,” Matylda runs one of her hands up her arm repeatedly.

I look at the smiling faces of my friends, all watching me. I can feel the chill hit me now, we shouldn’t stay out here for too much longer.

But I don’t want this moment to ever end.

“Oddanych przyjaciół.”

Lots of health, love, happiness – all kinds of prosperity – and dedicated friends.

It’s been another wonderful year together with them. I just hope we can continue our little streak.

[kosmosian-quills]

Hunted

A scene I was very excited to finally finish! It took me longer than I would have liked. Work commitments and other personal stuff really ate away at my free time. But! Here is the next real story piece!

A few things to warn you about: there’s blood, a neck injury, and a sort of violent death? So if you’re squicky about that please be aware!

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

POV: Anjelika

Just a quick glossary of a few Polish words featured here:

Wstęp wzbroniony - no tresspassing.

Dziadziu - an affectionate term for “grandfather”.

Zkwiatami - a name of a town I invented (lit. “with the flowers”).

The rain is mercilessly pounding against me, cold and bitter and hard as it soaks me completely, chilling me to my core in the night-time wind that gushes through the trees here. It’s cold, so very cold.

But I can’t stop running.

I can barely see 10 feet in front of me, and that makes every single tree root a potentially fatal hazard. My feet are screaming in the shoes I’m wearing, simple black pumps that are absolutely not designed for sprinting through dense woodland after sunset. It’s very dark, in combination with the clouds that block the moon completely from view, as well as the night sky a deep black above and beyond those same clouds. I have no point of reference for where I am even going, I barely even know where I am.

My feet are in control, taking me anywhere, trying to get me away from there.

My lungs are on fire, and my breathing is deep and ragged from my constant and current exertion. I can’t seem to run fast enough, and I feel my heart beating furiously in my chest. My legs feel heavier and heavier with every step I force myself to take in such quick succession.

The man behind me is getting closer. I can hear him.

My feet crunched the leaves and twigs on the forest floor, all damp with the pouring rain yet still barely audible above the rumble of thunder in the distance.

I daren’t look back, it would only slow me down. My only chance is to outrun him. I can’t stop, I won’t stop, I need to keep going!

I can hear him yelling through the environmental chaos at me, but I can’t make out a single word that he’s shouting at me. I don’t want him to get any closer for me to find out. He knows, he knows who I am. He knows, and he wants to take advantage of that. He wants to take me away, send me back, but I don’t want to!

The woodland thinned out a little as I sprinted straight, not noticing the dip in the ground until it was too late. I hadn’t expected the drop – it wasn’t much of a drop – but it was enough to cause me to cry out in surprise. I ended up with my foot submerged in a shallow stream, and I felt my ankle land awkwardly against a rock. Shock from the cold and a sharp pain coursed through me, but it did not stop me. Not because I wanted to, because I needed to.

I was out of the stream within another step yet the momentary hesitation had slowed me down, and that was a few golden seconds that I could not afford to waste. I hated the feeling of my wet feet, I’ll get ill if I don’t – no. Not important. I’ll die, let alone get ill, if he catches me!

Splashes behind me barely a second later told me that he was right there, having just crossed the stream too. I can’t even process what the environment directly in front of me is like because all I can think about is how close he is now. I had not gone far, and I was struggling to breathe now. No amount of casual training with Anja had prepared me for this, and the already waning power of my adrenaline has only gotten me so far.

Not far enough.

I was still fighting to stay ahead of the man, but when I felt a brutal hand pull at the back of my shirt, and I screamed.

“I’ve got you now, you little –!“ I can hear him growl into my ear, something sharp at my side, and the way his voice sent a shiver through me in combination with the bitter air was almost unbearable.

His violent attempt to pull me to a halt, and my own attempt at keeping running, was thwarted by me losing my footing completely. I somehow escaped his grip – at the expense of tumbling down the hill completely out of control.

He seemed to fall immediately after me, but I couldn’t tell. I had screwed my eyes shut, trying to fight back the dizziness from the beating my body was taking. Hitting every single rock and branch. Thankfully no trees.

It’s a brief stumble, but still enough to wind me once the slope levels off.

As I finally roll to a stop at the bottom, well and truly battered by the fall, covered in dirt and soaked with rain, I expect to hear my pursuer recover faster than I and grab me, to try and take me away.

But it doesn’t happen.

I look around for him, and he’s some five feet away from me, behind me, shaking and convulsing, lying on his back staring up at the sky, not knowing or caring that I’m even here. There’s an awful gurgling sound and it takes me a few moments to realise what it is.

As I get up to my feet and step closer, looking over him, I can see clearly what is causing the awful sound.

The man is clutching at his throat, eyes wide with panic and coughing up blood so fast I’m surprised he hasn’t choked. I see the blade embedded in his throat, deep and deadly.

I can feel the colour drain from my face, and my vision dims with a fuzzy feeling, like I’m going to pass out. My legs give in beneath me and I collapse to my knees clutching my stomach. My insides churn and twist and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t look away, somehow. Watching him bleed out in front of me, those awful sounds as he tries to breathe, to speak – something.

The man’s convulsions suddenly stop, and he stills, the blood from that gaping wound spreading onto the ground where he lay, unmoving, lifeless.

Dead.

I can’t hold it back anymore, and I retch up what little I had eaten earlier. My hands are shaking so hard that I grip onto the grass to try and stop them trembling, but even then I can’t.

My throat hurts with my wrecked sobs that I manage to choke up after spitting up all the bile. It hurts, and even breathing hurts here.

I can’t believe that just happened. I can’t believe it.

I killed a man.

What did I -? Why -?

I didn’t mean to do it, but… I didn’t know he had a knife! I didn’t know he would – I didn’t know he would fall like that, that he would –

The crack of lightning that strikes, and the deep rumble of thunder jolts me back to my senses, clearing my thoughts enough to realise I am still in a lot of trouble.

I stumble backwards, trying to get to my feet without looking at the man’s fresh corpse before I throw up again.

I’m lost, I don’t know where I am, I don’t even know where I can go to from here, but I have to keep going.

I have to.

--- 

I don’t stop for breath until I reach a clearing. The rain is still hammering down, but at least the thunder and lightning has ceased. There’s a huge umbrella of trees above me, granting me a very small shelter. It had leaks and wasn’t very sturdy. But it was enough for now.

I fought to still my trembling hands by folding my arms and keeping them firmly beneath them. I wasn’t even sure now if I was shaking so hard because of the cold, or what I just did.

The sound of that man dying in agony, coughing, spluttering, choking on his own blood. It's louder than the rain, and it's all I can hear.

The cold is brutal and even the breeze is merciless. I'm soaked to the skin, and even if I don't get caught now, I'll probably get pneumonia faster than I can sneeze.

I spin around on the spot slowly as I run my hands up and down my upper arms, trying to get warm, at least a little. My eyes dart around between all of the trees and shrubbery, trying to see if there is another following me. Somewhere in the distance I see something move, so fast I barely saw it, but it disappeared from view faster than I registered it.

My heart skipped a beat. There was someone else, I'm sure of it. I clenched my fists in my stance, trying to keep my breathing steady. Get ready to run. Where? I don't know.

The equally sudden movements from the same place emerged again, and it darted off in the opposite direction. A doe, I think. I probably spooked it.

But it means I am a little bit safer.

A soft crash and a strange squeal caused me to gasp in surprise and I turned sharply around to my right. A squirrel, it looks like, had fallen from the tree and hit a wooden sign, nailed to a post in the ground, on its way down, before dashing off up another tree.

But there was something about the sign... I don't know what, but it seems familiar. It simply read "WSTĘP WZBRONIONY", no trespassing. It's painted red and black and made of wood, most definitely not one that's mass produced in any way. The paint is worn away in many places, and it's even missing the bottom right corner.

Curiously, I step forward to get a closer look, and run my fingers over the brittle birch. I've seen this before, there's an indentation on one of the letters. On the letter "Y" at the end, it's crooked. Part of the paint that remains is oddly shaped.

I know this sign, I've seen it, because I was with Dziadziu when he painted it.

Of course it is. This sign is so old now, probably at least 13 years old, and nature had taken its toll on it.

My heart flutters as I reel in the memories. That means one thing.

His cottage is somewhere around here. Dziadziu.

That means shelter, warmth. Of course it is. We had stopped in Zkwiatami before...

No, stop it. I have to keep going. Have to stay safe.

I’m not totally familiar with the woods that surrounded his land, but I’m almost positive that the sign would lead me closer to it. If I just keep going in this direction, I should reach it eventually… or at least, I’ll reach something.

Now fuelled by the sheer prospect of being able to get warm and dry at last, I set off in the direction the sign was leading towards. The journey didn’t seem nearly as treacherous, nor hopeless. It seemed promising and welcome. I just need to get there.

The woods still seemed as nondescript and overgrown as the rest of it, nothing that signalled that any kind of house is nearby. But then again, Dziadziu has been dead for almost 5 years now. It’s mother’s house, and she never sold it or gave it away. It should be empty, and that means it’s safe. At least for now. No one will have come on down here, or at least, no one should have come down here.

In the darkness I nearly miss it, I nearly go straight past it.

A fence that does not fit the rest of the forest. It’s a stone fence, just barely visible in my peripheral vision, and yet it’s the most welcome thing I’ve seen so far. I waste no time in making my way there, rushing over and feeling the rush of euphoria that everything is as I remember it.

The uniform yet haphazard cobbles all encasing the moderate space of land that made up the small farm, the expanse of greenery, of overgrown weeds, flowers and ivy. The old greenhouse and shed over in the far corner, the stone path that weaves among the various parts of the garden, the fruit trees that line the wall still tall and proud, with a few still bearing fruit. The water barrels that are connected to the drainpipes on the cottage and the greenhouse, overflowing clearly from the amount of rain that will have fallen since they were last used. There are no tools laying around, like I remember. They were probably locked up in the shed, if not been taken by someone who will be alive to use said tools.

The cottage seems untouched and unused, the silhouette still visible as I recall everything about it. The wooden shutters over every window, the thatched roof with the wood burning stove, littered with leaves from every nearby tree. The flower boxes that lined the outside of the cottage were devoid of colour but full of weeds, out of control and not particularly appealing. I remember watering those when they were real flowers. There’s still a plant pot just outside the door, and I hope I can get in somehow. If necessary, I can always break a window. I’d rather not, but I can.

Before I even climb the wall, I spot the larger tree not far from where I stand, in the open area just outside the perimeter, that still has that rope swing there. The simple wooden plank tied to a sturdy branch by a thick rope. Still and unmoving, the rope slightly worn, probably from its use and the time that had passed since it was last used. When was the last time I used it, I wonder? When I was around 10? 11? 12? I don’t know, I can’t remember. It’s been too long, yet I remember the feeling that came from Dziadziu pushing me on that swing. It is so nice to think about, his gentle pushes, my laughter as I flew through the air on that seat. I probably sat on it much later on, when I visited him, even as they grew more infrequent because I was growing up faster than I would like. I’m sure he thought the same thing.

The wall is not too high, just barely above my chest, but I clambered over the stones with some difficulty thanks to the pouring rain, but managed to plant my feet in to the familiar ground.

I raced over, looking in every window, hoping for a sign that there was no one in there. I don’t think there is, I doubt anyone would want to come to a derelict cottage anyway. I don’t know how many people from around here would know whose house this technically belongs to – the Queen no less – and I wonder if they would even try to break in knowing that very fact.

I trip over my own feet as I cross the garden. Was it though? I thought I tripped on something. But no matter, I wasn’t injured any more than I already am. I just need to get inside.

Finally at the door, I try the handle, and it doesn’t budge. It’s rusty, of course, but there’s nothing I can do to stop that. It is an old house after all. I doubt there would be any keys here, not when mother would have all of them. It seems very counterproductive.

Frustrated and desperate, I look around for another way in. There has to be one. The front door maybe? But that may be just as locked as this one.

I rush around and find it just as locked, and I am not willing to try and break down a door. I don’t have that kind of strength here.

I catch sight of the windows to the living room just to the left of the door. They are two separate windows, but I have to do a double take. I can see that one of the windows is slightly open. It’s barely noticeable, and I don’t even want to ask why because I’m so grateful. The hinge is at the top, but from what I remember, it should be possible to climb inside. I think it opens wide enough for that, and all I want is to be in there. I can’t see the inside of the living room, the blinds are drawn.

I’m not surprised, of course. I try slipping my fingers in the gap at the bottom, and it’s stuck. With a little bit of persistence, I manage to open the window properly, and I can barely contain my excitement.

I prop the window open with my arm as far as it will go, and stand on the flower box at my feet. This may be difficult, but I’m halfway there. I don’t stop though, I’m so close.

Within a minute of determined trying and almost undignified movements, I was finally inside.

I had emerged through the blinds, and slammed the window shut behind me, finally at peace with the sound of silence. The rain outside was so far away from me now. I felt myself shudder as I simply kneel there on the ground, trying to get warm, finally out of the storm outside.

I’m so focussed on my attempts at warming myself up that I don’t notice the feeling of something cold, hard and round pressed against the back of my neck.

“Hands on your head. Now.”

[kosmosian-quills]

Week 7 - Free

For the final week of @yourocsbackstory​‘s fall event. I really had fun with this one! It truly was a blast to take part in the event, thank you for hosting it!

This piece very quickly became one of my favourites for a number of reasons. Firstly, I’m impressed with how quicky I managed to write it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

“How long have you studied ballet, your highness?”

Practice is over, now, and it’s just me and Zofia today. We are probably two of the more experienced ballerinas in our group, but that is not to say that the others are bad at it. We’ve just had the most practice.

“Since I was 8.” I tell her simply, as I stretch my legs. “What about you?”

Zofia is sat on the bench, swapping out her specialised prosthetic from the one she uses for ballet to her normal, everyday leg. She does this with such efficiency that I am almost in awe of, but this is simply normal for her. The least I can do is not make a spectacle out of it. She straightens out her midnight blue tutu, the skirt clinging to her slender figure.

“I was 6 when I started, your highness,” she explained, “I was 9 when this happened. I loved to dance, I didn’t want that to stop me.”

“I imagine it must have taken some getting used to?”

“Oh it did, I actually required an additional surgery to have it fit the prosthetic I need for ballet. There’s an additional joint where my knee should be, it makes it much more flexible.”

“That’s amazing, Zofia, I’m happy for you.” I smile.

Anna, our ballet mistress, had left the room by now, so we were alone. She unravelled her hair from its tight bun, sending her dark hair coming cascading down, resting over her shoulders so gently. Her chestnut eyes were focussed as she fixed up her ballet prosthetic into the case she keeps it in. The leg was almost cyborg-ish, with a few lights in the joints. I don’t claim to know much about how it works, and I would like to know, but I don’t want to seem insensitive when I ask questions. How can I ask her about something she’s had for many years, and not seem totally ignorant? Is it safer to not ask anything at all?

How do I ask such a question?

“You know… you don’t have to call me ‘your highness’ when we’re alone, Zofia.”

She sat tall and proud, her hands clasped in front of her as she regarded me. “I know, your highness, I would rather treat you as you should be treated, at all times.”

“I don’t… expect that from you, at all. I don’t expect it from any of you. I don’t want our only interactions to be based on a hierarchy, Zofia. Please, it would mean a lot to me.”

She considers me for a moment, looking down at her hands. I come over and join her, taking a seat beside her, and clasping her hand gently in mine. Such a tense grip, she has, I wonder why? She doesn’t seem afraid of me in any capacity, so why this bout of nerves I wonder? Why does she seem so… hesitant, to call me by my given name?

“Please, Zofia, I would like us to be friends.”

She looks back up at me, that small smile she had before – the one she has all the time, that professional one – it isn’t the same as it was. The smile seemed… warmer, more genuine.

I suppose giving her permission to do something was all she needed.

“Alright, Anjelika. Friends it is.”

I truly have a lot of proud respect for my eldest Maiden of Honour, if only because of her raw will power to defy expectations. How many people must she have faced, I wonder, after her accident who told her that she can no longer dance the way she used to?

Probably a few, and yet here she is now, having proved every single one of them wrong.

---

“I hope you know what you are doing, Anastazja,” I ask her as she carefully, almost methodically, stretches her arms and jumps on the spot.

“I assure you, I do, Anjelika,” she smiled in return, her wavy blonde hair bouncing as she did.

I tried to copy her warmup routine. It was Anja’s choice of activity today, and I am more than willing to take the time to indulge in the hobbies of my friend. We were up bright and early, the sun still low on the horizon, and we had plans to lap the gardens until we had run the equivalent of two miles.

Anja had done this many times by herself, there were a few mornings where I heard her creeping out of the dormitory to do this in the early hours of the morning, before she started her duties for the day. It was only when I spoke to her about it, allowing her to not wake up as early and get her exercises in that she took me up on the offer.

She has the rest of the day with me and the others.

But today, it’s just us.

“It’s nice here. The air, it just reminds me of home,” she smiles, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply through her nose. I was probably too used to it to notice, but there is the distinct taste of lingering salt from the sea that enveloped the castle in the air around us, it’s crisp and fresh.

“Oh, of course, you’re from Nadmorzem, aren’t you?” I recalled.

“Yes, it’s got a wonderful path to run along the coast with. Its where I used to train, my coach always did say that trail had a bit or everything,” she takes off her jacket, leaving her in her black shorts and red shirt designed for athletes. There’s white lettering on the front, it says “LEWANDOWSKA”. It’s her name, and on the back is a declaration of her team, the North Western division of athletics. She must be very proud to wear that, for her to even own that shirt means she’s exceptionally skilled in her field. “My younger brother, Henryk, he’s 12 now, he always tried to race me. He’s a good sprinter, but he could never reliably run distance, I always won those.”

“Why did you stop?”

There’s a moment of silence as she turned to face me. “There’s a point where I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I could have kept training and training, and I’d be on my way to representing the country. A great honour, yes, but then... After that? Who knows? I had done nothing but train, train, train, all for that, but I have no idea what I’d be studying or anything. I don’t even know if I would have been happy.”

Her dark blue eyes stare out at the sky above our heads, and the wind sweeps through her wavy hair as it rests in her ponytail. She has one hand clenching at the side of her shirt, tugging down.

“The day I got this offer was like an answer to a prayer, in all honesty, Anjelika. I finally had an opportunity, a gateway to do something different, and still be proud of what I have done, and will do. I am proud to be here, with you, and I don’t regret it at all.”

I smile at her. “I’m glad to hear it Anastazja.”

“Anja, please,” her grin is almost cheeky as she jumps up a few times on the spot. “Well, we’ve wasted enough time stood here. Let’s get going!”

I follow her lead as she starts jogging through the gardens, twisting through the flora and fauna that grows here.

I hope that I make her proud now, I hope that I can accomplish even half of what she has.

--- 

“Is this really what you like to do in your free time, Irena?”

The bespectacled girl is completely weighed down by the sheer number of books she’s carrying, almost comically, her arms totally full of the various titles. Thick, heavy bound hardbacks with shiny letters of all sizes and colours. Her arms were held totally straight by the sheer number of books, and they were all the way up to her chin, resting it on the books in an attempt to keep them steady.

I was not carrying that many books. Only 5, but they were enough.

“This part is the least fun part,” she smirked, “getting the books to someplace peaceful where I can focus properly. I’m grateful that you’re here to help me a little.”

“It’s not a problem, Irena.”

She adjusts her hold slightly, I can see the strain on her fingers, her tanned skin now slightly red from the pressure of holding all those books.

“Oh, oh no!”

She froze in place, pressing the stack of books tighter to her, trying to keep them steady. I saw what was happening. The middle of the stack was swaying out, away from her. Dropping all of those would be disastrous! Many of those books are older than me, and even then having them land on your feet is not something I would like to experience. I’m sure Irena doesn’t too!

“Here!” I step around in front of her, using my much smaller, more manageable collection to push her books back into their stack properly.

“Thank you, Anjelika!” she laughed.

“Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, should we try to even out the load a little?”

“Probably a good idea.”

Contrary to my original intentions, the books were indeed now on the floor, but only on our terms. They hadn’t totally collapsed, spines destroyed and papers everywhere like we had dreaded they would. They were carefully being restacked into newer, hopefully sturdier stacks.

“What about all this interests you, Irena?” I asked, studying the front cover of an old book titled History of the Motor Car, alongside a history book titled The Kosmosian Revolutionary War – A detailed guide of the factions and their roles.

She shrugged, “I guess reading has always been something I’ve enjoyed. It’s a way for me to learn new things, and hopefully remember it in case I need it. My father always did say that knowledge is absolutely everything. I suppose I did it all for him, to make him proud.”

“Not for you?” I ask, cocking my head to the side as I hand her another book.

She shakes her head quickly, “Oh, of course it’s for me! Father would not approve of some of these, if he knew I was reading them. He’s… a little set in his ways.”

“Ah, of course.” I understood what she was referring to. A suffocating parent, probably more than a little disapproving of some of the things their child might want to do. “You said you had sisters? Are they in the sciences, like you said you wanted to be?”

“No, actually. Sylwia, my eldest sister, she is currently a practicing nurse. Father was proud of that. Tatiana…” she stops what she’s doing for a moment, and I notice her grip a hold of the book she has in her hand very tightly, breaking our eye contact, “she works for the Kosmosian consulate, in Warsaw.”

“Did he not approve? Your father?”

She tucked a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear, pressing her glasses up her nose too. “He… didn’t think it was appropriate, but he thought it was for the best.” She sighed, “I miss her. She always did like talking to me about a lot of this stuff…”

I realise after her voice trailed away, that it trembled ever so slightly. Oh no, I went too far! “I’m sorry, if I’ve upset you…”

“Don’t be! It’s not as though she’s dead or anything,” she chuckled, “besides, when I told her about this, she was overjoyed. She said she’d come visit me soon.”

“That is wonderful to hear, Irena,” I smiled, before tapping my new stack of books with my fingers, “now, are we ready to proceed?”

“As I’ll ever be!”

We still didn’t make it back to the room, and it was all because of a stray door opening in her face. The books ended up back on the floor, a total mess, but she just laughed.

I was certain there was no harm done – to both my friend, and to the books – and joined her in that laughter. It’s all we could do.

--- 

“I’m… sorry this won’t be very interesting, your highness…”

My youngest Maiden of Honour is wringing her wrist in her hand as she takes a seat by her desk, her sketchbook held close.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Matylda,” I dismissed, raising my hand slightly, “I thought that this is an ideal way for me to get to know you, by doing something you enjoy. We already do a lot of what I enjoy.”

Her nervous blue eyes, which were so wide with something almost like fear, were suddenly more at ease. Why would she be afraid of me, I wonder? It was a curious expression, to be certain, but I wonder why she was so nervous to be alone with me, when the others were… relaxed, almost.

“I, erm… I really like living here with you,” she told me, opening her sketchbook to a new page, before slowly reaching for one of the pencils in the cup that was resting over there. Some of her face was shielded from me by those locks of untameable sunshine blonde curls, “it’s such a lovely place to live, and it’s so interesting.”

“Thank you, Matylda.” I smile at her, taking a moment to look around her room from where I am seated, as Matylda settled into what she was doing, sketching the vase of lilies that rested on the desk. Or at least, outlining the sketch, by the looks of it. She did not need my commentary here.

None of the Maidens had particularly made a mess of their rooms, but they certainly had added a lot to their rooms that made them their own. There were photographs and posters, there were a few coats or scarves hanging over chairs – and in Irena’s case, a mountain of books stacked on the floor beside the bed. Her little collection for bedtime reading.

Matylda’s is different. She has kept it in such pristine condition that it’s almost like no one lives here. There’s nothing out of place or unordinary, there are well watered yellow and white flowers on her desk and bedside table though, adding bright splashes of colour to her living area. There’s a stuffed zebra rested in the centre of her pillows, but something about it is odd. It’s laid on its stomach, its legs flat outwards, making it look like the zebra was flying. The mane was a mess, and some of the fabric looked a little faded, I can only assume that this is a treasured childhood animal, providing her comfort whenever and wherever she needs it. Perhaps it is just that little bit of home, for her. After all, she is not yet 16. This is her first time truly away from home.

There was something that caught my eye, however.

In every room that belonged to my friends are several personal photographs on their bedside tables. It’s easy to tell which ones are family, though. There’s a certain laxity in their eyes, but just enough respect to take the photo seriously.

Matylda has more than one photo here.

On her bedside table, there is one professional looking photograph – it contains herself, two small children, and two others that I assume are her parents. Her family, all smiling there with her, that same sunshine hair, but none of them share such vivid curls.

But nothing quite compares to the unrivalled joy that I can see in her gentle smile in her other photograph here, on her desk. It’s a self-portrait, taken by the young man sat with her. There’s a cheeky smile on his face, and hers is more restrained, yet it’s a lovely expression They’re sat on a seat together, somewhere outdoors, their arms over their shoulders.

He is a handsome boy, I have to admit.

“Who’s that in the photo with you, Matylda?” I ask curiously.

She doesn’t form coherent sentences for a while. She’s blushing furiously red, and stammering away. “I, erm… he’s…”

“A friend?” I suggest, trying to be helpful.

“Err… yes, yes a friend.”

“Is he still back in your hometown?”

She nods once, her curls bouncing with her as she did. “Yes, he’s studying hard for his exams. He wants to go to university in a few years.”

“That’s lovely, Matylda. I wish him luck.”

She giggles a little, “I’m sure he’d be honoured to have your good luck on his side, Anjelika.”

“You’re too kind.”

By now, her sketch was starting to take shape. Quite a lot of the basic outline had been immortalised on that paper, with a few preliminary lines of shading on a few petals. She had even taken note of how one of the leaves was crooked and bent, the smooth surface creased down at an odd angle.

”It’s nice to be able to talk like this with you, Matylda,” I tell her, “how long have you been drawing like this? It looks exceptional from here.”

Her cheeks still burned red, but I saw the happy smile on her face. Such a nice smile she has, and I’m struck to realise just how little I have seen of this genuine smile from her since she started. She had a smile she used professionally, but it’s a far cry from this beautiful smile. I hope to see more of this smile in our futures together.

--- 

“I think these look perfect, Anjelika. Right here.”

Karolina is knelt down beside me, resting on the purple mat she placed in front of this patch of earth. She’s already got soil and dirt on her clothes, on her knees and gloves that she’s using, with a few marks down her front for good measure.

She doesn’t care about any of that as she guides me through the process of caring for the plants like she is right now.

“Is this not too much, Karolina?” I ask, hesitant.

“No, of course not. This is perfect.”

I follow her example as I snip away at the overgrowth in the bushes, taking her word for it on whether or not I am doing this properly. She’s much quicker than me, though, really thorough in her work too.

“I take it that you did this a lot at home, Karolina?” I ask with a smile.

She wipes her hands down her well-worn purple and lilac overalls as she answers me, “yes, my parents own a huge farm, and I loved to help them out. They taught me everything I needed to know – wait, that one’s a bit short now.” She gently put her hand over my busy pair of hands, effectively stopping me from continuing whilst she spoke. “Don’t let them get that short, ok?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry! It’s not the end of the world, I admit it took me a while to learn what is too much when it comes to caring for these.”

She is so calm, it’s wonderful to be taught something like this and not be feeling stressed about making a supposedly simple mistake.

“My job at home for the last few years was brewing the rose tea when the flowers were fully blossomed,” she told me, taking a hold of one of the flowers and studying its gentle form with her fingers. She traces the edge of the petals carefully, “it feels good to be able to do that again.”

“I can’t wait to try it, I do enjoy rose tea every now and then.”

“It’s good for, erm… easing pain, isn’t it?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that. I shall have to try it, though.”

She chuckles a little at me, “rose tea is good for a lot of things, indeed.”

“Do you have anything else you were in charge of back home?” I asked, continuing to work under her careful guidance.

She shrugged, her long, fiery hair that is tied back in a ribbon firmly in place, “I wasn’t necessarily in charge of much. I just did what I needed to do. I did enjoy making the fruit tartlets we’d sell in summer at the marketplace. Blackberries with some brandy, cherries and kirsch, oh, and some vodka with raspberries. We’d let them soak for weeks in the alcohol, it infused them so well. Dad would work with the alcohol, selling the fruity infused things at market, and I would make the tartlets. The alcohol made them so very… tart, they were lovely.”

“I’m not sure how much alcohol we will get away with brewing here, Karolina,” I smile as she told me her story.

We had stopped working for the moment, mainly because I didn’t fancy losing any fingers because I got distracted, but it was night to listen to my friend like this.

“Oh that’s a shame, how else are we going to celebrate your upcoming birthday?” she nudged my shoulder playfully with her hand.

“We’ll have to find another way,” I smiled in return, “I’m sure father wouldn’t complain about fruity flavoured alcohol for Wigilia.”

She grins at me in return, and I can see in her emerald green eyes that she knows what a wonderful idea this is. Even if we don’t drink it, being able to adopt her family’s techniques is something to be proud of.

I hope we can do that for her.

--- 

It’s late in the evening, here in my room. It’s been a long day of work – we went out to the mainland today – but it’s good to be back. We’re here in my room, sat in front of the warm fireplace, sipping at perfectly steeped cups of the most wonderful rose tea Karolina had made for us, made with roses we grew ourselves.

We’re all laughing at whatever Irena had just said, and the smiles and laughter… they are amazing to listen to.

As I look around the faces of my five friends, the friends who I have come to know and love much better in the last few weeks, and I feel my chest swell with pride. Our time together was so lonely at the start, but now it feels like we’re a cohesive unit. It feels like there is absolutely nothing that can shatter this feeling for us. No one and nothing can take this moment away from us.

The echoes of laughter ring in my head long after they subside, but the smiles remain. They stay here with us, etched on our faces, eyes bright and caring. Even Zofia has lightened up a little for this, and is enjoying this just as much as the rest of us. Little Matylda has really come out of her shell, something that is amazing to see how much more confident she is around us. Irena’s jokes are appreciated a lot more now that everyone else is more receptive to them. Anastazja is a more than willing ear to talk to. Karolina is just a wonderful friend to have around.

“This is so nice, everyone,” I smile at the others.

The others nod in their agreement.

“I feel like we’re on top of the world,” Irena says, stretching her arms out upwards to emphasise her point.

“Yes, we should absolutely keep this going,” Zofia suggests, pouring herself and Anastazja another cup of the rose tea from the teapot in the middle of the table.

“I’m so grateful for meeting all of you,” Matylda bows her head down at us, I return the gesture, as does everyone else.

“Anytime, Laleczka,” Irena grins, nudging her slightly. Her smile is just the same as that one in her photograph. Matylda loves that little name Irena gave her, little doll. She’s as beautiful as one, certainly.

“Yes, I feel like we’ve struck gold here with one another,” Karolina says, “all together, with you Andzia.”

Andzia. I feel my smile widen at Karolina. Oh, it feels good to be at this place in a friendship. Andzia, I’m finally one of them. I’m not someone with a more important job than them, I’m someone they love and care about just as much.

Zosia, Anja, Irenka, Laleczka, Kasia, and Andzia. No one else knows who these girls are but us.

They’re the best kept secrets in this castle, and we love them, and treasure them oh so dearly.

[kosmosian-quills]

Fluffcember Day 2 - Flower Crown

A short thing that I wrote a few days ago for Fluffcember (hosted by @raiswanson, @siarven and @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword) and meant to post, but got busy with work commitments. I hope you enjoy!

The springtime celebration that happens every early May, and has done for the last three centuries, is probably the reason we are reputed to have the best street parties in the world.

There could not have been a more perfect day for the Flower Festival. Clear skies, barely a breeze, the fresh scent of crisp flora and fauna that eminates from every street, breathing life into every corner of the country.

The colours that splash along every street, hanging vines on every building, from every window and door. The various shapes, sizes and tones of every single bud, the way all of them are unique in every way, yet maintained in uniform – the pride of our country in every petal, the community spirit that binds everyone together apparent in every bouquet.

Arranged so that every single flower has its place in the grand arrangement that is our country, visible and appreciated, knowing that it too is an important piece of the picturesque image.

The castle is an explosion of these colours, drapes of chainlinked stems and buds creating an intricate pattern, colours weaving in and out of one another, unique and familiar all the same.

Of course, as the face of the country’s future, I have to attend the grand party in the main courtyard, listen to the speech my father gives, and mingle among the finely dressed distinguished guests of ours, all united in a common purpose.

I’m used to a crowd. I can smile and wave and be happy in front of a crowd of thousands, but there’s nothing more precious to me than to be with my friends.

We’re in our private garden, the place we have reaped the rewards of our hard work. The place we spent countless hours, under Kasia’s guidance, transforming this quiet little corner of the castle into a thriving habitat. We grew everything here, pansies and lilies, peonies and roses.

Many of the flowers growing around the castle had been grown with the express intention of being the decorations of the flower festival today.

These ones, however, were grown for our use, and our pleasure.

Our golden hours of time and patience, tending to and caring for each and every blooming blossom. Every petal, every stalk, carefully looked after.

It’s lovely here. It’s safe, it’s home, private, secluded. It’s ours.

Being me allows me some privelleges, it allows us to retreat here, even for just a while.

Our delicate dresses are designed to be worn on this special day, but also that being among nature is a vital part of the tradition. We are allowed to have specks of dirt on our lovely dresses. It’s proof that we are one with nature here.

And we truly are.

We’re here, gently laid in the soft ground, with our fingers at work crafting. Crafting delicate crowns out of the flowers we grew ourselves.

My fingers are no exception.

The stalks are delicate, and require patience and precision. I have daisies here, white petals tinged with the tiniest specks of pink on the edges, with a golden centre.

My chain of little flowers is just long enough to be recognised for what it is, but Irenka has beaten me with her creation.

She commemorates the occasion by planting it very gently on Matylda’s sunshine golden curls. Her red roses among the white tulips make for a wonderfully abstract crown.

“Your highness!” she says, almost exaggerated, yet still full of her trademark energy, bowing her head low for our youngest friend.

Matylda did not expect this and reached up to touch her new accessory, made to perfectly contrast her hair, but having her hand gently taken by that of the giver.

“No, it’s a crown fit for a Princess.” She tells her with a smile.

It suited her, it did.

Anja, who had been working with some blue lotus flowers - rarities in this corner of the world - had gifted hers to Zofia, who had also gifted her red and white corn poppy crown to Anja. Exotic and domestic, all at once, yet both as beautiful as one another.

I do not need a crown of flowers to know that I am loved by my friends, that all of us here love and care for each other. I know I don’t need it, but I still feel that I cannot express enough of my gratitude for their friendship.

My daisy chain made for an amazing accesory to my dearest friend, the snow white petals standing out perfectly clearly against her fiery red hair, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. The way they rested on her head, the way it hung loosely around the back of her head, and yet remained perfectly placed.

We have all the time in the world to make these flower crowns on any other day of the year, but today is special. Today is lucky.

And here’s to many prosperous years to come for all of us.

[kosmosian-quills]

Week 5 - Loss

For week 5 of @yourocsbackstory‘s fall event. I was very excited for this piece, and I am not ashamed to say that I had quite a few ideas for this one, but since this is such a central moment in her backstory before the main story, it deserves telling.

This is a very, very loose prequel to Blameless, and is the “incident” in question that Matylda and Anastazja were involved in with the Princess.

A quick warning about an attempted kidnapping at knifepoint here. I hope you enjoy!

Growing up as the daughter of the currently reigning monarchy, I have come to expect a reasonable amount of protection in my life. Guaranteed safety, things that seem so basic, so normal, that I almost forget sometimes that not everyone has a position of near invulnerability.

I have found out the hard way that nobody, even my father and myself, are invulnerable.

It’s been three days, and I still haven’t left the sanctuary of my room. I don’t feel safe anywhere but my own bed. That feeling of trust and security has been obliterated into the tiniest of shards, and all I can think about it just how close he was.

How the fact that I trusted him was ultimately my undoing. How I was so blind and didn’t see his ulterior motive until it was far too late. How my stupid naïveté just didn’t see the danger he posed, and looking back on our professional relationship up to that point, I had missed so many signs of trouble.

“Your father wishes to see you,” he had told me, “he said it was urgent.”

So urgent that I didn’t have the chance to dismiss Matylda and Anastazja because I was already following him. I should have seen that he was isolating us, taking us far from the sanctity of the residential wing of the castle, and I should have seen it coming when I turned my back from him for just a moment.

His laugh, and in the three days since the incident, that cold, uncaring laugh is the thing that sends a shiver coursing down my spine.

---

General Juliusz Gniewek, my father’s most trusted military advisor, had put a knife to my throat with so little hesitation that I had no time to process it, with him also gripping my upper arm so very tightly. He shoved Matylda to the floor and his lackey had grabbed Anja by the arm, both of them totally speechless. Matylda’s eyes were wide, her mouth agape, silent tears streaming down her face as she propped herself up from her spot on the floor, looking up at me, unmoving and terrified. Anja’s eyes were wide too, except she seemed calm, collected almost.

The blade was cold, sharp, and I was more focussed on that than the commands he was yelling to my friends right by my ear. I fought to steady my breathing, even worked up enough of my previous confidence to speak – except my voice betrayed my fear. Trembling. Weak. Pathetic.

“What, what are you doing?!”

He laughed, “oh, my dear Princess…” his sultry voice was enough to make my skin crawl beneath his touch, “you’re going to help me get what I want from your father,” he told me, the pressure from the knife released just enough to allow me to breathe without the fear of slitting my throat. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you, or your friends die. Do you understand?”

I didn’t say a word, I didn’t need to.

Mainly because my attention was caught by the sudden movement opposite us.

“Get after her, you idiot!”

I barely had the chance to register it because the only thing I could see was Anastazja making a break for the door, wrenching it open and disappearing down the corridor, her long-strided footsteps banging and echoing further and further away from us. The lackey that was supposed to be holding her had briefly held his jaw, and swiftly gave chase.

I was silently praying she wouldn’t get caught, begging something inside me that she could run away fast enough. She’s an athlete, always training, but is she any match for the soldier pursuing her, the soldier in peak physical condition?

The knife was removed from my throat completely, but his grip never once wavered. He sputtered something almost incoherent, before dragging me backwards, and I stumbled a little. He was merciless in his movements though, and continued to pull me through the door, away from my friend still there on the floor.

She was still, just watching in abject horror, I could see it in her eyes. So many things I wanted to tell her, but I was taken away too quickly.

I don’t remember how I got away. I don’t remember what happened. I just remember hiding in a darkened room, an office of some kind, in one of the cupboards, buried in the shadows and concealed by the darkness.

I was the one who daren’t move anymore, who daren’t make a single sound.

I heard people outside the room I was hidden in, and I had no idea who they were. Was it the General? Was it another of his lackeys, sent to kidnap me? I couldn’t fathom the idea of going anywhere with him, the idea that I might not survive to see home again if he took me away was enough to chill me to the bone.

The door opens to the room I am concealed in, and the only thing I am aware of is my silent breathing, covered by my own hand over my mouth, and the frantic beating of my heart racing in my chest. I can hear the radio static, I can hear the footsteps as they patrol the room methodically, knocking things aside and sending papers flying to the ground.

It’s suffocating in here, so dark, and my situation is not an ideal one. I can feel something tiny on the back of my hand, something so small that it tickled the surface of my skin. Spider. I can’t move, even though I can feel it right there on the back of my hand. It’s moving again, closer to my wrist, stopping just over the joint. I just can’t move to shake it off, but I hate the feeling, and I just can’t –!

The door to the cupboard I had been hiding in burst open, sending the brutal, burning spotlight from a flashlight into my eyes. I scurried back as far as I could, away from them, covering my eyes with my hands, crying out “no, no!” as they leaned forwards. They’ve found me, they’ve come to take me away and I don’t want to -!

“Princess!”

“Hey, hey! It’s okay!”

“We’ve found her, room D12, East Wing…”

I stop struggling the moment I get a better look at them, sniffling and trembling in the spot I was curled up in. None of them touched me, they kept their hands exactly where I could see them, but I was still wary. This could be a trap, I could have just let my guard down again – exactly what he just did with me. I don’t want to believe it, I want to trust them, I want them to help me, but I just can’t bring myself to think this is all over.

It never will be the same again.

I felt so vulnerable, I had never been like this before. Threats like this were unheard of, I had never been in danger of such an attack in my life. I was so shocked that he would be so bold to try such a thing, and to have my friends there too…

He’s gone, now – they know what he did, what he tried to do. He can’t – no, he won’t hurt me anymore. But he still took something precious from me, he stole something from me that night. It wasn’t my dignity or my pride, I didn’t care for those anymore.

He took away my sense of trust. He took away my sense of protection.

How can I walk around anymore, without imagining someone trying that again? How can I listen to people calling me princess, and not feel my skin crawl at the word? How can I put my trust in someone to protect me, when one of the people I trusted most violated it without a single thought?

I may be blameless in this. I may be okay now.

But how can I trust that to be true?

[kosmosian-quills]

Week 0 - Introduction

So this is the first of my drabbles for Week 0 of @yourocsbackstory‘s fall edition, the introduction of my main OC from my WIP. I’ve never done this before, but I hope you enjoy it.

My name?

It depends who’s asking, I suppose.

To my dearest friends, I’m simply Andzia. It’s nice to be called something unassuming, even if it’s used purely in a private setting. When we’re just with each other, pretending that the world is far out of reach, and that what we have then and there is what matters most. I’m happy I can return the favour, though, that I can call them something other than their real names, even if it took some time to get used to.

Andzia is private.  Andzia is the one who can be happiest when the world doesn't see her. Andzia is the one who spends a day in the gardens. Andzia is the one who laughs and smiles at distasteful jokes that her father would frown upon. Andzia is the ballet tutus and the messy overalls and the liberation of taking off the other mask.

Only 5 people in the world know who Andzia really is. Nobody else knows who Andzia is. She's safe, safe in my memories. She’s safe and no one can take her from me.

To most of the world, I am Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Anjelika Maciejewska Górskanka of Kosmos, daughter of His Majesty King Maciej and Queen Jadwiga. I am burdened or blessed to take on my father’s position as ruler someday, depending on your perspective of the role.

The effect of the title is fascinating. There’s a sudden intake of breath, where everyone silences and bows their heads, the way that the room stills and waits, the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the room. The way the crowd parts and stands aside.

Anjelika is the professional smiles, the clothes with tight waists, the perfectly finessed appearance, the impeccable posture, the gentle figure that is supposed to inspire confidence in the future. She is the charity events and the fancy dresses and the scripted speeches. She is the descendant of a long and proud bloodline, the one who wears a crown of golden roses and a dress of blue and burgundy. She is the mask that faces the world, the mask that the public sees and respects. Her voice will one day have command over an entire country, and her words will affect more than just those she sees.

But it's not safe to be Anjelika now. It's not safe to wear her mask anymore – that's why I'm not her anymore. She’s an old identity from when things were easier, routine. An identity I can no longer take on without causing me pain and suffering. The name every single soldier in the country is actively on the lookout for now. The young woman with a very tempting title, the title that I probably will never be able to use again. Not when that same title is the very thing they want to steal away from me.

But she’s still mine. No matter how hard I try to conceal her, she is still a part of me, and I cannot ignore her.

When people ask me what my name is now... I say it’s Angel.

Angel tries to be strong, Angel tries to be determined, Angel tries to survive. Angel is the shadowy figure that tries to stay out of sight, she’s the one who hides in plain sight, she’s the one who sleeps only when there’s no one around, and sleeps with one eye open. She’s the muddy clothes and messy hair, the one who has to steal food to get by. She’s the bloody knees and bruised face from all the running and falling she’s done. She’s the one who can’t stop, won’t stop running away, because she is in danger.

I am all of them. I am Anjelika, I am Andzia, and I am Angel.                 

The wise, the free, the strong.

They’re all here, in the bitter cold and freezing wind, covered in filth, blood and rainwater. They won’t ever leave me, and I wouldn’t want to lose them either. The world won’t forget their sins, so why should I forget them?

[kosmosian-quills]

Last Line Tag

I was tagged by both @eluari and @ardawyn! Thank you so much! Sorry for the late response 😅. Have part of a scene that I wrote today!

I froze when I stopped to look at them, feeling my chest tighten, and one of the glasses on the edge of my tray fell off and dropped to the floor, thoroughly soaking the bottom of my trousers in red wine. Not that it changed anything about my black uniform. The restaurant seemed to not notice me drop the glass and then suddenly still.

Oh. Oh no. No no no nonono.

He’s here.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” the General smiled at me, his arm wrapped around the back of one of my friends. Around Kasia. She was looking at me, she recognised me. She was skinner than I remember, and the look of sheer terror in her eyes was sickening.

Tagging you right back with @cirianne, @writerlina and @dove-actually! No obligation of course!