[IP] Enchanted Forest

...

rom the cool embrace of silken sheets embroidered with gold, warmly passed from the light of sun to moon: Night was a blanket of shadow that filled the quiet chambers.

Even in the passage of silver light along a window of pure glass, Aurum was hidden beneath its strange shelter, set to wander the past with slow and peaceful breaths of freedom. A sound of dreams, where the resting woman could still remember those faded days before: Of a time preceding the rich, the splendor, the flags and family seals of title that privileged her to such a present place.

Her early youth swam along before her eyes, shut closed to the whistle of wind and time. Drawing her back, deep and down to the abyss of what came long ago to pass, tying her to the unseen flow that waited.

Aurum opened her eyes to the wild and vibrant.

Here in the familiar place, of distant and illusive memories still holding to a strange magic and truth beyond the waking hours. Memories of secret walks among the farthest edges of the Royal Forest, and the wonder still contained there. Of those strange twists and smell. Images of bark and fiber held among the colors of deep greens and soil; places she once explored with her brothers and sisters, free from the world and its burdens.

Warm wind and cool afternoons of shade, each filled with musty scents of leaves and damp; the distant calls of birds or rumbles of unseen creatures ushering from far within the depths of illusion, past trails walked along by men. She watched on as the paths split and sectioned, all familiar as they ever were.

She knew it to be a vision not of the waking world, clearly as one might remember that the air gives breath, or the winter brings chill; but through force of will that remembrance did not bring her to wake.

It was only here, and here alone, that Aurum found she could still walk beneath the canopy and watchful eyes of her trusted kin. Even if it was only a reflection of a half-forgotten memory, it was only in dreams that she could still stare in wonder of the world unhindered by a touch of man. A place that stood eternal, measured not by years or centuries, only the rise and fall of sun and season.

But even if she choose not wake from such a slumber, the memories pass along like pages of a yet unwritten history. There was no choice but to follow, onward along the months and years of personal history. No matter how well she remembered those early days with fondness: the walks would grow less frequent.

The Forest of that happy youth grew only farther away.

Only in reflection might Aurum know the number of reasons lurking in such change, watching through the eyes of a child. No one can can not fully grasp the responsibilities shouldered atop a Royal house, especially not as someone only just arrived and learned of the world. The highest of nobles have many constrictions push upon its youth, even more so for those of pure heritage. It is only from eyes of experience can it be truly understood.

The throne is nothing more than an uncomfortable seat, in which swords and daggers dangle from wire above.

Mornings to sunset of rigorous and diligent training, magics and temperament all but beaten into her. The skills of court and formality, words and language, maths and histories. The Church and faith, and the gods who raised them.

It is rare that a young heir to the throne of Doterra might find escape such a burden of responsibility. Yet still, there were still occurrences for a time after.

Even as the years continued passage, and the teachings grew only stricter as child turned to adolescent, Her great Uncle Zahra the wise would make it so. Even as his frame shrunk, and his oaken cane turned to a crutch, he lead Aurum and her siblings outward to the forest together. Eyes watchful and vigilant as they ever were, as he passed on the teaching of this world. A message of peace, and tales of wonder.

But all things must end. Even in the dream, history's pages turn.

Her father passed along towards the grave, following after Aurum's mother before him. Her brothers grew cold as scaled vipers before stone was set atop the tomb: Serpents with the venom to match. Even those precious sisters of hers, once trusted and smiling, set their frosty glares on conquest. Each was married off, one by one willing their fates to noble houses and greedy men of spiced scents and spotted skin.

Power corrupts those who let it.

As by far the youngest of her siblings, Aurum grew older in the shadows of giants as they fought with cloaks and daggers of power and titles. A girl of name only, instructed as diligently and ruthlessly as ever before. As all children do when the world they know is stolen from them, she clung to the knowledge like a drowning soul to rope.

Those brothers made silver-steel red, and her sisters screams fell silent from their ivory towers. Aurum alone watched from the sidelines, the sixth in line to a corpse covered throne, long since forgotten in the fever-pitch of nobles seeking glory. The Church's sway, the coins and letters, the ink and blotted stains of rags and cloth. Those walks together in the ancient forest ceased, as kin became liability and family became enemy.

Who would walk in friendly silence beside the senders of assassins, knives and magics in the dark? Who would watch the birds in flight, when a sword swung for your waiting neck?

No one.

From her window of stained glass, hidden away among the twists of castle, stone and mortar, she might rise with the sun to watch those distant trees. As the moon falls, she might linger still the same, but time went as time goes. The years turned on, and she grew to know her subjects until the need for class and instruction was passed. Until the only need for her attention was that distant expanse of green.

A place she might remember only in her dreams. One day, upon the final resolve of an open duel between her two eldest brothers: Aurum woke to find herself no longer the sixth child distanced from the throne, but the first. There was no one else but her.

On that day, the nobles eyes turned, all together and at once.

They watched as she rose to step up across the bloodied stone past the dying and final gasps of her brothers. Watched as she lifted the crown of golden branches that waited quiet and still on the throne of ivory. She witnessed their hungry gazes, licking chomps and foaming mouths. Listened carefully to the braying calls of impeccable language and flatter, laced thickly of want and greed, wringing hands covered beneath robes of white, faith and clergy. Subjects spoken aloud with the needs of the Kingdom held as camouflage. Considerations of marriage, house and suited lineage, each announcing in succession just moments after her hands set themselves upon the Royal scepter.

And then they bowed. Low and deep, perfect and formal. So spotless and flawless were their motions, that if her brother's corpses had not been lying on the soaked ruby floor, the young girl might have believed them loyal. She might have once honestly trusted their word.

...

Her eyes opened, golden even in the silver of the moonlight from the window which watched her. The glass, and another shard of mirror's edge: hovering as if by its own effort alone in the contrast of brilliant shadow. A figure of both fear and terror to all who wake in the deepest grasp of night. A shape Aurum was all too familiar.

Then, the knife fell.

A soft and dulled ring of metal and resonance on the carpet covered stone.

Wordlessly, Aurum stared at the body, looking into the widened eyes of surprise as they crumpled to the floor- final breath already stolen from their breast. Even in the darkness of the room, she could make out the familiar crest of her Royal guard. Another trusted warrior, turned assassin by the promise of unknown lips.

Behind the corpse, several figures stood quietly. Watching and waiting before the slightest nod released them to the long awaited motions. A muffled shuffling of body and effort, as the would-be killer in the night was drawn to a place more inviting for the dead. Soon, only a single shade of a man stood in the room beside her, eyes watching the now bloodied stain revealed by the window's glow.

"Rest well." The guardian's words were soft as they too stepped away, followed with the soft click of a wooden door to leave her again alone in the room. If she chose to look, the shadows of their stance beyond her door would be visible on the tile's reflection: waiting quietly for another threat with the others beside them.

Sleep beckoned her to return, indifferent to the danger passed, but instead of rest she rose from the silk and sheets of perfect cloth. Standing on carpet, moving beside the quiet pool of blood to stand outside the edge of shadow, her golden eyes rested purely in the illumination of the full moon.

Eyes that stared towards the far shadowed shapes, watching an ancient forest once remembered.