There she stood. Breathtakingly beautiful, shining in the sunlight. A bloodstained wedding veil fastened to her flowing chestnut hair. A dark contrast in the field of yellow. She sat. Surrounded by flowers, sitting on an island of grass, in a sea of yellow. She took the veil from her head, replacing her glistening crown on top. She was cursed, and she knew it. So why, why would she try to break free. The curse kept her prisoner. Kept her locked away from her true self. Always to cause such a dilemma. She looked at the castle walls behind her. Why couldn’t she be normal? She never asked to be a queen. Particularly not under these harsh rules. Her parents had been great rulers, the best leaders this small country had ever had. But now she was cursed. Cursed to rebel. To ensure that never again would the royalty be overthrown. To tear her small loving country into a menace. All because of that one group. That one small group of outcasts, the people who hated peace. Hated the way Kylia was run. She gazed at the flowers, one in particular caught her eye. A small neat buttercup. Beautiful, yet an outcast, like her, in a world of Tulips.
She gazed back at the castle. The stone walls towering over her. A breeze gently swaying her hair. Glistening in the setting sun. Her eyes were drawn up the grey to the curdled sky. The orange and pink mixed and swirled, creating an ombre of colour. Swirling, mixing into one with the fluffy clouds scattered overhead. The small wooden door on the left of the wall began to open. She watched as tentatively a woman wearing a crisp white apron stepped out.
“M’am, what are you doing out here, at this time of night? “ the maid asked. Her face was rounded and kindly. She was the queen’s old maid’s daughter, they grew up together and had become the best of friends. But now their parents were dead and their relationship had completely changed. Iona had become the maid to the queen and hence, had to refer to her with a professional air. They were still kind to each other, of course. But the queen had developed a superiority and they could no longer keep up the pretence of equality
“M’am?” The queen staggered to her feet, the torn wedding dress hung limply around her body. Iona rushed to help her, clumsily trampling a path through the pristine field of tulips. “Come now let’s get you to bed.” Iona led her up the stone stairs, and wordlessly led her into a room. Opening the oak door, with gold plated letters spelling Cressida, from the queens younger days. Iona sat her down on the bed. “There you go Ma’am, Now don’t you worry about a thing.I’ll look after Alyssa for tonight.”
Iona cradled the sleeping baby and left the room without another word. Once again Cressida was left to her thoughts. She changed into her nightwear, carefully draping the torn gown over the cot. She slid into bed. She Cried. She Wept. And finally, she fell quiet.