The Princess is dead

Flowers. I smell blossoms. Apricot blossoms. They surround me in budding colours. Welcoming me. As if welcoming me home.

Tinkling water falls and I recognising that familiar tune, I see fountains. Water features. Overgrown. Unkempt. Somehow still working. If I close my eyes, I see what it once was. With my eyes open, I know, this is not it. This is not my home. Home is gone.

The blackened stumps of large buildings and their low stone walls are all that remain of what had been a palace. I can see it in my mind's eye. That nostalgic, magical place. The one where I once belonged. Where I ran laughing as a child. What was, was mine, is no more. The image disappears and I only see what is before me. The gardens have become a jungle. All the people long gone. On a weedy stone tiled platform, I hold the broken fence and look out to sea.

Salt wind sticks to my face and the sea sparkles like blue jewels. I take in this familiar, nostalgic smell and then dispel it. Wind moans in my ears and the waves lap and crash upon the rocks below. Nature is like that. Uncaring.

I am cold. I am thirsty. My body is sore. I cough, but every cough sends sharp stabbing pains through my ribs. My breasts feel heavy and wrong. I am missing something. Have forgotten something. More than just one thing.

Tired. So tired.

At least here, I see no red. Or at least here the red is long gone. From the looks of things, the red tide must have swept through here months or years ago. No. No more red. See the now. Don't think.

Just blue. Deep blue. Sparkling blue and green.

Into the leafy green I wander, deeper and deeper until at last I find a small city of stone tablets and slabs erected over stony houses. The correct words drift to the forefront of my mind. Graves. I read the familiar names on the newer graves. They are not built so carefully. It can be seen that they were in a rush and lacked the tools and time to do things as grandly as in the past. They hold meaning, but I'm not entirely sure what. I don't want to know. I'm afraid to know. Afraid that it will snap the last fraying fragments that still tie me to this world.

One marked place has no mound. It is flat earth, but I make it into a small mound with my hands. A blank plank is stuck there. Taking the plank, I scratch with a sharp rock meaningless words that no longer hold sway over my centre. The centre that was broken long ago.

Then, when I am tired, I lay down where I am and sleep. A good, restful sleep.

The smell of sweat and soothing herbs wafts over me. Fingers feel my wrist pulse. I can hear a baby wailing. Crying. Fluttering hands pat me down, as if to search for injuries.

The words flow past me, but then my ears capture them. And their meaning. Meaningful meaning. It's like a new world has opened up. Or should I rather say, I have returned to an old world that I was once familiar with? For the fragments have been laid to rest, leaving only a soft core that is full of holes.

"My Lady, here you are. We've been searching for you for weeks. We had so much trouble following your tracks. Are you hurt? Are you injured? What is this place?" Fluttering Bird hugs me tight. I return the embrace. I have missed her. Missed her so much.

A gasp from the grave mounds and Swaying Blossoms has one hand to her mouth. A baby lies in her other arm.

"Third Princess of Guoyuan, Lin Singhua," reads a male stranger. He is unfamiliar. Who is this intruder that stands amongst my friends?

There is silence and four pairs of eyes look at me. The baby is asleep. The stranger I do not recognise looks at me. It takes me a while to recognise the man who used to be enveloped by yellow robes. The overpowering perfume is gone. That overbearing presence has shrunken. Shrunken to something more... normal. A sword hangs on his belt. He looks like he has been in many fights. There is a lost look in his eyes. He is smaller. Younger. Less imposing, but nevertheless, a fighter.

"Did you do this?" Gentle Whiskers asks.

"Yes," I say, gesturing at the scratched wooden board, then the other graves. My voice is only a whisper. That's all I can squeeze out, because my chest feels too full and tight. "The Princess is dead. She should rest with her family. I had to carry her back or she could not stay still. She would not have been able to come home again, otherwise."

"Are you planning to die here?" asks Fighter.

"I don't understand," I tilt my head to one side. "The Princess is already dead and buried. They left her out when the rest of the family were buried, but she returned. See? I buried her."

"I don't understand. You are the Princess," Fighter says and his voice holds just a hint of a nasal whine. The eyes that were once filled with stones now only contain shifting fragments.

"I am not the Princess. You are mistaken," I cough and cough and hunching over, I spit out what comes up. A cool gentle hand checks my forehead.

"My Lady, you have a high fever. You are very unwell," Gentle Whiskers frowns and wraps his cloak around my shivering shoulders, helping me up onto my feet. I lean into him.

"I am tired," I whisper. "When can we go home?"

"It got burnt down, remember? The palace was destroyed," Swaying Blossom speaks unhelpful words.

"Earlier, I saw a garden pavilion that is still standing over there," Gentle Whiskers says, pointing. "We can go there for the night. At least there will be a shelter over our heads in case it rains."