PRESENT◇ CHAPTER 2: HOW IT IS

Once, in a time long forgotten and in a kingdom nestled beyond the veil of distant mountains, there reigned a headstrong King.

His heart was heavy with pride, yet a shadow loomed over him, for he was cursed to wither and fade with each passing day—paying the price for his reckless destruction of an ancient altar dedicated to one of the Fallen.

The Fallen were a formidable pantheon, a dozen ethereal beings conceived by the benevolence of the Mother Goddess. They existed in a realm of light and love until their hearts were corrupted by suffocating pride and bitter envy.

When they turned against the Goddess who nurtured them with whispered prayers and tender guidance, they were cast down to dwell among the mortals they had scorned. What truly perplexed humanity was that their considerable powers remained untouched, elevating fear and resentment.

The foolhardy King, newly enthroned and naively brimming with ambition, set his sights on the banishment of the Fallen, convinced that their very presence was a blight upon his royal dominion, an evil allowed to fester far too long.

The seeds of his downfall were sown during the tumultuous third year of his reign when fate led him to a gifted seer. This enigmatic figure revealed a bleak prophecy: both the King and his only son, the crown prince, faced a dark demise that threatened the very legacy of their noble bloodline. Anxious and desperate, especially as he and his wife remained unable to bear another child, the King felt a gnawing dread take root in his heart.

Unable to quell his unease with the seer's vague foresight, the King embarked on a ceaseless quest across his kingdom, searching for a deeper understanding of his fate. His desperation turned into widespread rumor, the promise of a substantial reward sparking a frenzy among fortune-seekers and mystics alike.

Months slipped by, the seasons changing, until finally, a dubious shaman emerged from the shadows, appearing unannounced at the opulent Palace gates. The shaman dazzled the court with mind-bending illusions that left both the King and his entourage in awe, quickly earning their trust as a master conduit of sorcery.

Clever and cunning, the shaman never claimed to divine destinies but lingered within the Palace, biding his time.

At last, summoned by the King, the shaman feigned sincerity as he responded to the monarch's inquiry about his prophetic abilities. The King, buoyed by hope, danced with delight, only to be struck with dread when the shaman delivered the disheartening news: the Mother Creator was enraged, her fury poised to erupt like a volcano belching molten fire.

Fear gripped the King's heart, leading to restless nights filled with tormenting thoughts. Why had the Goddess turned her gaze from him? Days turned into weeks, and the mundane rhythms of royal life continued until a bone-chilling report reached the King's ears.

From Halomere, the sacred city, came word that one of the Fallen had unleashed chaos, slaughtering nearly twenty innocents at the hallowed entrance of the Mother Goddess's temple. The brazen act didn't end there—the Fallen had set fire to one of the temple's priestesses, a harrowing symbol of blasphemy.

The report struck the King like a lifeline amidst treacherous waters; in his mind, it was the guiding map he'd been searching for.

Furious and fueled by a need for vengeance, he decreed the annihilation of all temples honoring the Fallen across his kingdom, ignoring the gasps of horror and protests from his council, who were acutely aware of the witches' fearsome reputation.

As the infernal destruction unfolded, the leader of the Fallen, a dark and powerful figure known as Malevolent, seethed with rage. In retaliation, she raised her skeletal army, unleashing them upon the Kingdom of Faraway.

What came next was one of the darkest times in Faraway's history. A war raged between the valiant Knights of the realm and the army of the undead, their struggles painted with countless shades of sorrow as the dead turned immediately to the other side, fighting against their living comrades. The valiant Knights found themselves swiftly losing ground, an impending doom shadowing every conflict.

Reports of the battlefield reached the King daily, yet he remained bedridden, consumed by the weight of the dire situation.

The constant reminders of defeat gnawed at his soul until he remembered the shaman—the one who had brought forth the warning. However, upon summoning the shaman, the King was met only with silence; the shaman had vanished as though he were nothing but a phantom.

In despair, the King wrestled that night with the specter of death, fear gripping his heart with icy fingers.

Meanwhile, the Queen, crushed by the sight of her husband, whose health seemed to ebb away with each hour, was left to think of a way out on her own.

The Queen stood by the window of the grand palace, her gaze fixed on the flickering torchlight that danced across the stone walls. The atmosphere was charged with concern as she reflected on the bleak state of affairs. Her heart ached at the sight of her husband, the King, who had succumbed to a ghostly pallor, seemingly lost to the world. With every passing day, she worried even more for their six-year-old son, the Crown Prince, and the uncertain fate that loomed over the Kingdom of Faraway.

In her determination to safeguard her son's future and preserve the Kingdom's legacy, she took decisive action. Summoning every nobleman and minister who wielded influence and respect, she held a clandestine court, filled with hushed whispers and earnest deliberations. The air was thick with tension as they collectively recognized that the King, though well-meaning, was enshrouded in a fog that prevented him from grasping the looming dangers that threatened their realm.

With a steely resolve, the Queen, alongside the astute aristocrats, forged a powerful alliance with the enigmatic Malevolent. The whispers of this dark force brought both trepidation and intrigue. In the shadows, a pact was made—one that would alter the course of their nation. Driven by a fierce love for her son, the Queen agreed to shift the people's allegiance away from the Mother Goddess, a sacrificial move to forge a different destiny for Faraway.

This transformation bore the weight of solemnity as the Queen initiated the dismantling of ancient temples, defacing majestic statues, and repurposing schools that upheld the beliefs of the Goddess. With each confrontation, the air crackled with the remnants of a fading past. Yet, to the common folk, the departure of the old ways brought a breath of fresh air. The cease of Malevolent and her formidable army of the undead was met with unexpected relief, as fear gave way to a newfound sense of security for those who had long been vulnerable.

As the Kingdom gradually settled into an uneasy peace, the Queen's firm hand steered the palace and its affairs. Although the King remained in a dazed state, oblivious to the sweeping changes around him, the air was alive with the fervor of new possibilities. Those within the court rallied around the Queen, recognizing her as the guiding force leading their nation through tumultuous waters.

But amidst this newfound harmony, the echoed whispers of the past lingered. Shadows of scorn and laughter occasionally brushed against the King's ears, though not brash enough to reach him directly. It was a fragile peace, indeed. Regardless, the palace thrummed with the resolve to move forward, establishing a vibrant future for the Kingdom of Faraway, one that intertwined hope with the remnants of their history.

●●●●●●●●●●

"There is to be a ball tomorrow evening," Gabriella announced, her voice cutting through the heavy silence of the dimly lit study. Gideon, perched in a worn armchair by the fire, gazed into the flickering flames, his expression distant, as if lost in a world far away.

"Tis the fifth time this month," he replied, a hint of frustration lacing his tone. "We can scarcely afford a new dress every other day, and I happen to have four sisters." He sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the mounting anxiety.

Gabriella began to pace across the fraying rug, her footsteps leaving invisible trails on the worn fabric. "I do not know what has gotten into their heads, those royals," she lamented, her voice rising with indignation.

The weight of their family's financial burdens pressed heavily on them; they were drowning in a sea of debt while desperately trying to maintain the façade of nobility as the late Count's offspring. Their father had made enemies, and many were eagerly waiting to see the siblings topple from their precarious perch.

With a determined stride, Gideon left the warmth of the fire and approached the rows of leather-bound books lining the study's shelves.

"Genevieve and Gloria will have to miss it this time," he declared, flipping through the pages of a book with an absent mind. "They should come down with the flu or something. That would allow us to purchase new dresses for you and Gracelyn."

"Gloria missed the last ball, remember?" Gabriella interjected, her brows knitting together.

"It's not like she enjoys such frivolities," he retorted. "She would much rather be hidden away in her room, with her nose buried in some dusty tome, mumbling about who knows what." Gideon closed the book with a soft thud, his patience waning.

"I can hardly wait for the day I marry you girls off," he muttered with a shake of his head as he reached for the door.

"I'm not ready for marriage yet, and Gracelyn is already infatuated with the second prince," Gabriella replied, her voice tinged with defiance as she glared at her brother's back.

Gideon turned, his features marred by the familiar self-deprecating expression that highlighted the similarities they shared. "It's my fault Gracelyn can't let go of the prince. I'm simply too incompetent. We are of a different status now, and the royal family has deemed our darling sister unsuitable to ever become a queen."

A flash of anger surged through Gabriella at her brother's self-blame. It wasn't his fault that their father lacked restraint. It wasn't his fault their mother had fled to Merryloh with her scandalous lover, absconding with their wealth. It certainly wasn't Gideon's fault their parents had become the laughingstock of the aristocracy in Faraway, nor was it his fault that Prince Henry the Ninth was as fickle as the unpredictable weather.

"David, the infamous milliner's son, even had the audacity to ask for your hand," Gideon continued, turning towards her with a raucous laugh that echoed through the room. Gabriella felt heat rush to her cheeks, her head bowed in humiliation, her eyes fixed on the scuffed floorboards.

Gideon attempted to lighten the mood, but Gabriella's disappointment deepened. "He's unlike his father, a rather handsome young fellow, and known to be a dealer in opium poppies if you know who to ask. I was surprised he was coherent enough to attend the last ball and make such a declaration of love."

"Also, Camentine," Gideon remarked, tugging at the fresh stubble that adorned his jawline, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. "The Earl, not the minister. He's as shameless as ever. Old enough to be your grandfather and still chasing after your hand. Can you believe he even expressed an interest in Gloria?" He shook his head in disgust, eyes narrowing as he recalled the man's audacity.

The Earl, Camentine Schnootz, was a man of excess—already burdened with three wives, nine boisterous children, and two grandchildren, one of whom had the astonishing fortune of being just a year older than Genevieve, their youngest sister.

"You've made your point," Gabriella snapped, her voice cutting sharply through the heavy atmosphere.

Gideon shrugged dismissively, making a swift exit from the study, his final words echoing with bitter resignation, "Each man is worse than the last," he muttered under his breath.

Gabriella lingered for a moment, staring at the closed study door as if it held the answers to her unspoken worries. Time seemed to stretch on for hours as she trudged over to the seat beside the hearth, sinking into the chair and fixating on the glowing embers that crackled softly, just like her brother had done moments before.

'They were a joke,' Gabriella thought, a wave of melancholy washing over her.

Once, long ago, their lives had brimmed with happiness and laughter. Gideon would gallop across rolling fields, racing against the sons of other noble families, parading his skill with a sword, a joy that now felt like a distant memory. The days of camaraderie were replaced by a stifling isolation, and when he did encounter old friends, the warmth had vanished; they cast him glances laden with disdain and silent judgment.

Gloria, with her insatiable hunger for knowledge, had once roamed the grand aisles of the Faraway Imperial Library, the finest sanctuary of books and wisdom. She would lose herself in volumes, the outside world fading away as the hours slipped by unnoticed until Gabriella had to rescue her from the pages, calling her for dinner. But that golden refuge had since closed its doors to Gloria, following a fierce exchange with the Minister for Archival Knowledge and Heritage's arrogant son, leaving her spirit dampened.

Meanwhile, Gracelyn was swept away in the whirlwind of her once upcoming engagement to the prince, spending every lovesick moment dressing in finery, dazzling at extravagant banquets, and mingling with the glittering elite of the kingdom. Though it felt like true love, all the glitz and glamour seemed to mask the fragility of their connection. Now she was deemed as unworthy

Genevieve, ever the free-spirited whirlwind, buzzed about seeking the latest gossip and juicy scandals, a habit she showed no signs of outgrowing. Her curiosity remained unquenchable, always drawing her into the lives of others.

Gabriella, meanwhile, immersed herself in her art. The lingering scent of paint clung to her hair, and the telltale smudge of color often marked the skin behind her ears. While her painting had once radiated light and joy, now it reflected a deeper emotional complexity—masterpieces shaded by longing and heartbreak.

She wasn't alone in her struggles; Gracelyn wasn't the only one ensnared by the tangled emotions of love.

Suddenly, her thoughts were jarred by Gideon's yelling from the corridor.

"Later? Why haven't you eaten yet?" he scolded Gracelyn, his brow furrowed in concern as he paced back and forth. "You're still young, and you're not eating enough. Why is that? Are you trying to lose weight?!"

Without waiting for Gracelyn's response, he continued his tirade, a mix of affection and frustration lacing his tone. "With your thin figure, you can't hope to attract a suitor if you lose any more weight. You should eat more to keep your body healthy. What nonsense is this dieting? I'll make sure to take care of you!"

"Follow me," he commanded, grabbing Gracelyn's arm with gentle urgency as he led her past the study and down the winding staircase toward the kitchen.

From behind the study door, Gabriella let out a hoarse, mirthless laugh, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room.

'I should try to create and sell some portraits in the next municipality,' Gabriella contemplated, a spark of determination igniting within her. 'If only to lighten Gideon's burdens a little.'