The Princess and The Sword
The Princess and The Sword
The Princess walked out of the gloomy corridor, stepping on broken rock and wet grass. Her foot bare, covered in layers of grime, dirt, and things she would rather not know.
Ahead of her, an altar lay in the centre of the circular room. Light filtered through a roof of leaves and branches falling on its black surface, giving it an eerie feeling, the Sword on her right hand becoming heavier at each step the Princess took.
‘I should not be in here.’ The air condensed in front of her mouth as the Princess takes one step towards the altar, then another. The weight of the Sword pulling her hand down, resisting her advance, its tip scrapping on the stone floor.
A voice screamed in her head, the Princess pushed it deep in her thoughts.
Thoughts. The Princess no longer had those.
The Princess stepped in the sun light that bathed the altar, it fell cold on her skin, sipping her body’s warm instead of giving.
She was now in front of the altar, its surface wasn’t a black rock as she thought, no, it was no surface at all.
‘Join me.’ The void beckoned, inviting the Princess, the seductive whisper of a lover in her ear. But the Sword holding her back from jumping into her lover’s arms.
‘I want it.’ With all her might, the Princess pulled the Sword forward, the sharp edge hitting her feet, hurting her.
With a cry of pain the Princess fell back, away from the sunlight, away from the altar’s whispers.
‘I need to get out of here.’ The Sword agreed with the Princess, becoming lighter as she stood up, stepping back. The Princess turned and walked away.
Gloom fell on her like a motherly mantle as the Princess passed through the arch, leaving the circular room with its cold sunlit altar behind.
The Princess walked in dark corridors, no light she carried in her hand, only the Sword, yet the Princess could still see the contours of the wall, the intricate work on the pillars supporting the arched ceiling, the carved faces, twisted, screaming, adorning the walls.
And she could see the Thing.
The Princess stepped close, it was a person, a man, by the looks of his build, his short hair falling on his face, not towards the ground the Princess stood. He was suspended with by his right foot, locked inside what appeared to be a crack in the ceiling.
‘Should I free him?’ The Princess took one step forward, her foot falling over something round, slippery, pain spiked through her leg as the wounded foot slid against a pillar. ‘No.’ She decided, walking past the Man, her back scrapping the wall, the faces frozen in stone bitting against her once pompous dress, her heart beating against her throat. Did he smiled at her? The Princess thought better to not dwell on it and moved on.
The Princess proceed through the corridors, ignoring doors that appeared at either side, not attempting to open them.
Ahead, a light came from an opening in the wall. It was an open archway, leading into a balcony.
The balcony was high above the ground, far above the tree tops. The short stone railing, protecting visitors from falling into the enclosure bellow, was cracked, broken. Half missing.
‘You can’t be serious.’ The Princess said, looking at the Sword in her hand. Though no voice spoke, the Princess knew the Sword’s mind, as she ever did since her hands first touched its hilt.
‘A gift, from a land far away.’ The Emissary said, though the Princess did not remember whence he had come, or if the Emissary ever named it. Many had been the gifts she received that day, the day of her wedding, this Sword, though exquisite with its black blade, was just one gift amongst many. But as the Princess closed her hand around the hilt, lifting from the red velvet in the Emissary’s hands, she knew it was no normal sword, for this Sword had a mind of its own, had its own desires.
Desires the Princess could not refuse then, desires the Princess could not refuse now.
The Princess lifted her hand against the sun and stepped into its light, getting closer to the edge of the balcony. The sun light was not the warm she wished, but wasn’t cold she experienced either. If anything, the Princess decided, the sun was indifferent. It did not cared if the Princess fell, it did not cared if the Princess lived.
But the Sword cared. The Princess looked down, then towards the side, where the balcony’s rail was missing.
Vines grew up the wall, old vines they appeared to be, old and thick.
She grabbed one on the wall next to the balcony, pieces of the railing masonry could still be seen lost in its snares. She pulled back, the vines held.
‘How I am to climb down if you won’t let it go.’ The Sword did not spoke back. The Princess resigned herself, and grabbed hold of the vines as best as she could, trying to not slice her way towards death with the black metal, began her descent.
When the Princess stepped on firm ground again, she found herself surrounded by tall trees, their canopies drowning the land beneath in its shadow, shadows which hid raised roots and loose stones, fallen branches and rabbit holes.
There was only one path in the enclosure, leading from the wall deep into the garden, a garden with no birds to sing, only the sound of snapping branches, a garden with no flowers to smell, only the scent of rot to feel.
Sounds, smells, and eyes.
The Princess saw the eyes, far away from the path, deep into the trees. To her right and to her left they stared back, little red balls, floating in shadows within shadows. But the path did not lead to the eyes, and the eyes did not pursed the Princess.
The path lead to an opening, the sun shinning in the small grassy mound, a flat stone at its centre.
‘We are here.’ The Princess knew it as soon as she stepped in the sunlight, it was warm. The Princess shivered at the coldness of her humid, tattered dress. ‘Yes, we are here.’
The Princess walked to the sone, it was long and wide, enough for a person to lay comfortable over it. It was cold to the touch, but a welcoming sort of cold.
‘There was never a happy ending to this journey was there?’ The Princess run her trembling fingers over the stone.
‘Or I can smash you against it.’ The Princess hand tightened on the Sword hilt. She could feel its fear. ‘But then what?’
The Princess sat on the stone slab. It was, comfortable, not the harsh feeling she expected, it felt almost soft. She laid down.
The Princess took one long breath, then held the sword with both hands, the blade flat on top of her.
Closing her eyes, the Princess expired.
This story was made from the prompts of Princess with a Cursed Sword.
(https://w.itch.io/cursed-sword) (not affiliated)