Chapter Text
Growing up, hearing stories of true love is unavoidable. Whether you're rich or poor, own books or have none, you're told stories of knights that slay terrible beasts to save a damsel, or a prince kissing the lips of a princess to break her curse. In these stories, princesses are of unfathomable beauty. They may be afforded a moment of freedom, but they exist to be saved and their love is meant to be won. The princess's love is a prize for saving her, or for being her first friend when she knows no one else.
There are, of course, other stories of women who refuse love, but those are of a genre less happy. They're stories of princesses who are secretly witches, of women who reject the love of men and gain position through power, and they all end in punishment.
Nowadays, you may find other stories sprinkled in between. You may hear a story sung in a tavern about a commoner girl who saves a prince from his own folly, or of a prince merely whisking a princess away from her bad situation out of courtesy rather than because of an expected reward. However, the increasing prevalence of these new stories and the comfort they may bring does not negate the effects of growing up on the "old" ones.
Like many girls, Princess Lunafreya Nox Fleuret of Tenebrae was once fascinated by the usual stories, but, for her, those stories have become a curse. Maybe there are better stories now, but from a young age she's known that her love is meant to be a gift—something to be prized or won—and that to withhold that love (or have none at all) is bad.
It seems to be that girls can only become either princesses or witches, and becoming the latter, well, is just a sentence to a life othered by society. If you want to be good for your family—for your kingdom—you must be a "proper" princess who sticks to her destiny.
And no one wants to disappoint. No one wants to be bad or shameful, do they? Who would want to be othered?
So, one day, Princess Lunafreya must give her love to someone, be a pawn for the sake of the kingdom. It's her birthright, and she must not avoid her destiny.
If she wants to be a "good" princess, that is.
~
A woman walks through a courtyard, admiring the flora—all beautiful and rare—clad in white and red. Warm, twinkling lights begin to pop into existence, one by one, as she nears a pond.
The pond reminds her intrinsically of the lake she calls home. What a feeling to feel now—homesickness—on top of another churning in her stomach—one familiar and yet alien.
Desiring more catharsis than the scenery can give her, the woman begins to dance. She dances along with the lights—fireflies—who seem to dance with her as they twinkle, until a smile sprouts onto her face.
She's so lost in her own dance it takes a while to notice when a figure joins it, beginning a pas de deux under the light of the moon. This figure's presence threatens to poison that smile, but strangely the woman is happy enough that they are here.
The fireflies only grow in numbers as they dance, surrounding them in a cloud of twinkling lights, until finally, the woman's hands fall around the figure's waist, catching them in a dip.
The figure opens their mouth to say something as the full moon looms over the two of them, illuminating their face with its light.
And then, the woman wakes with a start, her eyes flying wide open to the reality of her wooden ceiling.
Frustration settles in the woman's chest, first, as she realizes she had been dreaming.
What were they going to say? she wonders, scrunching up her eyebrows.
The frustration begins to fester and grow, second, as the dream begins to fade from memory—a side effect of waking up more fully. She brings her hands to her head, clenching her fingers around strands near the roots of her silvery, platinum blonde hair. She's reaching desperately, grasping at any details of the dream she can.
It's a reoccurring dream she's had most of her life, she knows that much. Even this time, no matter how long it’s been since the first dream, the woman can only recall flashes and feelings. This time, it's the ghost of a dance, dancing fireflies, a shot of the full moon, and the feeling of home. None of it is much to go off of, but what does that matter?
It's just a dream, isn't it? She's curious, yes, but there’s something more pressing.
Disappointment joins the frustration, which has dwindled a little. Of course, no one can be awake all the time, but sleeping really takes up a lot of time.
"The sun could rise anytime now," she sighs aloud into the empty air. There’s no use sitting here, pondering over a mere dream she'll have again anyways. So, she pulls off her blanket before sliding off the side of her bed and onto the floor.
"Ugh." She grimaces.
Forgot to take my shoes off before.
"Again…" she hisses out.
Of course, now she has to spend some time cleaning her bed, in addition to chopping wood, or whatever it is she has to do before sunrise.
Luckily, she keeps a list.