The Princess, The Bride

Living in sanity or living insanity - who can tell?

The Princess strolled around the castle, without giving much thought to where she was going or why. Her anklets resounded against the marble walls, eerie and hollow. The toneless anklets of a dancer who had long forgotten how to move.

She wore a sheer robe of emerald green that fell from her shoulders to her ankles, draping her languidly. She wore no other adornment except the anklets...and some kohl in her eyes. And the pain that gnawed her from within. She couldn't understand it; it didn't hurt when touched; but it beat with a life of its own... that strange hollowness in her that was once her heart.

She sat inside the walls, entombed, hearing the World go on outside. Waiting, wondering if she would hear the one voice she waited for. The one voice she dreaded. Death with his gloriously cruel laughter. Death who had ensured it would never be the same again. The Princess looked at the dead roses on the floor. A gift from another... the promise of a beautiful possibility that lay withered, not able to withstand the Death-rot.

She loathed herself and the weakness of her void heart. She felt each embrace, each kiss sear upon her soul as an acid-etch that would never go. She had not wanted to share... she couldn't bear the thought of another touching her, her hair, her face, her neck...she couldn't breathe; and yet... she had. Death had laughed at her foolishness, at the stupidity of her thoughts, at the ambitions in her dreams. And yet he laughed at more. He knew... once you loved Death, you couldnt love another. And now Death wanted a new bride.

And the Princess loved and loathed...

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