Encrypted

Epilogue

On another snowy day, many years later, a robbin, perhaps the same one, sits on a branch, observing the royal parade. It isn't intended to be a parade, but whenever the royal family travelled, they were magnificent enough to pass as one. In fact, with their two hundred guards, and fine carriages, even in the smallest village, they could be sure of at least a crowd of a hundred, eager to see even a twitch at a curtain, to glimpse the made up skin of a lady or duchess. And many of them were pleased; the nobles were impatient, unused to waiting in such a fashion, and many of them couldn't stand the journey with nothing to look at.

This is not, however, what the robbin is looking at. It's gaze is fixed on the finest carriage, where the King, Queen, and little princess reside. Somehow, it knows that, desperate for air, the princess will step, for the first time, out of the rich luxury of the many palaces, and the carriage she has travelled in her whole life.

Her coat is red, and she stands out in the white snow, though it has been crushed by a hundred feet. She looks around, as surprised as to see crowd as they are to see her. This has never happened before; this is new, and they have no protocol for it. A woman - the queen - rushs after her, desperate to keep her safe from harm, but she is stopped by guards. An argument ensues, but the princess hardly notices. She is without the protection she has known for her whole life, and it is intoxicating. To her, it seems as if she is finally free, though in exactly two minutes, she will be hurried back into the stifling safety of the carriage.

However, in that two minutes, her life will be changed. Not, however, in any perceptible way, but she will be changed. An old woman, almost dead, stumbles towards the little princess, she embraces her, and whispers something to her, before collapsing to the ground, dead. The girl is crying, uncontrollably. As she is dragged back to the carriage, she screams, kicking, desperate to help the old woman, despite knowing that she is already dead. As she sits, despondent, the words replay in her head. I'm sorry I have to leave you. But I love you. Remember that. And somehow, she knows it all.