aurora | 1952

08

November 14th, 1952

The rest of the funeral was hell. People were giving speeches, but Florence wouldn't stop staring at me. I got my dweeb of a brother to quit it by shooting him a glare, but for some reason I have a feeling that wouldn't just slip by the Queen.

At last, we're taken back into the palace, and Percy, once again, ditches the group. My face still burns red, and I can tell that it shows. For a minute, I'm relieved to be walking in silence, but soon enough, I'm pestered.

"What was that act?" Florence whispers, loud enough for Oscar to hear, but he pretends to be distracted. "He will be missed? That's it? A man is your father for 18 years, and that's all you give him?" I glance up at her, and apart from her scolding, her walking has no falter. Nobody even bats an eye our way.

I breathe out and look up at her.

"But Oscar-"

"No, Aurora. This isn't about Oscar. Nobody was even talking about Oscar. His speech was fine. But that embarrassment that you call a speech? What has gotten into you, Aurora?" Oscar breaks away from us and slips into a room, and Florence doesn't even notice. I wish she would.

I keep my eyes down the hall as I talk. "His speech was just as short as mine. It's no different."

"Oh, but Aurora, it is." She stops in the middle of the hallway to face me. Not this again. I shut my eyes as I turn to her, just wanting to escape.

"Why is that?" I ask, looking bored.

"We're women. How could it be the same?" She doesn't wait for an answer as she continues down the hall.

꧁꧂

After seeing the Queens outburst, a maid brought me back to my room. Usually, I'd do that by myself, but given I have no idea how to get around this place, I let it slide.

The room is extraordinary. Somehow even bigger than my apartment, which, now that I'm thinking about it, isn't actually that surprising. Despite all the Queen's disappointment, she sure knows how to spoil. Alike the entrance, the ceiling rises in the middle, and greek gods are painted across a sky. The bed is bigger than any I've ever seen, with dark wooden pillars at each corner, and dark green sheets. A fireplace crackles on the wall opposite from my bed, and a big desk sits near painting easels with landscapes painted across. I really hope I'm not supposed to be an artist. I can't even draw a stick figure.

The maid curtsies, obviously a little confused by my astonishment, and scurries back down the hall. At last, I'm alone, without the Queen's pesters. I flop on my back onto my bed, and scan my eyes over the ceiling. I run over what I've learned about this Princess Aurora.

I almost wonder what could have made her leave, or where she went, but talking to Florence is sort of a giveaway. I heave a sigh, and jump at a knock on the door. I quickly sit up on my pillows, trying to act casual by picking up a book on the bedside table, flipping to a random page. "Come in!" I holler. What do these people have against privacy?

A maid walks in sheepishly, and guilt hits me as I question what could've made her so skittish. I really hope I'm not supposed to be a jerk. "I was sent to remind you of dinner, miss." She curtsies as she speaks, and I'm unsettled by the new type of address. "Okay, I have sort of an odd request, since I've been down there hundreds of times," I lie, "but would you bring me down to the dining hall?" I try not to cringe at my own phony voice. This is all way too much.

She does nothing more than give me a nod, and I rush to the door, letting her lead me through the hall.

꧁꧂

I'm left at big gates, again, almost like the entrance, and the maid awkwardly curtsies, leaving me. I nod to the guards, and they welcome me into the extravagant hall. I try to hide my astonishment as I walk in, choosing to take a seat next to Oscar on a whim, and I nod to my family at the table.

"Ahem."

My face burns red, and I don't even look up at the person who wants my seat. I uncomfortably shuffle to a chair that Florence nods to, ignoring the strange looks that the, now increasing, people throw at me.

More people fill in by the minute, and the aroma of the food wafts into the room. After what might have been decades of humiliation, food is brought out and people already start to dig in. Genuinely surprised by the informality of the event, I take a bite of my food as well, and Jesus, if that isn't the best thing I've ever eaten.

Courses after courses are brought out on fancy platters and plates, getting to the point where I can only take a bite of each. How are all these people so thin?

I watch the people talk about politics, and money, and this and that. Nobody really even looks over to me, and I couldn't be more relieved. Until the last course.

The raspberry tart is brought out, and I just feel too sick to even take a nibble. I purse my lips, considering the fact I have to do this every day. And this? Eating? That's not even the bad part. I look up from the tart at the mention of my name.

"Yes, Aurora is a little stressed about the suitors, but not to worry, she will be fine once she has a Prince to cherish her." The table laughs at Percy's muse, but all I do is glare. The conversation continues without me, despite the constant mentions of my name. Is all I have to do is be neglected until I have a man to prove my worth? I burn up inside, but I just smile and nod. Smile and nod. Until it's a bit too much.

I gulp down the rising feeling in my stomach, breathing through my nose. I notice my hair starting to stick to my forehead. I know I am not about to puke during my first dinner, but the talking slowly turns into a low mumble and my ears ring above the voices. I shut my eyes and breathe in, swallowing my meal.

"May I be excused?" I ask in a flat tone. Without waiting for an answer, I set my napkin on the tart and speedwalk to the door, breaking into a full sprint when I hit the hallways. I desperately search the doors, my mind a blur and my head pounding. Ignoring the footsteps behind me, I reach the end of the hallway and jolt a door open, scrambling with the lock. I look around a dim-lit bathroom, approaching the sink with a broken mirror above it. I rest my hands on the cold counter, lifting my head up to look at myself in the mirror. I take a deep breath, calming down until..

BANG!

The door shakes behind me, and with the sudden movement, I jump forward and vomit into the sink. My eyes widen as soon as I realize how humiliating this is. In a rush, I wash the puke down the faucet. The queens yells sound like they're a mile away, but when I cautiously open the door, there she is, stuttering for something to say. Reaching to fix my hair, I wonder if she's more worried about my makeup than my well-being.

And that wouldn't be a surprise.