W H I S P E R W A R

W H I S P E R W A R - Prologue

PROLOGUE

           The Curse, 1835

                           “Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that was feared throughout the land and was highly respected by all. It was a prosperous kingdom and peaceful too, ruled by the most just King and Queen of Ambrosia. And the gods blessed them with their only heir, Prince Dustan. He was a spirited little boy who was loved by all. He had the sun in his hair and the sky in his eyes and he was the freshness of the first break of spring. Prince Dustan was the ball of sunshine and as he grew older, he was the heart breaker.

                           He walked through life with a trail of broken hearts behind him.

                           And then he broke the heart of Sylvia De Lylwelyn.

                           In her broken heart, she fled to the comforting arms of her grandmother who was a powerful witch living in the caves beyond the kingdom, banished forever for dealing black magic with the towns people.

                          Delighted in her granddaughter’s distress, she took upon the misfortune to strike the family who threw her into ruin. Sylvia distressed had cried so hard and exclaimed “If I cannot have him, then forbid it that nobody else shall!”

                          As she proclaimed, her grandmother did. To strike the very heart of the joyous family would cripple the kingdom. And so the Prince’s coming of age drew nearer, the witches grew more powerful.

                          Everyone in the kingdom was in the castle to celebrate the joyous occasion to when the Prince would choose his bride among the fair princesses that had come far and wide. As the witch looked forebodingly at the kingdom from afar, all lighted up like the stars in the sky and the music flowing. She looked upon her granddaughter.

                          “Are you ready, my child?”

                          But Sylvia was not. She did not wish to curse the Prince; she did not wish to cause the royal family any ill after all the kindness they had showered on her. But she could not stop her grandmother, she feared her grandmother.

                          “Yes, grandmamma,” she lied.

                          They travelled on her grandmother’s grand horse which had coal black eyes and sharp carved teeth. They passed through the night and into the kingdom like fleeting shadows. Everyone was in merriment, even the guards in the inner most gates. They crept upon the walls with magic and there from the windows they saw the splendour of the celebration. Royals of every kind dressed and adorned with scintillating garments and the lively, bright music flowing in the air. Truly a magical sight.

                           The witch was so consumed in her delight that Sylvia had crept elsewhere. She descended into the darker halls, trying to catch the attention of the prince or any of the Kings and Queens. There was no guard by the door and there was no one sober enough and there was no one to listen to her story. Who would believe a simple peasant girl like her?

                           But desperately she tried.

                           It was too late. A strong gust of wind blew open all the grand windows above them and below. All the lit candelabras were swinging in the dark and there was a simultaneous “ah!” that echoes throughout the room. The King quickly sprung to his feet as well as his knights and guards, peering into the darkness vainly.

                         An evil cackle rang out the halls, bouncing from the once gloriously lit hall. There just above on the window was the witch, with her menacing silhouette towering over us. Everyone knew her instantly, and they had thought she was there to have her revenge upon the King but everyone was surprised when she held up her ugly , twisted finger and pointed towards the frozen prince.

                        “DON’T GRANDMAMA!” Sylvia jumped out of the shadows and placed herself in front of the prince who was unsheathing his sword. Her eyes were brimming with tears again but she stood, unshaken.

                      Her grandmother only shook her wild mane.

“An evil heart that’s worse than plague,

A valiant prince whose heart is vague,

A heart that’s forever changing as the sky,

May the gods in darkness and heavens above hear my cry,

Tonight my prince you shall neither live nor shall you die,

The moon, so eager, will have its vengeance fly

Wax shall you be as the moon is at its highest

You shall be forever wandering, forever young, your highness,

Years will you live in this forever damnation,

For all the pain and sadness that was within your creation.”

                        And then the witch turned to the rest of the people, with a triumphant sneer on her face. She then spread her hands as if in an embrace.

“And you fickle people who have shunned me so,

Forever shall you be in your little show,

Time and change I shall close its gap

And forever shall you be a beautiful painting, trapped.”

                        Everything then shook. Everyone had scattered, rubbles and stones fell from the high ceilings but as the Prince tried to escape, he could not get out of his father’s throne. The Queen went back to her only son but as she did a large portion of the ceiling fell and had almost crushed her, but the King pushed her away in time, her fate became his.

                         The Queen cried out on distress in the riot, her husband was crushed and as she turned to his son, his face was glowing ethereally, he was made of wax. The Queen shook in rage and grief, she had lost everything.

                       The townspeople tried to seek the shelter in the hills but then the image before them turned nothing more than just an image. A hard surface that looked as if the hills were stretching into the beyond and everyone panicked more, there was no escape, save death.

                        Sylvia who had taken refuge in the halls once again, saw the Queen in the amid the riot and rushed to her aid. But the Queen refused to leave the sides of her husband and her son. Sylvia took the hand of the Queen.

                        “I can offer another spell for your son, so that he may have the chance to be normal again,” Sylvio whispered.

                        The Queen looked to her, half mad and desperate.

                        “Please, please, I shall give you anything in return, little as it is,” the Queen pleaded.

                        “I do not require anything in return, but the spell... the spell needs your life.”

                        Without hesitation, the Queen gathered the blotted hands of Sylvia with her eyes sparkling with determination. “So be it,” the Queen said, Sylvia searched her eyes and then agreed to do it. Within all the madness, it seemed that time had stopped for them as the young witch mustered her spell.

“But true love shall be what can severe him apart

If a pure soul for him would lay down her heart.”   ”