K.TH || PRINCE CHARMING

ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ TᗯEᑎTY- TᕼᖇEE

 Curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to take a stroll after supper, but only after I changed my clothes. I reached for the small bag of clothes I had brought and selected a simple, gray linen dress.

I threw the stained nightgown in the corner and rummaged through the drawers to find a brassier. 

I won't get caught looking indecent twice. 

Luckily, Kaz, who I'm afraid I might be seeing more of if I stay, was a child and probably didn't understand what he was looking at; I doubt it even crossed his mind.

Mrs. Dubois, a prude I'm assuming, looked as if she'd been scandalized.

After tugging my socks up my calves again, I take off walking down the corridors—except this time, I go the opposite direction. The socks muffle my footsteps, making it seem like I am intentionally being sneaky, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't being cautious.

I still want to avoid drawing attention to myself and having to answer any authority asking me why I'm being nosy.

My cushioned footsteps are soundless as I walk through the corridor.

The course material of my dress, stiff from being washed and dried in the sun too many times, swishes against my leg, causing goosebumps to rise.

Initially, I planned to retire to my bed after the meal, but an unexpected discomfort overcame me.

I felt unbearably full, the mutton sitting in my stomach like a lead weight. The sensation was nauseating, disproportionate to the modest portion of porridge and mutton I had consumed.

The contrast with Kaz's seemingly insatiable appetite was stark; how could a boy his size manage to devour three bowls and two plates, accompanied by two cups of milk? What is he, an endless pit?

Feeling the need to aid the digestion process, I made a decision.

 I needed to walk a bit to let the food settle, and my body find its balance again because I feel disgustingly full.

My stomach feels like a bloated balloon, and each step I take is a reminder of the food I've consumed.

I massage my stomach as I walk, making sure not to go too fast so I don't get a stomach cramp from excessive movement after eating.

As I walk like a pregnant maiden whose water just broke, holding my belly and waddling, I take in the castle's splendour again. The slow pace allows me to really look at each and every detail.

Before, I merely admired the moonlight's dance on the marble floors, but now, I was captivated by the grandeur of this stone fortress. The intricate detailing etched onto the walls and the art painted on the ceiling in shades of black and gray surpassed all my expectations. I was in awe, like a peasant who had never seen anything nice.

The paintings above depict what appear to be wars, kings, empires, and different people. However, the paintings have no clean lines.

Strokes from whoever's brush it was to put the masterpiece on the wall overlap, and some strokes morph into indistinguishable figures, but they still look intentional and essential. I find myself drawn to them but repelled as if they hold a story I'm not meant to comprehend.

Some illustrations are smugged, some much lighter than others, others so bold that they demand your attention.

It's a beautiful mess; it's disorganized in the most organized way possible.

While dangerous, I continue walking with my head tilted up, trying to follow the story the ceiling seems to be trying to tell.

Some people are drawn with incomplete faces, others look as if they have been abandoned halfway, and some look remarkably fresh.