Raveled

Chapter 1

This is the story of how I died. Well, not really, I mean eventually...

The young woman shook her head and her tangled brown locks grazed against her face. She pushed them away from her face and began again, this time ignoring the advice her father had given her on to start such things as this.

Dear diary,

It would appear as if my coronation is going to happen whether I like it or not.

Marigold furiously scrubbed the tip of the eraser against the page. The lead started to smudge across the page and as she pressed harder, the eraser tore off. Growling at the paper, she scratched out the words -not having the heart to go the one step further and tearing it out for good- and set the pencil down.

It was too early for her to put any more cohesive thought into the journal, and she reasoned with herself that she'd fulfill her parents wishes later when it was not quite so early in the morning.

As she made her way over to the bed, the cooing of a mourning dove altered her attention back towards the disturbance that had aroused her from sleep in the first place. A short breeze blew the curtains back as she pulled herself towards the window, sitting on the ledge to get a view of her latest companion.

The dove was perched at the peak of the tower just below her bedroom window. It hesitated for a moment in its song, noting her presence before beginning again, allowing her the privileged of its daily song. At the end of its coos, the princess applauded quietly and the dove gave a final coo before flying off to meet the day.

She closed the window and pulled the curtains tight, hoping to avoid the day in its entirety.

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Padraig Flanagin had fallen asleep in the chair once again, in an effort to force his stubborn mother to sleep on the one mattress that they owned. He had enough energy to outlast her in their nightly competition, but not enough to move himself to the couch once he had finally secured victory.

He grumbled to himself as his muscles creaked and popped with his rise from the chair. The light was just starting to break through the dusty, moth worn curtains as he slid his boots on over the outfit he had neglected to take off the night prior. "Not leaving before you can get a good meal in, are you?"

"It's already late," He said as nonchalantly as possible, knowing that any bit of protest would wind his mother up faster than he could run out the door.

"I'm aware." She came around the corner dressed in a night gown and a tattered apron, blocking his way to the entrance. Some of her bright red hair had fallen out of the bun atop her head and the strays curled around her rosy face in a flattering manner. "That's why I made it to go." She smirked and held out the napkin that was tightly wrapped around the breakfast burrito. Ignatia knew she had won before they could even begin.

Padraig begrudgingly took the food and tried to get around his mother to the door, but the small woman stood arms crossed and none too pleased.

"Mother," He said. A similar stubborn frown drew down his features. He hated being told what to do, and often times it seemed ten times worse when it came from the woman responsible for the trait in the first place.

"I'm not budging and inch till you take a bite." She said with her thick, Irish accent now jading her words.

"Ignatia-"

She had grabbed a spatula from the counter and waved it accusingly in his face, enunciating each word with the utensil. "I' your mother and I'll be treated as such. Now eat your damn food."

He sighed, running his free hand through his dusty orange locks. This argument was familiar territory for them and by this point he was out of words that had yet to be spoken. Defeated, his body moved of it's own accord, his mind too exhausted to argue, and took a bite of the food.

Her own followed suit and she sat down, relief making her muscles weak as the fight drained out of her. "We can't keep going like this. I'm getting on in my years, and I just-" She sighed running her hand through gray streaked tresses. "Let me take care of you while I still can."

He laid a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Alright," he looked down at her and her eyes brimmed with tears threatening to fall. "But just for today."

She smacked his leg with the spatula, wiping her sleeve across her face. "You get out of here before I throw you on the streets myself."