The Taukiri Chronicles Vol 1

Ophelia

"A dreamer is one who can find his way only by moonlight and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."-Oscar Wilde

Chapter 1

The land of Loch was a small kingdom nestled just outside the bleak forest of The Pale. Great wars were told to have raged in the forest, I used to devour books on the history of war and battle lore. There was once a battle simply called 'The Battle of the Pale' It was between all of the kingdoms of the north and all of the kingdoms of the south. They raged and fought only 1 moon cycle. The Kings of the south held the King of the north at ransom, challenging him to lay down his crown, to forfeit his title and lands to the Kings of the south. The story read that the King of the North being a man of no virtue refused to relent the Kings of the South had gotten in possession of the King of the North's prized Jewel. They say the King threw himself at the feet of the Kings of the South and forfeiting everything for his greed was his demise. The Kings of the South being fair and true released the king and their men, until they saw that the King of the North had taken one of the King's young daughters' captive. Holding her at the edge of his sword the King of the North slit the princess's throat, claiming payment for his kingdom's demise. A life Kingdom it was written was no payment.

I am Bellary of Loch; I am the Daughter of Tibus King of one of the southern kingdoms. I am the princess in the story, the book called it lore, but I wasn't a fairytale. I had cheated death and couldn't tell the tale. Our wise physicians were able to quickly intervene saving my life but not my voice. I lived my life as a shadow, a piece of furniture. A 'Mere stain on the perfection of the Kingdom's line' as one of the ladies of the court had once described me, upon seeing me. After the attack I have hidden away in the north wing of the castle, only to be brought out to important and highly attended events. My scar would be heavily covered with itchy lace collars. Father not wanting the kingdom reminded me any more of my 'Disadvantages' as I grew, more disadvantages were noticed beyond my scar. My auburn har didn't deepen into a dark brown like the painting of my mother, nor did my skin darken to the caramel of my brothers or bronze of my fathers. The physician would excuse it to the blood loss of my injury, thusly always being tied to the trauma of my past. I was brought up and educated with the etiquette of a daughter of the King, and instilled with the expectations of a daughter of Loch I was to prepare to be offered in marriage and be a dutiful wife, I was to keep my emotions locked inside and to not question the rules set before me as a good daughter of Loch should do. Winters of my childhood past and bled into winters of my youth, autumn, springs, and summers all turned into more winters, and I just kept blossoming into an older version of myself. With every passing winter, I learned more, heard more, and filled the void of seeing more than these walls I was confined too by reading books, my brother Antione would bring me books from his journeys to the fellow southern kingdoms, large volumes and tropes from the east, all in strange languages, I would devour them, pour myself into them, and escape into their pages. I survived in these pages, they became my friends, lovers, and obsessions. Eventually, I found my every move surrounded by words floating on the wind, leaking from the ceiling, bleeding off of people, pushing off of them like a permeating perfume I would listen for them to talk to me without moving their mouths, it was my magic. I could hear people's secret intentions. Even before they spoke it, and if you listened hard enough the walls would tell you their secrets too. I started to pray that no marriage contract would come, that I could always stay among my books and had no investment and time for people. As the winters grew along with me, my Father's neurotic obsession with my health and safety grew. I became unable to move without the placement of guards, unable to taste my own food, without someone tasting it for me, or drink my own wine without someone being there to take the first sip. I always thought as a woman grew from a child into a lady her independence and freedom grew in time too. I was growing backward in time, and I was robbed of the words to express my frustration but told to stuff it down, force my emotions to my belly, and ignore them. I was drowning in a sea of myself and I couldn't find my way out.