Fly with you all,
So the 4th anniversary of Pixie Hollow’s closing has just come and gone. Wow. 4 years. 4 whole years have gone by and here I am, swamped with work, ignoring this community that I’ve been a part of for so many years.
I’m not going to make excuses. I’ve been incredibly busy, just struggling to stay afloat amid the crashing waves of schoolwork, but still. No excuses.
So I was sitting at my mushroom table a few days ago, trying to overcome my huge writer’s block when I remembered: there are so many chapters of stories that I wrote in advance but never published.
After who-knows-how-many-years, I’m finally doing it. This is Her Majesty, the story of Queen Clarion. I hope you enjoy.
Synopsis: Queen Clarion was not always the all-powerful ruler of Pixie Hollow. In fact, once she was someone else – someone very different. She was young and foolish once.
Uncover the many untold secrets of our Queen, including her venture into the Winter Woods, and how she built Pixie Hollow to be how it was.
Author’s Note: Ok let’s start things off on a good note! This is the first time I’m going to reveal this story for reals, and so what better place to begin than the very first chapter hmm?
Actually, this particular chapter wasn’t supposed to exist, but I felt that the second chapter dove in a little too deep for a beginning. That means I’m going to use all this space to introduce things – yay!
Please read on – and enjoy, of course.
As the Princess of my kingdom, I have always known that my primary duty is to my people. So many are under the perception that running a kingdom is quite a splendid job – others have to obey your every command, and you get to live in a palace. Who wouldn’t want this chance? The chance to be me?
– Journal of Her Royal Highness
– – – – – –
“You don’t think the frills are too much, do you?” The girl in the mirror moves simultaneously with me, brushing an invisible piece of dust of her shoulder. I turn around a little to look over my shoulder, and she does too.
“No, no miss. It looks gorgeous!” My head maid, Cordelia insists.
I look back at the girl in the mirror. A girl with long, dark blonde – almost auburn – hair stares at me with sapphire eyes. Cordelia looks admirably at her – my – gown, a cornflower blue thing that flaunts butterfly sleeves and a lace hem.
“If you say so,” I reply dubiously. “Frills and butterfly sleeves aren’t really my style…”
My gowns usually consist of plain and simplistic colors and patterns. Nothing particularly bold or daring. I prefer the elegant dresses compared to some of the more garish party dresses I’ve seen on some of the Ladies of the kingdom that come to visit the palace on occasion.
Of course, I do have a small collection of “garish party dresses” for when guests come to the palace, or reporters come in to do an interview.
“It suits you so perfectly though,” another maid, Hadley, enters the room, carrying a platter containing my meal.
“I suppose,” I shrug. “What’s one more gown to add to my collection anyway?”
“Perfect!” Cordelia claps, reaching for the pins on a nearby table. “I just have to make a few minor adjustments before bringing it to your closet.”
“Thank you Cordelia,” I say, grinning. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She winks as she exits the suite with a blue bundle in her arms, leaving me alone with my meal. I eat slowly, savoring the flavors as they dance on my tongue. Sighing, I gather the long, splayed out skirts of my lavender gown and leave my suite.
I’m not quite sure where I intend to go as the clack of my heels hitting the wooden floor surrounds me. It is clear that the halls are deserted.
Wrinkling my brow in confusion, I turn down a sparsely used corridor, expecting to see a guard or two lining the halls even at this point.
I see nobody.
I am alone.
I let out a small shriek of joy and race down the corridor full speed, half expecting someone — my mother perhaps, or my tutor — to reprimand me about the “courtesies of being a princess”.
“No running,” they’d say. “It’s unbecoming.”
I turn on another corridor, tensing as I wait for someone to pop up behind me, voice echoing, as they say the words I know they’ll say: “You aren’t supposed to be here, Highness.”
I wander down the halls of the East Wing, enjoying a rare moment to myself. The dark red-brown wood panels of the hallway are adorned with gilded golden frames holding the portraits of the Aeira royal family.
I stare at the painted strokes that captured my ancestors, brushing the gold of the frames with my fingers every now and then. These portraits are painted twice in every royal’s lifetime; once as a child, at age 6, and once after coronation..the smaller frames containing photographs of wedding days are all found in a different hall on a different floor.
I reach the last of the paintings. In a thick golden frame embossed with swirls and filigree, a canvas sits, thick oil portraying the figure of a young girl with dark curls pinned in an updo. She wears a tight red gown scattered with gold flecks gathering at the bottom, hands tightly clenched in her lap, a rigid smile on her face.
I know this girl. I know how she wouldn’t sit still for the painter, and how she had sat there for hours on end, under the perfect lighting. I know this girl. I was her.
I lean toward to read the gold plaque below the painting
Princess Clarisse Marion Aeira – Age 6 and 2 months
Frowning slightly, I turn to the wall opposite. A frame has already been made there, and it sits proudly, in its delicate beauty. It’s golden and gilded and specially made for the painting that will rest inside it.
A plaque sits underneath the frame. Marvelling at the speed of the castle staff at hand, I stiffen as I read the embossed words.
The Coronation of Princess Clarisse Marion Aeira – Age 18
– – – – – – –
I walk briskly down the stairs to the main wing. Turning the corner, I gasp, nearly bumping into a figure dressed in a guard’s uniform.
“Oh my. uh… Pardon me your Highness. I didn’t see you there,” the guard stammers, turning pale.
“I know you didn’t,” I say coolly, scanning the name on his gold tag. Winters. “Don’t worry about it; just watch your step next time.”
“Uh, uh…” He nervously tips his hat at me as I prepare to whisk away.
“Oh uh, your Highness?”
A voice calls out behind me just as I reach the edge of the hall. I turn slowly.
“The King has requested your presence in the throne room. Please see him as soon as possible.”
A cold sweat runs down my back. The King. The man I call Father. I glare at him.
“Very well, you may leave,” I reply coldly, turning the opposite corner, and breaking into a run until I reach a large set of golden double doors.
Taking a deep breath, I push them open.
Rows and rows and rows upon rows on shelves upon shelves greet me. The books
To say it’s a large room is quite an understatement. It’s a gargantuan room. And a beautiful one at that.
Rich purple tapestries dangle from the ceiling to the floor. The floors are made of a rich chocolate wood and a long velvet purple carpet stretches from the door to 3 thrones sitting on a small stage. Paintings take over the remaining wall space, depicting feats of our kingdom.
I keep my head down, the clicking of my heels muffled by the carpet. Reaching the end of the carpet, I look up, staring my father straight in the eye.
“Hello Father,” I bow down into a deep curtsy. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”
His piercing gray eyes bear into mine.
I will try to be consistent with releasing the remainder of the chapters that I have written for miscellaneous stories in the next little while.
Honestly, October through to December are incredibly hellish months for me, so perhaps this will provide the smallest bit of solace in some dark times. Please know this isn’t the last you’ll hear from me, dear friends.
Perhaps this is what I need to remove my writer’s block after all.
Fly with you later,