Aurora walks out of the building with a conflicted mind and an uncleaned kitchen left behind. Her bare feet patter against the cold stone path leading to a big bronze gate.
There was much to contemplate as she lets her mind astray. Behind the kitchen building, the gateway led to the Lower Bailey, housing to a lush garden with colourful trees and flowers. The refined fragrance reminded Aurora of Earth and consequently made her heart feel heavy.
There was much she had left behind, but did she regret it? As Aurora Harper, she had loved to sing, dance, act, dress up, and do whatever she loved. As Aurora, her name was authenticity enough. Her presence was power. People couldn't cross question anything she partook. She was valid, important, untouchable and above all, loved.
Probably.
At least to her face.
None of her privileges were offered to her in handout. Aurora Harper had earned every glass of water she had been offered. It hadn't been an easy twenty years.
But why had time played such a dirty little trick on her?
Why snatch everything that rightfully belonged to her and shove her soul into that of a penniless child with no attributes, future or fortune?!
Iris was nothing. She had nothing. Even the privilege of an incognito existence was slipping away. Every article on her body was a handout. Did she make friends? Who is to know? Arcel is a selfish opportunist and the moment he gets bored of Iris, he'd probably move on to someone else or something else. All he needed was to reach maturity or get a hobby.
And Vasil? He cannot even be called a friend. He was the most suspicious person she had met in this place. His enigmatic golden orbs hide a little too much. He stole Duchess Arabella's necklace for some reason, managed to befriend Arcel for some reason, conveniently disappears for some reason, knows all about unicorn vomit or mermaid eggs but never opens his mouth before it is too late, for some reason. Aurora wouldn't be surprised if Vasil was a secret assassin out to kill people as a hobby.
Lady Crimson and Ronne were two constants she never wished to have. Both of them eye her with evident detest and though one of them is justified, the latter's malice makes no sense.
Like Magic.
Ambrose and Ronne's magic.
Aurora had been face to face with magic. Looked it in the eye. The vehemence with which it had overtaken Ronne. Not that she had been any pleasant of a person to begin with. But with magic in her hands, she was even scarier. Her auburn orbs had stared through Iris' soul without any ounce of pity. That orange spell may have been standard for sleep but Ronne was out to kill.
She had made Aurora feel helpless. Made her realise that she was nothing in this world but Arcel's toy. A sidekick who could be crushed in an instant.
Was this an opportunity to be grateful for?!
Nothing in this world made sense.
The skies, as Aurora looks up, look normal. They are blue, with a gleaming sun smiling down at the Duchy. But the garden, it contrasts all weather. Whilst one corner houses snow covered trees, the area right beside has blossoming cherries.
And when Aurora walks up to touch the ice, it feels cold, even under the basking sun.
Aurora plucks a snow covered leaf and encloses it in her palm. Within a second, the leaf disintegrates into nothing but dust.
Was this magic too?
What is her role in this world? What is the purpose of her existence here? Why Iris?
Why Duchess Arabella's necklace?
Aurora aimlessly treds into the snow covered garden, expecting to find answers hanging on the trees, or be sucked into a rabbit hole with a cheat key.
Only then would anything make sense.
Or maybe, a certain pink haired goddess who is lurking around the frosty hedges might have some answers.
Aurora's breath picks up pace, having spotted Duchess Arabella's pink hair, she runs toward her. Her brown eyes are expectant as she turns round the corner as finds the woman of her elegancy dreams standing alone, staring into oblivion. She is clad in rich blue robes cinched to her waist and ruffled around the hems. Her hat and veil lay abandoned on the snow, kissing her feet. She is a vision of solace to Aurora's erratically beating heart.
"Duchess Arabella," Aurora whispers, not wanting to speak too loud and break the moment.
The woman turns with a blank look on her face, slowly gaining expression as she realises the presence of her melancholy intruder. Her silver eyes crinkle in a smile and Aurora's breath hitches with its beauty. "Iris, I did not feel you approaching," the Duchess acknowledges.
Aurora feels scandalous being called Iris for the first time. She wants Arabella to call her by her name instead.
"I-uh, Good morning, Your Grace," Aurora curtsies.
"Is Arcel with you, Iris?" Duchess Arabella questions, eyes wandering around to spot the familiar face of her beloved grandson. Aurora notices that Arabella's pink eyelashes were covered in frost.
"No, uh, he's at his tower. Eating breakfast, prolly. Probably, I mean," Aurora scrambles for coherent sentences.
"Are you close with him, Iris?" Arabella asks, tracing her hand over the hedge whilst taking small steps forward. Even the footsteps she leaves behind are dainty, Aurora concludes.
"No, I wouldn't say close. Not really. We met like, two days ago?" Aurora's reply is more of a question. There is no way she would consider Arcel 'close' with herself. Obsessed? Yes. Close? No.
Arabella smiles a soft smile, "To have my selfish grandson vouch for someone he isn't close with, I think I have indeed seen all that life has to offer."
"There's more to Arce— I mean, Young Master, than what meets the eye," Aurora chokes out, pinching her wrists for having addressed the young Prince so casually.
"That would be all of us," Arabella muses, plucking a snow covered leaf. "Tell me, Iris, who are you?" She suddenly questions, staring at the leaf in her hand.
Someone who doesn't wants to be called Iris, she would have said. But, she was caught off guard for she was so busy admiring the back view of Duchess Arabella standing under the sky. Instead, she blinks in response. "I don't know," was the first sentance that came to her mind. For, in all honesty, she doesn't really knows who Iris is and somehow, lying did not feel comfortable with Arabella.
"Isn't that splendid, Iris? When you don't know yourself, there's so much scope to keep discovering yourself. But with Arcel, he knows himself too much. He expects more of himself than he tries out and I don't want the world to disappoint him." Arabella flicks away the leaf and turns to face the raven haired kid. Her eyes narrow at the child's lanky frame, wild blob of short hair and— were they not Arcel's clothes? The brown of Iris' eyes was enigmatic and curious. Nothing special, yet, she was the recipient of constant kindness from her grandson. How intriguing.
Aurora blinks in understanding. She, as a person, had never been unsure of who she was. Little Aurora, in the confines of one room, had always wished to go out, sing, dance and explore the world. For Aurora, an understanding of self came naturally with age. And time.
Two things Iris and Arcel were yet to have on their hands.
"Arcel wishes to see a dragon," Aurora states in a flaccid tone, almost condescending. The world will surely disappoint him with that wish. If only Arabella would permit her, she could bring Arcel on the path of reality. With a few questionable means though, Aurora sinckers humorously.
But humour was the last thing on the Duchess' mind. Arabella's neck jerks, eyebrows meeting each other in a frown. Mind racing mile a minute. "What did you say?" Her question is swift and crisp.
Aurora gulps. Heck-! She had forgotten to use honorifics!! "Ah, um, Young Master wishes to see dragons the most. He calls his tower his 'lair.' Funny, isn't it?" Aurora clears up, less eloquently and but more specifically. Everything about Arabella and her presence made Aurora feel nervous and inconsequential in Iris' body.
"NO!" Arabella exclaims instantly, eyes darkening into a glare. "He cannot! He must not!" Arabella spits frantically, silver eyes widening to a scary extent. She bends over to Iris' height and all but seethes in her face. "Arcel shall have no association with any of Virae's direct descendants. They are NOT GOOD!" The Duchess enunciates with malice. Gone was her peaceful aura and smiling demeanor. All that looked in Aurora's face were glaring red flags.
"B-but- wh-y?" Aurora's words are a stutter, brown eyes not breaking contact with Arabella's silver. The tips of her fingers begin growing cold for all the wrong reasons. Arabella looks demented as she lowers her head for explanation.
"Virae has destroyed us! He and his family have destroyed us in the past and he will do it again! He has cursed the Wreath! He has cursed all of us. You. Me. We are nothing but a perversion of nature." Arabella snaps, clutching her hands against her stomach. Her face contours in pain, but she keeps speaking.
"We had majesty, we had power, we had elegance, land and dominance. But what did he do?! He ripped the Wreath apart for indecent pursuits! OUR CREATOR HAS CURSED US!" Her voices keeps increasing in tone and pitch. It makes Aurora feel uneasy. Her stomach grumbles in discomfort as Arabella continues.
"We worship him who destroyed God's peaceful vision. Ripped apart the fabric of his own existence and ruined his family. Along with innumerable others. His curse will engulf the Wreath into nothingness!!" Her knees buckle and she falls to snow. Blood trickles down her nose as she stares Aurora dead in the eye.
Aurora sucks in a breath, unmoving. Fear overcomes her movement.
"So what if we can light snow on fire?" Arabella grabs a handful of the snow and sparks it ablaze with a blow. Eyes unmoving, Arabella burns everything within her palm. Aurora takes a fearful step back as Arabella carelessly throws it away. "So what if we can change the wheather or blossom flowers?" The Duchess lets out an exasperated breath, sprouting a circle of daisies around the duo. When she lets her breath go, the ground goes back to snow.
"It will amount to nothing now. Absolutely nothing. We chose wrong." She lets out a whisper before another violent fit of cough overtakes her. Her body convulses with tremors and she kneels into the snow with a hand covering her mouth.
"Your Grace! Are you okay?!" Aurora reaches out to help but Arabella holds a bloody hand to halt her in place.
"We must find her," Arabella spits out blood over the white cover of the snow. The red bleeds into the white, making a pretty pink like Arabella's hair. It horrifies Aurora. "We must find— the Priestess—" Arabella breaks into another violent cough. Fearing for both of their lives, Aurora shouts on top of her lungs.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP THE DUCHESS!! HELP!!"
"—You must keep Arcel safe."
Footsteps race toward their direction, frantic and ruthless. They push the small frame of Iris out of perspective, shoving her aside and into the hedge as Lady Crimson parades with her trail. They say stuff Aurora doesn't understand. They levitate Arabella's body. Lady Crimson says something that doesn't makes sense. The Grand Duke runs in and does something that looks like magic—
And before she could realise, all was silent again.
With frantic eyes Aurora looks around to spot a familiar face. Anything that did not remind her of the horrid blood covered image of Arabella glaring with words. Words that made no sense.
Nothing makes sense.
Aurora needs to get out of here. Fast.
But, go where?
Back to the kitchen?