Fantasy 𝕯𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖇'𝖘 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 - IC

[s e v e n]

P r o l o g u e

"The Princess and The Pauper"

Red nosed and wide eyed, golden blonde hair that curled, brushing over the tops of her narrow shoulders. Beneath her chest her heart pounds forth, the flames of excitement vibrant and glowing. All the same, young Teresa could not deny her agitation, visible in the way her heels shifted her body back and forth, small feet wrapped in equally small shoes. Perturbation led to guilt, guilt to second thoughts. Mum would not have liked this at all, the young girl grimaced at the thought of the whipping belt.

“Ya know,” the boy in front of her started. Wild freckles marked his face, and as he smiled, his eyes glinted, like that of a mischievous street cat. When he spoke, a missing tooth was visible at the corner of his mouth, he adjusted the straps of his shirt that had gone much worn it was to be mistaken a wash cloth. “Ya bein’ so darn cowardly and all that. Ya can stay back home, aight? Cry to mummy.”

Red flushed in her cheeks, blossoming rose over pale snow. Stubbornly, she stomped her foot upon the ground, though fingers remained tucked in the frills of her dress. “Am not!”

“Are too!” the boy replied, and his sneer only grew larger as the young girl submitted to her shame, puffing out her cheeks. In all the young boy’s defense, he felt as though he was threatened by a cupcake. But this only sparked more of her will, and all doubts she had possessed before flew in the words of her friend.

“Well, that is fine by me!” Teresa snapped, clenched fists. “Just so you know, you are not very nice! I’ll show you…” her eyes darted towards a row of box crates, emptied out of whatever they may have contained. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be so taken in the heat of the moment, perhaps she really should have nodded her head, went on her merry way home and mother would spare her. But alas, who can hold down a child but another child? Her soft pink lips curled into a grin, and before the rat reaches its cheese, off she went.

“Race you to the top!”

“Hey!”

The boy, whose name was Eric, had not time to prepare himself, as the moment he blinked, the young girl had lifted herself up the wooden panels, balancing herself over ledges and window sills. Positioning his hat, he followed suit, grabbing by the corners, swinging by poles. And so the two merry kids ran down the busy streets of London, skipping past road stops, the soles of their shoes sinking in dirty puddles, splashing their very own reflection against the morning sun. Maneuvering through coaches and cars, their brows furrowed in focus though little could they hold their lips from smiling.

Golden shined over two silhouettes, a young boy and a young girl, their fingers intertwined. Her skirt floating in the air, soft hand against calloused palms. The Princess and the Pauper. And as their hands locked, hearts beat in between. A gentle symphony of fate of the red strings. Bright, yet naïve, oh poor unfortunate souls. How many years would pass, months perhaps, until the light from their eyes be snatched from them, too? For dreams are made to perish, stories written just so long the ink scratches the parchment. Each step they make, one foot over the other, another step closer to their endings. Do happy endings exist? The scent of Atropos draws near.

A snip.

Her steps failed her, and before she knew it air replaced brick stones. She felt her stomach sink, and then herself. What had felt so close now so far, her fingers grasping against the wind, to no avail. She wanted to shout, yet she could not. All happened in the quarter of a second, birds flew over her head.

Then she felt a hand reach for hers.

“I win!” the boy announces triumphantly. His friend, now short in breath, pulled herself up the rooftops. Her dress now marked in ashes, locks of blonde stuck by the sides of her face. Her cheeks were redder than ever before. What had happened before, she could not comprehend, but before any emotion could overcome, her childish temper had overcome.

“No!” she fumed. “No fair! Y-You cheated!”

“Cheat’d?” Now it was little Eric who had pressed his lips together, his hazel eyes blinking in disbelief. “Oy, speak for yerself! Ya wouldda fallen over if it wern’t for-”

Then he paused. She did to, for whatever she would have said drowned in the noise of trumpets. Distant, yet constant. It grew louder as they paced over the opposite edge of the roof, and as the wind brushed over her face, Teresa beamed.

Symphonies of angels sung as she took a breath, cold air surging through her lungs. She closed her eyes for a second or two, then she opened it and blessed was the sight that greeted her. From the top of it all, the cities run, life of millions in the palm of her hand. Outstretching her fingers, the young girl observed as carriages marched to and fro. Zeppelins and air balloons hung in the sky, still much higher than where they were. As one flew right above them, she let out a small squeal, bringing her hands to her ears to shield herself from the noise of turning gears. The sun peeked over the shoulders of clouds, spreading her hands to her sides, she felt like a bird, soaring through the skies, vast and limitless, free and unbothered. No cage would bound her. Warmth of the sun basked her skin, she wondered if only one could live forever.

“Tessa! Tessa!”

Her attention was snapped aside when Eric had tapped her shoulder. His finger pointed down towards the streets, where people could hardly be seen, heads over shadows, a flurry of ants in a much too extravagant bowl. Her heart skipped a beat- this was what she was here for. The reason she risked her life, the wrath of mother- all was for this single moment. Eyes as round as marbles, she blinked, sucking in a tight breath that hitched in her lungs as she crawled. There it was, in front of the palace. Many had rushed through, people flooding every inch of the street. Something had separated them- guards, it may seem, circling over a very small space. The space that lies almost directly below them.

A pedestal was placed right over a circle of velvet red mattress. A sword, golden hilt, silver blade, glinting in the light as it was raised. Two figures knelt right before one, whom she assumed was the queen herself. Queen Victoria! And two of the round table knights, one of them a woman. Her hands rushed over to her chest, and she felt warmth. Maybe, one day, she could too be like them. A valiant knight, protecting her loved ones from all sources of evil. When the boy’s hand reached over hers, she did not even flinch, instead she exhaled a breath. If heaven exists, it must feel like this- sweeter, perhaps, a little bit more.

“One day.”

She turned to face him, and perhaps there were tears in her eyes. She blinked them off, sniffing slightly before wiping her face in her sleeves. “Yes,” she replied, her fingers tightening around his, and the young girl felt her cheeks heat up once more, this time for an entirely different reason. Her blues met his browns, and for a moment, the world belongs to only them, crystalline globe of purity and wishful thinking. “One day.”

“Why, why. Is that not the most adorable thing?”

Theresa jerked back, nearly toppling off her seat. A wave of applause rushed underneath, though she did not quite get to see exactly what had caused such a triumph. An unfamiliar voice, soft like the rustle of autumn wind, yet at the same time unsettling. She felt the blood drain off her face, the entirety of her body tensed. The air felt almost colder, her fingers went to tighten her coat. One hand reaches for her friend, she placed him behind her.

“Tessa-”

“Sh!”

A figure, shrouded underneath a pitch black cloak. A single hood concealed their face, leaving none but a hole of void to fill in. If only she was a knight, if only she was stronger. If only she was not just a kid. Her fists balled at her sides, her throat felt dry. When she spoke, her voice felt hoarse.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“Me?” the stranger spoke, and she felt shivers run down her spine. Her body begun to tremble, and then she decided. A spark of courage lit within her, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Just as her lips parted, words of gospel played at the back of her mind like such a record tuning in repeat, her voice faded when the figure- a man- loosened down his hood. And he smiled at her.

“Did I scare you?” the man spoke. A pair of dark eyes contrasting his pale, nearly white, hair. His voice had not changed, yet somehow she felt…much more at ease. Such a handsome man! Must he be a prince? Teresa reached for the top of her heads, brushing down her hair properly, then her skirts. “I do apologize, young lady. I did not know that this was your spot to begin with-”

“No! It’s alright, really!” replied the girl, though before she could stop anyone, Eric made his way past her, his back straight as he pointed an accusatory finger at the new man.

“No, no! It’s not alright. Now, answer the question, stranger! I swear if you’ve been following us, I’ll- I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Just two words, and it silenced Eric. Suddenly the atmosphere darkened once more. An eerie emotion tugged at the back of her, and she suddenly remembered: A good warrior chooses her fight. Could this be...could this man- no, this thing, really be-

The man erupted into a laugh. At this point, she found herself unsure how to react. At lost for words, and action. She could only share a look with her dearest friend, the boy whom had cocked up an eyebrow.

“Worry not, my dearest, for I mean to bring no harm. Instead, I believe you will find this especially of interest.” This time his eyes locked directly into Theresa’s, she fiddled with her fingers nervously. The man unbuttoned his coat, revealing a more formal wear. Upon his left chest was a sigil, once she recognized immediately.

“You’re a knight!” she gasped, her hands to her mouth. Then she coughed out a laugh, disbelief crossing her expression. Even Eric had caught silent by this action, suspicious, yet otherwise unable to justify himself. The boy simply tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in observation.

“Precisely,” he grinned, then went down to his knees. He took her small gloved hand, bringing it to his lips and gave a small peck. Color rises to her face immediately, she turned away bashfully. “Sir Lancelot, at your service, my lady.”

“Lancelot!” she gasped, turning to Eric enthusiastically. The boy was seen sticking out his lower lip, his hands crossed over his chest. A stubborn puff of breath, a reluctance to gaze despite his obvious curiosity. A child is a child after all.

“Indeed I am,” stated the knight. Shifting his hood back up, he let his feet dangle at the edges of the roof panels, his hands positioned right at his back as his eyes scanned the view. “This is the best spot to watch, smart kids, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Eric cleared his throat, boastingly pounded his chest with his fist. “Technically this was my idea. Tessa here was even too much of a chicken-”

“Hey!” she protested, pouting. “You know I’d still get here with or without you!”

Lancelot simply laughed, an amused grin resting by his lips. “That I believe, young lady. That I believe.”

“You- you do?”

“Trust me.” The man reached for his badge again, and this time he had unpinned it. He took her hand, resting the small metallic symbol within it before he clasped her fingers shut. When she had stared back up, her eyes were as round as saucers. Her lips moved, yet no words came out. Eric was perhaps eyeing her, this time out of jealousy as his jaw has fallen open.

“Well, I must rush now. You two take care, alright? Oh, also,” he stopped, turning to her. “One day. I’ll be waiting.”

“Wait!” Teresa rushed after him, but without warning, the man had leapt off the roof. Three stories off the ground! Panickedly, she pressed her hand at the edge, peering down the ledge. But just like that, he was gone, not a single trace left behind. The only proof that she was, in fact, not dreaming, was the little badge resting comfortably in her clasps. Somewhere, out there, a new tale just began- she could feel it. She smiled to herself, bringing it tightly to her chest. And she promised.

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Spoiler: uncoded

Red nosed and wide eyed, golden blonde hair that curled, brushing over the tops of her narrow shoulders. Beneath her chest her heart pounds forth, the flames of excitement vibrant and glowing. All the same, young Teresa could not deny her agitation, visible in the way her heels shifted her body back and forth, small feet wrapped in equally small shoes. Perturbation led to guilt, guilt to second thoughts. Mum would not have liked this at all, the young girl grimaced at the thought of the whipping belt.

“Ya know,” the boy in front of her started. Wild freckles marked his face, and as he smiled, his eyes glinted, like that of a mischievous street cat. When he spoke, a missing tooth was visible at the corner of his mouth, he adjusted the straps of his shirt that had gone much worn it was to be mistaken a wash cloth. “Ya bein’ so darn cowardly and all that. Ya can stay back home, aight? Cry to mummy.”

Red flushed in her cheeks, blossoming rose over pale snow. Stubbornly, she stomped her foot upon the ground, though fingers remained tucked in the frills of her dress. “Am not!”

“Are too!” the boy replied, and his sneer only grew larger as the young girl submitted to her shame, puffing out her cheeks. In all the young boy’s defense, he felt as though he was threatened by a cupcake. But this only sparked more of her will, and all doubts she had possessed before flew in the words of her friend.

“Well, that is fine by me!” Teresa snapped, clenched fists. “Just so you know, you are not very nice! I’ll show you…” her eyes darted towards a row of box crates, emptied out of whatever they may have contained. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be so taken in the heat of the moment, perhaps she really should have nodded her head, went on her merry way home and mother would spare her. But alas, who can hold down a child but another child? Her soft pink lips curled into a grin, and before the rat reaches its cheese, off she went.

“Race you to the top!”

“Hey!”

The boy, whose name was Eric, had not time to prepare himself, as the moment he blinked, the young girl had lifted herself up the wooden panels, balancing herself over ledges and window sills. Positioning his hat, he followed suit, grabbing by the corners, swinging by poles. And so the two merry kids ran down the busy streets of London, skipping past road stops, the soles of their shoes sinking in dirty puddles, splashing their very own reflection against the morning sun. Maneuvering through coaches and cars, their brows furrowed in focus though little could they hold their lips from smiling.

Golden shined over two silhouettes, a young boy and a young girl, their fingers intertwined. Her skirt floating in the air, soft hand against calloused palms. The Princess and the Pauper. And as their hands locked, hearts beat in between. A gentle symphony of fate of the red strings. Bright, yet naïve, oh poor unfortunate souls. How many years would pass, months perhaps, until the light from their eyes be snatched from them, too? For dreams are made to perish, stories written just so long the ink scratches the parchment. Each step they make, one foot over the other, another step closer to their endings. Do happy endings exist? The scent of Atropos draws near.

A snip.

Her steps failed her, and before she knew it air replaced brick stones. She felt her stomach sink, and then herself. What had felt so close now so far, her fingers grasping against the wind, to no avail. She wanted to shout, yet she could not. All happened in the quarter of a second, birds flew over her head.

Then she felt a hand reach for hers.

“I win!” the boy announces triumphantly. His friend, now short in breath, pulled herself up the rooftops. Her dress now marked in ashes, locks of blonde stuck by the sides of her face. Her cheeks were redder than ever before. What had happened before, she could not comprehend, but before any emotion could overcome, her childish temper had overcome.

“No!” she fumed. “No fair! Y-You cheated!”

“Cheat’d?” Now it was little Eric who had pressed his lips together, his hazel eyes blinking in disbelief. “Oy, speak for yerself! Ya wouldda fallen over if it wern’t for-”

Then he paused. She did to, for whatever she would have said drowned in the noise of trumpets. Distant, yet constant. It grew louder as they paced over the opposite edge of the roof, and as the wind brushed over her face, Teresa beamed.

Symphonies of angels sung as she took a breath, cold air surging through her lungs. She closed her eyes for a second or two, then she opened it and blessed was the sight that greeted her. From the top of it all, the cities run, life of millions in the palm of her hand. Outstretching her fingers, the young girl observed as carriages marched to and fro. Zeppelins and air balloons hung in the sky, still much higher than where they were. As one flew right above them, she let out a small squeal, bringing her hands to her ears to shield herself from the noise of turning gears. The sun peeked over the shoulders of clouds, spreading her hands to her sides, she felt like a bird, soaring through the skies, vast and limitless, free and unbothered. No cage would bound her. Warmth of the sun basked her skin, she wondered if only one could live forever.

“Tessa! Tessa!”

Her attention was snapped aside when Eric had tapped her shoulder. His finger pointed down towards the streets, where people could hardly be seen, heads over shadows, a flurry of ants in a much too extravagant bowl. Her heart skipped a beat- this was what she was here for. The reason she risked her life, the wrath of mother- all was for this single moment. Eyes as round as marbles, she blinked, sucking in a tight breath that hitched in her lungs as she crawled. There it was, in front of the palace. Many had rushed through, people flooding every inch of the street. Something had separated them- guards, it may seem, circling over a very small space. The space that lies almost directly below them.

A pedestal was placed right over a circle of velvet red mattress. A sword, golden hilt, silver blade, glinting in the light as it was raised. Two figures knelt right before one, whom she assumed was the queen herself. Queen Victoria! And two of the round table knights, one of them a woman. Her hands rushed over to her chest, and she felt warmth. Maybe, one day, she could too be like them. A valiant knight, protecting her loved ones from all sources of evil. When the boy’s hand reached over hers, she did not even flinch, instead she exhaled a breath. If heaven exists, it must feel like this- sweeter, perhaps, a little bit more.

“One day.”

She turned to face him, and perhaps there were tears in her eyes. She blinked them off, sniffing slightly before wiping her face in her sleeves. “Yes,” she replied, her fingers tightening around his, and the young girl felt her cheeks heat up once more, this time for an entirely different reason. Her blues met his browns, and for a moment, the world belongs to only them, crystalline globe of purity and wishful thinking. “One day.”

“Why, why. Is that not the most adorable thing?”

Theresa jerked back, nearly toppling off her seat. A wave of applause rushed underneath, though she did not quite get to see exactly what had caused such a triumph. An unfamiliar voice, soft like the rustle of autumn wind, yet at the same time unsettling. She felt the blood drain off her face, the entirety of her body tensed. The air felt almost colder, her fingers went to tighten her coat. One hand reaches for her friend, she placed him behind her.

“Tessa-”

“Sh!”

A figure, shrouded underneath a pitch black cloak. A single hood concealed their face, leaving none but a hole of void to fill in. If only she was a knight, if only she was stronger. If only she was not just a kid. Her fists balled at her sides, her throat felt dry. When she spoke, her voice felt hoarse.

“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”

“Me?” the stranger spoke, and she felt shivers run down her spine. Her body begun to tremble, and then she decided. A spark of courage lit within her, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Just as her lips parted, words of gospel played at the back of her mind like such a record tuning in repeat, her voice faded when the figure- a man- loosened down his hood. And he smiled at her.

“Did I scare you?” the man spoke. A pair of dark eyes contrasting his pale, nearly white, hair. His voice had not changed, yet somehow she felt…much more at ease. Such a handsome man! Must he be a prince? Teresa reached for the top of her heads, brushing down her hair properly, then her skirts. “I do apologize, young lady. I did not know that this was your spot to begin with-”

“No! It’s alright, really!” replied the girl, though before she could stop anyone, Eric made his way past her, his back straight as he pointed an accusatory finger at the new man.

“No, no! It’s not alright. Now, answer the question, stranger! I swear if you’ve been following us, I’ll- I’ll-”

“You’ll what?”

Just two words, and it silenced Eric. Suddenly the atmosphere darkened once more. An eerie emotion tugged at the back of her, and she suddenly remembered: A good warrior chooses her fight. Could this be...could this man- no, this thing, really be-

The man erupted into a laugh. At this point, she found herself unsure how to react. At lost for words, and action. She could only share a look with her dearest friend, the boy whom had cocked up an eyebrow.

“Worry not, my dearest, for I mean to bring no harm. Instead, I believe you will find this especially of interest.” This time his eyes locked directly into Theresa’s, she fiddled with her fingers nervously. The man unbuttoned his coat, revealing a more formal wear. Upon his left chest was a sigil, once she recognized immediately.

“You’re a knight!” she gasped, her hands to her mouth. Then she coughed out a laugh, disbelief crossing her expression. Even Eric had caught silent by this action, suspicious, yet otherwise unable to justify himself. The boy simply tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in observation.

“Precisely,” he grinned, then went down to his knees. He took her small gloved hand, bringing it to his lips and gave a small peck. Color rises to her face immediately, she turned away bashfully. “Sir Lancelot, at your service, my lady.”

“Lancelot!” she gasped, turning to Eric enthusiastically. The boy was seen sticking out his lower lip, his hands crossed over his chest. A stubborn puff of breath, a reluctance to gaze despite his obvious curiosity. A child is a child after all.

“Indeed I am,” stated the knight. Shifting his hood back up, he let his feet dangle at the edges of the roof panels, his hands positioned right at his back as his eyes scanned the view. “This is the best spot to watch, smart kids, aren’t you?”

“Well,” Eric cleared his throat, boastingly pounded his chest with his fist. “Technically this was my idea. Tessa here was even too much of a chicken-”

“Hey!” she protested, pouting. “You know I’d still get here with or without you!”

Lancelot simply laughed, an amused grin resting by his lips. “That I believe, young lady. That I believe.”

“You- you do?”

“Trust me.” The man reached for his badge again, and this time he had unpinned it. He took her hand, resting the small metallic symbol within it before he clasped her fingers shut. When she had stared back up, her eyes were as round as saucers. Her lips moved, yet no words came out. Eric was perhaps eyeing her, this time out of jealousy as his jaw has fallen open.

“Well, I must rush now. You two take care, alright? Oh, also,” he stopped, turning to her. “One day. I’ll be waiting.”

“Wait!” Teresa rushed after him, but without warning, the man had leapt off the roof. Three stories off the ground! Panickedly, she pressed her hand at the edge, peering down the ledge. But just like that, he was gone, not a single trace left behind. The only proof that she was, in fact, not dreaming, was the little badge resting comfortably in her clasps. Somewhere, out there, a new tale just began- she could feel it. She smiled to herself, bringing it tightly to her chest. And she promised.

​

 

[s e v e n]

Chapter 1:

The Knights of the Round Table​

October 15th, 1866.

Rejoice, all of London! Rejoice, the whole world! For tonight, two new knights have joined our family. Hand-in-hand, to rid our world of evil. Protecting the innocents, standing for GOD. May we grow prosper, as we are doing the work of the good. Brother and sisters, may I have your attention, even for a brief moment, for tonight we gather to celebrate! Raise your glasses, sheathe your swords. A bright future awaits you all, my dearest lambs. God speed!

code: s e v e n ​

Spoiler: uncoded

Chapter 1: The Knights of the Round Table

October 15th, 1866.

Rejoice, all of London! Rejoice, the whole world! For tonight, two new knights have joined our family. Hand-in-hand, to rid our world of evil. Protecting the innocents, standing for GOD. May we grow prosper, as we are doing the work of the good. Brother and sisters, may I have your attention, even for a brief moment, for tonight we gather to celebrate! Raise your glasses, sheathe your swords. A bright future awaits you all, my dearest lambs. God speed!

 

[s e v e n]

Chapter 2:

The Empty Vial​

November 1st, 1866

A month has nearly passed, and now the screams of London are heard once more. Hear ye, hear ye! The murders have started again! May the Lord have mercy on us! As our good citizens hide behind their doors, the knights will once more shine through. Another day, another case. While the cold dead body of a faceless woman lies between the deepest, darkest alleys of Wandsworth, a vile being is on the loose. Who could be responsible? A vampire, or a mad man? Or is there something else, something far more sinister in play? We are nothing more but pawns to a greater game of chess...

code: s e v e n ​

Spoiler: uncoded

Chapter 2: The Empty Vial


November 1st, 1866

A month has nearly passed, and now the screams of London are heard once more. Hear ye, hear ye! The murders have started again! May the Lord have mercy on us! As our good citizens hide behind their doors, the knights will once more shine through. Another day, another case. While the cold dead body of a faceless woman lies between the deepest, darkest alleys of Wandsworth, a vile being is on the loose. Who could be responsible? A vampire, or a mad man? Or is there something else, something far more sinister in play? We are nothing more but pawns to a greater game of chess...

 

[s e v e n]

Chapter 3:

Tears of an Angel​

December 24th, 1866

Peace, peace on Earth. The Prince of Peace is born.

‘Tis indeed a season to be jolly. The Great London has fallen in tranquility as a curtain of white basked its cold, barren, cobblestoned streets. Souls have long come to a rest, crackling of golden fire that stood no match to the warmth of a loved one’s embrace. With the city that has gone to rest, there was no night holier than to-night, none as sacred and worthy of praise. Yet it is precisely why the demons have attacked once more. Beasts of the wickedness, rotten claws that scrape from the flames of hell. Their hearts seared in sight of our joy, and so they arrive guiding an army of unruly chaos and anguish.

My Brothers and Sisters, have faith –

The Angels will protect us.

code: s e v e n ​

Spoiler: uncoded

December 24th, 1866

Peace, peace on Earth. The Prince of Peace is born.

‘Tis indeed a season to be jolly. The Great London has fallen in tranquility as a curtain of white basked its cold, barren, cobblestoned streets. Souls have long come to a rest, crackling of golden fire that stood no match to the warmth of a loved one’s embrace. With the city that has gone to rest, there was no night holier than to-night, none as sacred and worthy of praise. Yet it is precisely why the demons have attacked once more. Beasts of the wickedness, rotten claws that scrape from the flames of hell. Their hearts seared in sight of our joy, and so they arrive guiding an army of unruly chaos and anguish.

My Brothers and Sisters, have faith –

The Angels will protect us.