[untitled]

 

Loneliness. One such definition of the term is ‘sadness resulting from being forsaken or abandoned’. It’s how I feel on a daily basis, and as such, I’ve come to realize that there are many hardships in life, but none so distasteful or impossible to bear as this loneliness I endure daily.

 

I’ve tried so often to cover my feelings up, to hide behind the mask of royalty bestowed upon me at such a young age. I have never been happy, nor do I feel I will ever be. My father passing me by from childhood was only the beginning, often treating my brother with so much more care than I, understandably I assume, as he was next in line for the throne, one thing I was always reminded of. I was never meant to have the throne, and as such I never desired, nor wanted it. If I had someone to share it with, I may grow to like it even just a small amount, but as it is right now, I hate it. That dark desolate chair on the riser of stairs, it is a constant reminder of everything I am not. I am not a king. I am not a leader, and I am not your Prince, and nor do I want to be.

 

I long for a life of normality, a life full of the usual things that people my age do. I do not have a normal life. Some say I would be so lucky to have been given such a life I lead, but I do not feel lucky. I feel miserable, and depressed. The loss of my family some years ago heightened by depression, and as a result, the thought of joining them in the deep eternal darkness of the grave seems more and more appealing as the days go by.

 

I have begun to give into those dark thoughts, the thoughts of my own death. I’ve dreamt of my funeral, and my entombment, and what a glorious day it would be for me. I would not be around to see it, but it would be perfect nonetheless.

 

So here I am, sitting at my desk, preparing to ingest an entire bottle of pills. It’s such a vain suicide, I know, but I have few other options. I could cast myself off of the balcony, into the river below the castle, or I could jump out the window and onto a barrage of knives, or I could even take the knife at my bedside and slit my own wrists, but I am not a fan of blood. I would prefer my final moments to be some kind of paranoid delusions brought on by an overdose of medication, than to be lying on the ground, choking on my own blood, or feeling it seep down my arm from my wrist.

 

Do not weep for me, because I am no one important. I am just a man, who dearly would like to die.

 

 

Christian Terden

August, 1652

 

 

 

 

 

 

1          The town of Dark Hollow was always a bit odd. It wasn't just the fact that it always seemed to be cloudy or raining, the fact that the people were strangely fascinated by witchcraft and other devious practices, or the fact that the mayor was as shady as they come. It was also a strange place because of the gothic style castle that overlooked the town from the rocky hill to the north. This castle had been apparently abandoned for centuries, since the last resident had died. The resident had been at the time the last of the royal family, a Prince, who had married only once, to his one true love, and lost her. He was inconsolably lonely. The only friends he had were his court; a chancellor who rarely spoke; a cook who prepared meals on demand; and a jester who was even more depressed than the Prince was. There were a few other people who waited on the Prince, who preferred to be called Christian, but they were hardly around, usually standing in the shadows of the pillars that lined the halls of the castle.

 

            Christian often walked the corridors of the castle by night, mourning the deaths of those in his family who had passed all too soon from the realm of the living. Many, including his father and his brother had died in battles, while others such as his mother and sister had succumbed to a strange disease of the blood. He was the only one who had never contracted a life threatening illness, or had been injured in a battle. He had never seen battle himself, as once his father and brother had been killed, the invading armies had retreated, hastily at that. It was probably a good thing. He was never cut out to fight. He never would have seen the throne either had his brother not died, as Demetrius would have been given it instantly after the Kings death.  He often wondered why the armies had never come to take control of the land that he had inherited at a young age, a land he had no interest in ruling. These thoughts in his head, coupled with his mourning for his family had started to cause him to ponder thoughts of suicide.

 

            One evening, towards the end of summer, the chef prepared a large meal, enough for ten men. He worked feverishly over the ovens in the basement kitchen of the castle since the late morning to make sure everything was perfect. Word had spread that there was a visitor coming to the castle. Perhaps a woman, who would possibly lift the spirits of the Prince, whom the chef had begun to notice had stopped eating nearly altogether. The chancellor appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and without a word, assisted the chef in the preparation of the platters of meats, cheeses, and vegetables. Together they carried platters covered in food to the dining hall, and arranged it beautifully on the mahogany table that was about fifteen feet long.

 

            Time passed slowly. The chef and the chancellor stood anxiously by the door to the castle, in anticipation of the visitor. The chancellor paced back and forth in front of the door. Soon, the jester joined them, looking slightly more hopeful than he had in months.  None of them spoke a word, until the jester saw through one of the windows something moving in the distance. It was six men on horses, dressed in black capes with hoods. Behind them was a carriage, one of the styles that a King or Queen, or someone of importance would use. A high wind picked up, and a storm was brewing with great intensity, as was almost always the case.

            "There is someone coming down the path!" the jester said with excitement.

            "Can you see who it is? Do we know them?" said the chancellor.

            "No, I've not seen this carriage before. It could be anyone."

             

            Unbeknownst to the jester, the chancellor did know who this was. He had prepared the entire meeting, but was hesitant to tell anyone, for fear of how they would respond and react.

 

            The carriage pulled up to the front door of the castle, but no one got out right away. The six men on horses dismounted, and lined the steps to the castle doors, as security would for someone of importance. The carriage door swung open, and a man in a very smart suit got out, and then a second man, almost identical to the first. They had black suits with tails, ties and top hats on. Shiny black shoes adorned their feet, and they had very pale faces. They turned and escorted a third person out of the carriage, clearly a woman. She wore a long blood red coloured dress, with sleeves that were tight on the upper part of the arm, and very long and flowing towards the wrist. She had a black chain necklace, green eyes that were hypnotizing, and long black hair. She had a red veil over her head and face, but you could make out her features. Ivory skin, exquisitely beautiful. After exiting the carriage, she walked slowly up the steps of the castle, her red dress dragging the ground behind her.

 

         As the woman approached the huge oak door of the castle, the chancellor opened it. She looked rather unhappy, but entered the grand hall entrance, which was lavishly decorated. Huge paintings of members of the royal family hung on the walls; the black and white tile floor was covered with a red velvet runner style carpet, which ran from the door to the spiral staircase; and huge marble pillars adorned each side of the hallway.

 

            The jester and the chef stood and stared in awe at this beautiful woman standing in the entrance of the castle. No one had come to the castle, let alone a woman, since long before the deaths of the rest of the royals. They must have been staring too obviously as the chancellor shooed them out of the entrance, and motioned for the chef to finish dinner preparations, and for the jester to retrieve Christian from his quarters. They both did just that, and once they were gone, the chancellor escorted the woman to the courtyard at the center of the castle grounds.

 

            The jester approached Christian's room. The door was closed, as it often was. A light knock on the door had no response from inside. The jester knocked a little louder, and the door opened a crack. He saw Christian's blue eyes peering out at him.

 

            "Uh, your majesty..?" he began.

            "First off, you don't need to call me that…" Christian said, opening the door a little bit more.

            "Uh, yes your majes... I mean, Christian. The chancellor would like to see you in the courtyard."

            "I'm a bit busy at the moment."

            "Yes sir, but he insists it's important."

            "What is it about?" Christian inquired.

            "I'm not entirely sure. He didn't tell me and made no attempt to."

Christian sighed.

            "If you like sir, I can tell him that you will be a few minutes."

            "Yes, that will be fine."

            "Very well sir that will be no problem at all." The jester said, as he turned and went back down the spiral staircase.

 

            Christian closed the door and looked around his enormous bedroom. It was decorated with an exquisite carpet, gold table; paintings by famous artists of the time, and a giant bed with feather filled pillows and blankets. Still, with all of this, he was greatly unhappy. He walked to one of the tables by his bed. A bottle of pills and a glass of wine were set there strategically, by him of course. As well there was a freshly sharpened knife, and a few towels. Suicide would have to wait for another time. For now, he had to find something to wear. He had answered the door in just a towel, as he had just had a bath. He wanted to be freshly bathed when he died. He threw on any old thing he found lying around, which ended up being a black cloak, a black tunic, and black trousers. He often wore black now, ever since his depression had become deeper.

He left his bedroom and walked down the spiral staircase. Through the window he could see the men waiting on the steps of his castle. He started towards the door, but the chancellor came out of nowhere and steered him in the direction of the courtyard.

            "I have someone here who wants to meet you sire." he said.

            "Who is it?" Christian inquired.

            "Someone I think you will like. Someone who may solve your problems."

            "What problems, who said I have problems?"

            "No one Sire, but even you must admit you have been miserable the last few months."

           

            Christian looked at him, angrily at first. It was no ones business how he was feeling, what he was thinking, or what he was planning on doing. His face softened though. The chancellor was right. He really had been depressed.