Rather Dull

Daniella

As I sit in the comfort of my bedroom, gazing out at the serene cascade of rain droplets dancing from the heavens to the earth below, I can't help but feel a twinge of longing to join in the rainy revelry. It's the perfect day for frolicking in the rain, a pastime my sisters would undoubtedly relish. However, duty binds me to the confines of the castle; today, a royal banquet awaits, and as a princess, I dare not risk the scandal of being caught indulging in such simple pleasures.

The evening unfolds with the promise of grandeur, as anticipation builds for the impending ball. As the door behind me creaks open, heralding the arrival of my maids, a sense of resignation washes over me. "We should prepare you for the ball," declares the handmaiden, her words punctuated by the clinking of water poured into a basin at the far end of the room. With practiced efficiency, my attendants set to work, tenderly stripping away layers of jewelry, corsets, and fabric, their movements as graceful as the falling snow outside.

Silently, I surrender myself to the soothing embrace of the bath, the chill of the water a welcome contrast to the warmth of the chamber. The coolness invigorates my senses, keeping me alert and attuned to the task ahead. A servant offers me a cherished tome, a silent gesture of understanding for my preference for solitude. As fragrant lavender soap caresses my skin, I find solace in the quietude, saving my energy for the social demands that lie ahead.

Selecting a regal purple gown, its Western design a nod to our esteemed guests, I steel myself for the evening's festivities. Descending the castle steps with measured poise, I take a moment to steady my nerves. It's merely an engagement dinner for my sister, I remind myself sternly. I cannot afford to falter.

Entering the bustling ballroom, I endeavor to blend seamlessly into the throng of guests, keeping to the shadows along the periphery. Yet, my attempts at anonymity are short-lived as my astute advisor, a venerable figure with centuries of wisdom etched into her countenance, spots me with practiced ease.

"Your Highness," she intones, her tone as commanding as ever, "you should engage with your guests more.''

"None of the suitors hold my interest," I reply, the wine's rich flavor failing to distract me from the weight of my advisor's concern.

"As Flora prepares for marriage, you'll be the sole remaining daughter in the household," she remarks, her voice tinged with worry. "I fear for your future."

"I have no desire to be tethered to anyone, man or woman," I assert, the truth of my words resonating within me. The prospect of marriage, with its myriad restrictions and societal expectations, holds little appeal. Moreover, as a princess of royal lineage in our modest kingdom, my options are painfully limited.

"Your Highness," she persists, her tone gentle yet firm, "you must consider a suitor soon, before your father's patience wears thin."

"I care not for his anger," I declare, my resolve unyielding.

As the hush of anticipation settles over the ballroom, an unspoken tension lingers between my advisor and me, a silent exchange of unvoiced concerns amidst the swirling opulence. The announcement reverberates through the grand hall, heralding my sister's imminent descent down the majestic staircase, where she will be formally presented to her betrothed. Prince Maxim, scion of the illustrious kingdom of Cai, stands poised to join our family, adding yet another thread to the intricate tapestry of royal alliances.

Flavia, our eldest, had already entered into matrimony with Prince Ronald of the chiefdom of Madrig, while Farah, blessed with the crown prince of Koo, had seemingly won the proverbial jackpot. Even my brother Akim, his marital vows long since spoken, now stands on the precipice of coronation, his progeny already a testament to his legacy. And then there's me—the solitary figure amidst a sea of unions, the looming specter of singledom casting a shadow over my familial obligations.

For me, marriage represents more than just a ceremonial union; it is a shackle, a restraint upon the unfettered freedom of my spirit. My affinity for magic, honed through years of clandestine study, has imbued me with a power that transcends mortal limitations. To relinquish that power in exchange for the trappings of matrimony is a sacrifice I am unwilling to make.

As the revelry resumes with practiced fervor, the strains of music beckoning guests to the dance floor once more, I find myself retreating into the shadows, a silent observer amidst the tumultuous celebration. The whispers of gossip and speculation, the subtle glances and pointed stares—they are but fleeting echoes against the immutable truth of my defiance. For I am no witch; I am simply a woman unwilling to surrender her sovereignty to the whims of tradition. And as the night wears on, I remain steadfast in my resolve, a beacon of autonomy amidst a sea of conformity.