Published Oct 28th, 10/28/24 8:59 am
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"Just keep your stress down, you'll be fine," the prince whispered to himself, trying to reassure his own troubled mind. Vanessa, his confidante, hadn't picked up on anything being amiss, apart from the fact that he seemed a little preoccupied. "That's completely normal," he reasoned, but the nagging feeling wouldn't leave him be."Why me? I haven't wronged anyone, I haven't gone into a crypt and defiled it, and I've been staying in my lane," he muttered, his voice filled with frustration. "Has someone cursed me? Why would anyone do this?" The weight of his thoughts seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.
Earlier, he had a conversation with Vanessa, and his mind was now brimming with worries. His approaching birthday, a mere 9 months away, didn't bring him joy. Unpleasant memories flooded his thoughts – a harrowing incident involving a birthday candle and another one where he narrowly escaped drowning. His 14th birthday had been particularly distressing, with a bizarre episode in the woods that haunted him. His 16th birthday, however, had been an exception. It was a rare moment of solace spent with his mother, the only bright spot in his recollections. But the thought of his next birthday felt hauntingly distant, and the few who knew about it seemed to whisper about something that had happened on his 15th – something he couldn't quite piece together. The weight of his royal title as prince weighed heavily on him. He despised being constantly identified in a regal context, and his father's constant reminders of his physical appearance only added to his burden.
The prince looked at his hair, the deep purple fade contrasting against his faded orange hair. The purple wasn’t there that morning or before he had met up with Vanessa.
“Why..? this isn’t supposed to happen…!” he was frantic. Nothing made sense to him. even at that moment. He knew everything about himself to a T, and yet this went against his entire idea of himself. Was he still human or some kind of monster? He held the edge of the vanity in his room, the fade seemingly growing due to his frustration. Or was that due to the light hitting his hair just right?
Wait.
It’s the middle of the night.
The sun isn’t out.
[(PERSPECTIVE SWITCH BABY >:)]
[YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]
As I got ready in the morning, I quietly questioned, "My hair isn't that dark, is it?" I gathered my now slightly less faded orange hair into a ponytail, hoping to keep it out of my face. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, my red eyes glinting in the sunlight. The way they caught the light was the only trait I appreciated from my father. However, my hair was a different story. Its stark contrast against my eyes and skin made it difficult to find the right look. No matter what I wore, it always seemed either too bright or too washed out.
I fixed my crown, trying not to mess up my hair too much, as I had a bad habit of doing that when I was putting my crown on. I had taken my hair down before I put my crown on, sighing as I did so. I looked too effeminate to even be called the prince, so having my hair in a low ponytail would have been a permanent solution if my father hadn’t been so harsh on how long my hair needed to be. I stood in front of my bedroom mirror. There it was again! The purple fade was barely noticeable, but it was there, it blended in so well. Then again, my father would see it and think I’m trying to dye my hair as he always does when my hair looks slightly different.
Once, he thought I was trying to look better than him when I had my hair back in a low ponytail. My hair was getting long before I was allowed to cut it, and even then, he dared to tell me my hair was too long! I remember my mother and father arguing while I was trying to sleep. I was scared something bad would happen to my mother, but nothing had happened as far as I knew…
I sat in Vanessa's garden, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of blooming flowers and rustling leaves. As I closed my eyes, the memory of that uncomfortable breakfast scene came flooding back. The clinking of silverware and the sound of my father's hearty chewing echo in the peaceful serenity of the garden. I could feel the weight of my mother's hand squeezing mine under the table, a silent reassurance amidst the tension. It was a wordless plea for me to avoid provoking my father further, especially after his hurtful remarks about my weight had left me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
In Vanessa's garden, as the gentle breeze brushed against my skin, her comforting touch eased the turmoil of my emotions. I couldn't help but notice the delicate pressure of her hand and the exquisite softness of her gloves against my skin. Her hands, perpetually ice-cold, offered a welcome distraction from my troubled thoughts. Amidst the vibrant blooms and the soothing scent of flowers, I found myself pondering her inexplicable affinity for winter and the curious phenomenon of more frequent snowfall near her manor. As I gently reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, my face flushed, and I averted my gaze, finding solace in the swaying grass below me.
I clearly remember the first winter ball I attended. It was there that I met Vanessa in a captivating moment. Her green dress seemed to transform into a gentle snow white as she amazed the crowd with a party trick. Startled by a sudden noise, she accidentally knocked something into the chandelier, causing an enchanting indoor snowfall. The snow fell around me, with heavy flakes clustering, and a chunk of ice fell from the chandelier towards me. I stumbled and fell, ultimately tripping into Vanessa and landing on top of her, completely flustered.
Every night, my routine was a delicate balancing act. After returning home, I would enjoy a quiet dinner, followed by a soothing shower before retreating to my room. Once I was certain my father had fallen asleep, I would delve into my secret studies. Under the soft glow of lamplight, I would immerse myself in academic pursuits until the early hours of the morning, often succumbing to sleep around 1 am. Through the night, I would wake up, either from a jarring nightmare or simply because my restless mind refused to rest, before the morning light filtered through the window, signaling the start of a new day.
8 months. 8 months until my 17th birthday and there are already problems. I have had enough of my father’s comments towards me. My voice was loud and filled with rage. Months- no years of pent-up rage directed at my weak excuse of a father. My hair was a deep royal purple. I knew nothing of what happened, all I knew was that someone got hurt, and it wasn’t me. It was blind rage.
He had it coming
[END OF CHAPTER 1]
Earlier, he had a conversation with Vanessa, and his mind was now brimming with worries. His approaching birthday, a mere 9 months away, didn't bring him joy. Unpleasant memories flooded his thoughts – a harrowing incident involving a birthday candle and another one where he narrowly escaped drowning. His 14th birthday had been particularly distressing, with a bizarre episode in the woods that haunted him. His 16th birthday, however, had been an exception. It was a rare moment of solace spent with his mother, the only bright spot in his recollections. But the thought of his next birthday felt hauntingly distant, and the few who knew about it seemed to whisper about something that had happened on his 15th – something he couldn't quite piece together. The weight of his royal title as prince weighed heavily on him. He despised being constantly identified in a regal context, and his father's constant reminders of his physical appearance only added to his burden.
The prince looked at his hair, the deep purple fade contrasting against his faded orange hair. The purple wasn’t there that morning or before he had met up with Vanessa.
“Why..? this isn’t supposed to happen…!” he was frantic. Nothing made sense to him. even at that moment. He knew everything about himself to a T, and yet this went against his entire idea of himself. Was he still human or some kind of monster? He held the edge of the vanity in his room, the fade seemingly growing due to his frustration. Or was that due to the light hitting his hair just right?
Wait.
It’s the middle of the night.
The sun isn’t out.
[(PERSPECTIVE SWITCH BABY >:)]
[YIPPEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]
As I got ready in the morning, I quietly questioned, "My hair isn't that dark, is it?" I gathered my now slightly less faded orange hair into a ponytail, hoping to keep it out of my face. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, my red eyes glinting in the sunlight. The way they caught the light was the only trait I appreciated from my father. However, my hair was a different story. Its stark contrast against my eyes and skin made it difficult to find the right look. No matter what I wore, it always seemed either too bright or too washed out.
I fixed my crown, trying not to mess up my hair too much, as I had a bad habit of doing that when I was putting my crown on. I had taken my hair down before I put my crown on, sighing as I did so. I looked too effeminate to even be called the prince, so having my hair in a low ponytail would have been a permanent solution if my father hadn’t been so harsh on how long my hair needed to be. I stood in front of my bedroom mirror. There it was again! The purple fade was barely noticeable, but it was there, it blended in so well. Then again, my father would see it and think I’m trying to dye my hair as he always does when my hair looks slightly different.
Once, he thought I was trying to look better than him when I had my hair back in a low ponytail. My hair was getting long before I was allowed to cut it, and even then, he dared to tell me my hair was too long! I remember my mother and father arguing while I was trying to sleep. I was scared something bad would happen to my mother, but nothing had happened as far as I knew…
I sat in Vanessa's garden, surrounded by the tranquil beauty of blooming flowers and rustling leaves. As I closed my eyes, the memory of that uncomfortable breakfast scene came flooding back. The clinking of silverware and the sound of my father's hearty chewing echo in the peaceful serenity of the garden. I could feel the weight of my mother's hand squeezing mine under the table, a silent reassurance amidst the tension. It was a wordless plea for me to avoid provoking my father further, especially after his hurtful remarks about my weight had left me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
In Vanessa's garden, as the gentle breeze brushed against my skin, her comforting touch eased the turmoil of my emotions. I couldn't help but notice the delicate pressure of her hand and the exquisite softness of her gloves against my skin. Her hands, perpetually ice-cold, offered a welcome distraction from my troubled thoughts. Amidst the vibrant blooms and the soothing scent of flowers, I found myself pondering her inexplicable affinity for winter and the curious phenomenon of more frequent snowfall near her manor. As I gently reached up and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, my face flushed, and I averted my gaze, finding solace in the swaying grass below me.
I clearly remember the first winter ball I attended. It was there that I met Vanessa in a captivating moment. Her green dress seemed to transform into a gentle snow white as she amazed the crowd with a party trick. Startled by a sudden noise, she accidentally knocked something into the chandelier, causing an enchanting indoor snowfall. The snow fell around me, with heavy flakes clustering, and a chunk of ice fell from the chandelier towards me. I stumbled and fell, ultimately tripping into Vanessa and landing on top of her, completely flustered.
Every night, my routine was a delicate balancing act. After returning home, I would enjoy a quiet dinner, followed by a soothing shower before retreating to my room. Once I was certain my father had fallen asleep, I would delve into my secret studies. Under the soft glow of lamplight, I would immerse myself in academic pursuits until the early hours of the morning, often succumbing to sleep around 1 am. Through the night, I would wake up, either from a jarring nightmare or simply because my restless mind refused to rest, before the morning light filtered through the window, signaling the start of a new day.
8 months. 8 months until my 17th birthday and there are already problems. I have had enough of my father’s comments towards me. My voice was loud and filled with rage. Months- no years of pent-up rage directed at my weak excuse of a father. My hair was a deep royal purple. I knew nothing of what happened, all I knew was that someone got hurt, and it wasn’t me. It was blind rage.
He had it coming
[END OF CHAPTER 1]
STUFF TO KNOW!!!
about chapter 2: has stuff against TOS (the forbidden strawberry jam and a sharp pointy thing you can cut both fruit and ur fingers off)
about the story: this story is about the prince from a hat in time (this adds context, feel free to copy and paste the link and share it WITH CREDIT!!!)
about the story: this story is about the prince from a hat in time (this adds context, feel free to copy and paste the link and share it WITH CREDIT!!!)
| Credit | Gears For Breakfast and Astro :} |
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