There was fire; raging heat from all sides. She could barely breathe as the smoke reached her. Flames threatened to swallow her altogether, and, soon, the only thing she could see was two shadows fighting. She knew that one was her father, the other, had never been identified. There was shrieking, screaming, and clanging of swords. It was hard to believe that, barely five minutes ago, the ballroom  had been filled with music and dancing. One shadow swayed on the edge of the platform they were fighting on. There was a shout of triumph. Her father's shadow had fallen - and was engulfed by the flames. The murderer's shadow disappeared. She was alone, abandoned, isolated, and about to die. Out of seven children, she was the one who lay forgotten - surrounded by blazing heat and thick smoke. Nobody would miss her. She'd only been around for six months. There was no mother to pine for her. She'd died mere hours after her daughter's birth. Her siblings would be indifferent - slowly forgetting as they grew older. Nobody would miss her. Nobody would care.

      Suddenly, she was blinded by a beam of slivery light. The moon, source of power for all sorcerers and sorceresses (and therefore all who lived in the Kingdom of Rai), was glowing. She was lifted up into the air. Tendrils of raw, powerful, magic wrapped themselves around her, and a single rose was blown into the light by a surprisingly gentle breeze. It was appropriate, she supposed, as her name was Rosalinda. However, a coat of silver wrapped itself around the rose, its stem bent back and turned into a thinner, more delicate, material, a single thorn transformed into a clasp. It was a necklace. It fell back. And the clasp closed around her neck. It felt cold against her skin, like a blanket of frost had just been dropped onto her. The flames started to flicker. The shadows leapt back into the night. There was chaos, panic.
 

She woke up

The nightmare had been haunting Rosalinda's dreams for fifteen years. Ever since she witnessed her father struck down and pushed into a fire in cold blood. Her father had been king. He had protected her, and the citizens  from danger. He had been noble, chivalrous, loyal, and brave. And he had ended up dead. The throne would be passed to her in three years. When she had her eighteenth birthday. Until then, her Uncle Richard would rule over Rai. For, the law stated that the most powerful family member was to be ruler. She was the most powerful. And she had been for fifteen years. But it wouldn't be legal for her to claim the throne for another three years.

   Rosalinda wasn't sure whether she wanted to be a ruler. She loved archery, horse riding, and climbing trees and had never lasted longer than ten minutes in lessons on etiquette before falling asleep. Long dresses made her trip, high heels hurt her feet, tiaras fell off her head, and corsets made it hard for her to breathe. She spent most of her time wearing riding clothes, and the only remotely girly thing about her was her blonde, waist length curls. In fact, she'd always thought that, out of the whole family, she was the least suited for the job. Her brother Jack was patient, Miranda was calm, Dianne was clever, Amanda was girly, Cecilia was brave, and Charles was noble. She was nothing compared to them. Not only because she was still at the stage where she never remembered to lift her pinky when drinking tea.

     It was spring. It had been raining the previous night, and dew drops sparkled from their positions on the petals of the flowers in the vase by her window, as sunlight filtered into the room. Her bedroom was in the tower, and her siblings always moaned about the amount of stairs they had to climb to get to her room. Her double poster bed was made of fine, smooth, wood, and there were deep purple silk curtains around it - embroidered with golden roses. They matched the sheets and cushions, whilst her wardrobe and desk were made of the same wood as the bed. The walls were made of stone, as was the floor. A bow and arrows were on her desk - where she'd flung them the last time she went out riding. She got dressed in her riding clothes, and grabbed them. Before she got to the door, it opened. 

     A head popped in. It was her sister - Cecilia. She had slightly curly, chestnut brown hair, and blue-grey eyes which spoke of nearby mischief. She also had an identical twin - Amanda - but, they were easily told apart. Amanda wore dresses, and Cecilia smiled. Simple. Cecilia was her favorite sister by far. The one who understood her most. Usually, Cecilia made people happy. She hung around the knights quite a bit (she hoped to become once she became nineteen the next year) and was very loud, always telling jokes. But, she was also very blunt when it came to bad news and things that ruined the whole day. And she'd both ruined and saved her younger sister's life by saying five words. "Uncle wishes to see you."

   However much she wished to, Rosalinda couldn't ignore her uncle. He was in charge. And she had to obey.

The  corridors were long and silent, the floors covered with blood red carpet, and the walls lined with portraits of relatives she'd never met. They frowned at her as she passed, their eyes following her as she walked past. They gave off the distinct impression that they did not approve of the girl who shared their blood. Had they been alive, she would have been going the whole way. Tight corset and all. No staff but the cook and gardener had been employed in years, and cobwebs hung off the walls - falling into her hair as she stomped past. The glaring paintings had layers of dust,


    The door to her uncles room was made of thick wood. With a golden door handle. She knocked - expecting to hear her uncles hoarse voice telling her to come in. But all she heard was piercing silence. Usually, the door was locked. Actually, the door was always locked. But it wasn't that day. And when she pressed down the door handle, instead of hearing the clicking sound of a lock refusing entry, she entered the room. It was a mess. It was quite evident that her Uncle Richard had left in a hurry. In a moments notice. Perhaps there had been an accident in the village. Or some ambassador had come with a request for his master to marry one of her sisters. Whatever had happened, it had caused for her uncle to leave her waiting for him in his messy office.


     There was a light breeze outside, and the crimson curtains, made to match the carpet, were billowing out slightly. Documents littered the floor, papers were strewn over the mahogany desk, and ancient tomes had fallen off their shelves. Parchment was scattered over the documents, and ink had been spilt on the floor. There had been a recent fire in the fireplace, the smoke was still rising from the ashes of something that had been thrown in. Curious, she kneeled by the fireplace, and muttered a spell she had found in a book from the royal library. The  black ashes started to rearrange themselves and, soon, they had become a scroll of parchment. It was tied with a blue ribbon - which signified that it was from a doctor. Even more curious now, she picked it up and read it.

Doctor's Assessment of 2006
Your majesty,
I have received the results from this years tests. I am sad to announce that the smoke damage done to your throat on the year of 1991, has caused irreversible problems, and you shall therefore, be unable to ever speak in high volume, sing or shout. Although we do not have any potions or herbs to help your voice, we do suggest that you use Amplifi Charm to amplify your voice. Also, we regret to say that the burns and scars on Your Majesty's palms are -

The rest of the letter was blurred. But that didn't matter. Things were slowly piecing themselves together in Rosalinda's head. Her uncle was burned, he had smoke damage in his throat. He was 'involved' in an incident in 1991 - the year of the fire. And to top it all off, there was the hate,greed and envy that filled her uncle. The dislike he always had of  her brothers, exact replicas of her father, and the way he always veered off topic when there was a discussion which involved The Fire. Or her father. Furthermore, there was the fact that, in the bedroom that belonged to her uncle, through the doorway, there was a dart board with her father's face acting as a bulls-eye. Then, the world went dark and fuzzy as she was gripped by a vision - a long forgotten memory.


    Clammy hands. They were calloused, probably from gripping a sword, and sweaty. They were reaching towards her. Their hands, wet with blood, were cold around her neck. And then, there was a yelp of pain. The hands were thrown back - badly burned, with patched flesh. And darkness.


   She was shaken awake. Slowly, her eyes opened. She drowsily got to her feet. She felt someone's gaze upon her. She turned around. And saw her uncle. He was nothing like her father, he had greasy, black hair which was slicked back with gel. His eyes were small, dark, and almost seemed to squint, he was deathly pale, but his hands were a patchwork of scars - matted flesh strung together by pale, thin, ridges of skin. His thin lips were twisted into a cold smile. And his voice was quiet, hoarse, and bore a triumphant tone.


"Ah, hello dear, dear, niece. Decided to join us in the land of the living? Well, I tell you, you have quiet ruined my plans. But, I suppose, your end shall simply come sooner." He took out a dagger. Just as it was about to plunge into her throat, she looked deep into his eyes in rage. Something inside her snapped. A golden mist swirled up the dagger. Her uncle dropped the weapon - clutching his hand. He backed away slowly, cautiously. And, as quickly as possible, he rang the alarm bell. Guards ran into the room. They outnumbered her. They had weapons; maces, spears, and swords. She had no chances. She jumped out the window.

        She landed with a thump, but was spared injuries. For, she’d long since worked out that if she jumped from that particular window, she would be able to grab hold of a nearby tree branch and jump from there. There were leaves in her hair but she didn’t have time to pick them out. Guards were already spilling out of the doors and she had to get away. So she ran. The men were so busy looking for a fallen figure that they didn’t notice the moving one that ran into the trees. At least, not until she had the advantage of distance. The leafy canopy made many shadows that she could blend into. It was not likely they’d catch her.

         Rosalinda was out of breath, her heart was pounding; she was gasping for air. She’d been running for around an hour now, but it was tiring to do so without stopping for breath. She flopped down onto the ground and took in her surroundings. The gnarled trunks of the towering trees rose as high as she could see and their branches were sprawled out – their thick layers of leaves blocking out all light. A carpet of leaves, which had fallen in autumn, was at her feet; crunching every time she put her foot down on the ground. There was the distant sound of a waterfall and the sound of a bird singing in the far distance.


        Suddenly, a figure stepped out from the darkness. He had dark, messy hair that just touched his shoulders and fell into his eyes. They were a murky green and stood out in the dark. He was pale, with the thin structure of someone who had little to eat. His tunic had probably once been white but was now filthy and grey, his dirty trousers were torn in places and patched in others, and he wore boots made of leather. Or, more likely, cow hide. He gave her a cheeky smile before drawling “Hello… princess.”


        Rosalinda blinked – horrified. But he carried on, oblivious to her expression. “What are you doing in the woods, ain’t you scared?” she finally found her voice and when she replied it was cold and filled with venom “None of your business. I’ve just as much of a right to be here as you”
“Aye? Is that so? Cuz those guards seem real eager to see you, don’t ‘ey” she was on her feet know. And her feelings were somewhere between rage and distrust. He slowly put his hands up “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna sell you in. Don’t like ‘em anyway. Killed my family and burned down the farm, they did. Ten years ago. I’ve lived ‘ere since.” She was still silent but she did trust him now. Because he understood her – he’d probably seen his family burn down in flames too.


        He still didn’t notice her. He didn’t even look her way. But he did resume talking. “My name’s Henry. And I’m guessing you’re Rosalinda.” She didn’t answer him and he sighed before going over to her. “They’re lookin’ for ya. You’ve gotta trust me, or you’re on your own. And I know these woods as well as I know that m’name’s Henry.” He held out his slightly scarred hand and she gingerly shook it. Henry seemed surprised that she didn’t immediately wipe her hands on her dress afterwards. And so, he led her further into the woods.


       They’d been walking for hours on end and Rosalinda was glad that she was wearing her riding clothes. A dress and high heels would have slowed her down, and a wearing a corset would have hurt unbelievably. She wasn’t sure where they’d gone – she only knew that is was most definitely night. Rosalinda hadn’t really spoken to Henry that much. With the exception of the occasional ‘Are we there yet?’ They got to a clearing. The grass there was a pale green and clear water trickled by in a passing stream. It was one of the few parts of the forest without tall trees. There was only really one tree. A willow with hanging rats tails of small green leaves. But then again, the clearing only lasted for a mile.


      Henry got some moss from the forest and patted it into a miserable replica of a pillow. Perhaps he’d never seen one. It was rather cold but it was apparent that Rosalinda’s companion (she couldn’t really call someone she barely knew a friend) was used to it, though, and it would be pointless to whine. They spread out on the least wet grass and, Henry told her about what the luminous stars in the sky were called. And soon, she was asleep.


      When Rosalinda awoke the next day, it was already light. Sort of. The sky was streaked with a variety of colours impossible to describe, and the golden orb of the sun had an ember red glow. Henry was some way off – by the willow. She couldn’t see what he was doing because of the cascading curls of green growing out of the tree. He seemed to be fiddling with the bark where a there was a hole, but she couldn’t be sure. He didn’t really look like he wanted company, so she watched the sun ascending.


      Then, there was commotion. The peace came to an abrupt end as guards ran into the clearing, wielding their spears. Henry grabbed her hand – he’d ran back to her the second they arrived – and pulled her along to where the trees once more claimed the land. But, an arrow made them stop in their tracks. They were surrounded. They were going to die. And then one guard fell. And another. Henry kicked one guard and bashed his head on a rock. Another guard was thrown over his back with little difficulty. For someone who had little experience and proper nourishment, he was great.  As he grabbed two of the horses and led them over, scooping up a sheath of arrows and a bow which he passed to her, he said “the willow’s ‘ollow. I keep it there in case” he grabbed a small pouch that hung on a string – shoving the slingshot in – and tied it around his neck. She stared, astounded. He smirked from atop his horse. “You comin’ princess?”


     The journey through the woods was now both harder and easier. They didn’t have to stop as often and they weren’t as tired but the branches kept flinging themselves into their faces and leaves often dropped onto their heads. They were lucky the horses weren’t spooked by the groaning and wheezing noises made by the wind as it whipped across the canopy and slipped through cracks in-between the layers of green.


      As they rode on, a roaring noise that had been slowly growing made her ears ring. Soon, she understood why. As they passed through a gap between the trees, cloaked by ivy, they rode onto the edge of a cliff. Opposite, there was a waterfall. And leading across it, was a fallen tree. Henry slipped off his horse and Rosalinda followed. He carefully stepped onto the narrow ‘path’, and, holding his arms out, crossed till he came to the rushing waters. They parted like curtains, and he motioned for her to follow before the water closed again. Cautiously, she stepped onto the wooden surface. It was slippery. She took a step forward. She tried not to look down either. Soon, she was at the parted waters. And just as she stepped through, she looked down. Not, a good idea.