There was a considerable amount of sun pouring into the garden. The sound of trickling droplets filled the hazy summer air. The garden, according to herself, was Simone’s favorite place(second to the beach of course). Within the mossy confinements of cobble walls walked the two young women, both fair in face and shape. The two had quite the contrasting appearances, which many castle staff found humorous.

They were an distinguishable pair, Simone a short little thing with a stocky appearance to her. She was overly pale (and was told to sit in the sun many times) and had silvery hair. Where did she get silvery hair from two brunette parents? They believed it was just a strange birthmark, her father saying it was due to the fact that before his lovely daughter was born the All-Mother had graced the baby with her own comb, brushing the stars into her hair. It was a cute story, but to Simone, unrealistic. Now, Mariella was nothing of the sort. Plain brown hair, a thin, defined face, tall in stature. But yet, the two were tightly knit. Not that appearances made much of a difference for either of them.

Ever since Simone was 5, Mariella had been alongside her. She remembered crystal clear the day Mariella arrived. She had been so frail and small, even smaller than Simone(despite being older by a few years). Gazing upon her now, Simone could not believe how far she’d come, could she say she was proud? After all, Mariella was the one taking care of her all these years.

“Simone,” Mariella broke the stillness that had surrounded them, “When we leave for Forvonia, do you suppose I bring a bucket for your sea sickness?”

Simone felt a harsh burn in her cheeks, of course Mariella broke the silence with mockery.

“Har har, No. I would say I’ve been getting better with it honestly,” She tried to smirk, but her lips quivered in embarrassment.

“Right, since when was it last you went on a boat, hm?”

“Oh would you- don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“We are walking there, are we not?”

“Yes yes, quite slowly though.”

“You begged me to take you through the gardens. . .” Mariella gave a huff before chuckling, “And now you want to rush? Make up your mind darling.”

Simone and Mariella turned their heads to the sound of a heavy bell, and the rattling of hefty chains in the distance.

“Ah, he’s here.”

“Wh- I thought he was here already? Marie. . .”

Mariella fought a smile, “Mm? Well, I knew he was on his way. . . You would never get up if I didn’t rush you.”

Simone’s eye twitched slightly as she felt her pace quicken. Collecting the skirt of her dress into balled up fists, she began running. Despite having the disadvantage of short legs, she was agile(at least in her mind).

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“Gh- Simone! Do NOT run in those shoes!” Mariella hurried after the girl.

The servant passageway smelled of mildew and fresh dirt. Only the occasional murmur from one to another as they passed each other through the tight corridor, that was, until a bright-eyed girl slammed through a door eagerly. Mariella’s cries after Simone filled the corridor with panic. Carts tipped over, boxes toppling down as the girl sprinted for the next exit, Mariella just in toe. With a glance over her shoulder, Simone could see the maid catch up.

“Simone! I swear on our m-” She stopped herself with a deep breath, “Why the rush!? Were you not unenthused earlier!?”

Pausing at the door, Simone gave an animated spin to face Mariella, “Well. . .”

Mariella came to a stop, her shoes now scuffed with dirt. The maid held the skirt of her dress tightly in her fists before throwing it down and letting out a huff.

“Now look at you- you’re a mess,” Her arms fold as her voice falls flat with exhaustion, “Was this the intention you had when you decided to run off like a wild fox?”

Simone blinked, “I- well, you see-”

She could feel herself crumble under the cold gaze Mariella placed upon her. Her dark eyes read over Simone, who was most certainly untidy. From the humidity of the servant corridor her hair had become loose and curled, that Mariella had fought so hard to braid. She shook her head with the stalest chuckle Simone had heard. She knew she was in trouble.

“And you suppose we go back and fix you up? When there is no time whatsoever?”

Simone looked to her feet, heat filling her face. But then, she felt a gracious touch upon her chin as her gaze was shifted to meet Mariella’s eyes. She was being inspected.

With a few strokes of her hand, and a few twirls of her fingers, Mariella managed to make Simone’s hair at least presentable. Her movements were swift yet graceful, brushing off the stray dirt and grime that Simone had collected from her run. And although it wasn’t perfect, she looked good enough.

“Now then,” Mariella stepped back, admiring the work she had done, “I say we get walking, got that?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Simone knew not to challenge Marie again, or she would truly be upset. When it came to Simone misbehaving, it could have gone one of two ways; Mariella would be disappointed and fix the problem OR Mariella would be extremely disappointed and ignore Simone whenever she spoke. The kind of silent treatment where Mariella would do her duties for her(Simone), and then continue her day without a word. It was Simone’s least favorite thing by far, other than Prince Dominiq Marc.

They approached the doors of the chapel, where Dominiq would be waiting. It was not the wedding of course, but Simone’s father, King Allister Hartluck, thought it would be necessary to meet in such a holy place. The doors were a rich oak, polished and carved to perfection with the key of the All-Mother, a heart leading into two protrusions on either side of a long vertical plank. The heart contained a swirling stone dark with a mesmerizing plum; around it were gold curvatures painted with gold leaf that once the sun hit them just right they glowed.

“I’m suddenly nervous,” Simone’s eyes were glossed over with thought. The purple stone glimmered as the few rays of sun broke through heavily covered windows. A weight grew heavier in her stomach. Something was terribly wrong, but considering a man she despised was just past the door she reasoned that she should be uncomfortable. But, it wasn’t just discomfort. It was a burn in her throat, a churning in her stomach that flipped over like the sensation of the rolling ocean; the feeling she got up on a boat. How could she feel sea sick when her feet were on solid ground?