England, 1965
The busy London streets bustled with aspirants and a clamor that filled the air. A middle-aged woman—likely well into her forties—with short, immaculate blonde hair and a dapper young boy at her side knocked on one of the many ornamented doors leading into the colossal castle in front of her. It was the elusive residence of the British royal family, guarded by a myriad of disciplined soldiers. The wonder and mystique of such a place were granted by its long, pure stone walls that lapsed completely around the palace and beautifully crafted entrances that appeared too magnificent for anyone to touch.
The Queen came to the door, opening it to meet the woman face-to-face. “Hello, Carol. I’m glad you found time to bring Jack over,” she said gently, ushering her in. "Rachel has been eagerly waiting for him. She's in the courtyard." Carol nodded, noting the familiar soft velvet cushions on the couches and the excess use of marble everywhere as she entered. In her opinion, the interior design made them seem less like royals and more like just rich people. However, it was not her place to give advice, even if she and the Queen were friends. Guiding her son Jack through a set of glass doors, Carol saw the redheaded princess playing out in the courtyard. She patted his back and pointed at the girl, signaling for him to approach her. “Go play with Rachel, honey. Mommy will be behind those glass doors, okay? Have fun,” Carol said, turning back to the Queen as Jack ran off to engage with the Princess.
“These flowers are new," the young lad commented, surveying the courtyard's foliage. Rachel waved at him, giving a toothy, innocent grin as she said, “Let’s go pick some!” before standing up and running towards the flowers that looked the prettiest. Jack followed her, not too far behind.
“Eliza, they’re so young. We can’t make such a big decision just like that,” Carol said, watching Jack and Rachel play from behind the glass doors, where they couldn’t hear her. She took a deep breath, understanding that she was possibly denying her son of being king, but his happiness was what truly mattered most to her. The Queen would sit in silence for a moment. "Look at them, Carol. They’re as close as they can be at that age. And besides, nothing we decide now will be too permanent. You can call off normal weddings, so you'd be able to call off arranged ones too,” Eliza, the Queen, retorted, occasionally glancing at the children.
They had already plucked most of the wildflowers growing naturally in the garden when Rachel spotted a flower that looked out of place. The child waddled, followed by her friend, as she came upon a delicate flower blooming from between the bricks of the pavilion. Rachel’s grin grew as she bent over to grab the flower. Jack followed close behind. “Mine!” the young boy exclaimed, simultaneously reaching for it. Usually, he would be courteous and allow his friend to take it, but this flower was different. Its color, which seemed to shift every time he blinked, compelled him to touch it. In an instant, as both their hands came upon the enthralling flower, the two royals disappeared.
Having been distracted by the earlier argument, the mothers would catch a cursory glimpse of the event—their children frolicking in the fields one moment and being gone the next. First, shock overwhelmed them, their eyes widening as they raced out to ascertain what had happened. Next, when it was confirmed that Jack and Rachel had truly vanished, their mouths contorted into screams. Running through their minds was fear, despair, and confusion. “Where’d they go?!” Carol shrieked, but Eliza could only stare blankly as she panicked. “Eliza, talk to me! Where’d Jack and Rachel go?!" Carol continued. “This is all your fault, Eliza!” They didn't know it, but the phenomenon had a name—Stress Blooming.
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The two children later found themselves in a grassy meadow, the sun beating brightly down upon them. Instead of the big city they had come from, the place they were now in was full of small, cozy-looking houses shrouded by dark trees whose leaves created a canopy that obstructed light from touching the forest floor mere feet away from them. The children recoiled back in awe as they admired their new surroundings—it was wondrous, like something from a fairy tale. By the time they were finished gawking, many of the townspeople had come out and formed a circle around the two children, muttering furiously as if discussing what to do with them.
A loud voice broke through the hushed hum of whispers: “Someone call Cornelius!” But there was no need to formally call the man; the simple mention of doing so had brought him out of his hut. The man, in a long flowing robe, had an aged face with a distinct lack of wrinkles, complimented by a rich, white, luxuriant beard. It was impossible to discern the color of the man's hair, as it was concealed by a huge mushroom stationed over his head. “It worked!” exclaimed Cornelius as he pushed past the growing group of people to get to the bewildered children. He crouched down in front of them before their shock had the chance to diminish, picking them up by the collar of their clothes and holding them up to show the rest of the village. Embroidered in the collars of the children were their names, in a language foreign to anyone from this world. “These here are Outsiders, just like me! Rachel and Jack! This is proof my wish worked! Now, who wants to take care of them?” Cornelius asked, reading the opaque language flawlessly as he looked out into the crowd expectantly.
The crowd fell silent. No one made a move to accept the offer. Agreeing to raise children on a whim was a reckless decision for anyone to make, especially when the circumstances of their existence were unusual—and Cornelius himself, being well into his 60s, wasn’t suited for the task. After several moments of awkward silence, one man stepped up. He was wearing a dark, rugged leather apron and thick gloves, and his body was covered with soot and burn marks. He made a low grunt as he maneuvered through the circle of people, raising one of his muscular arms while his thick boots stomped out the grass below. “I can take one. I ain’t got nothing much better to do with my free time, and I got the money for it ‘cause I’m a blacksmith," the man said. Cornelious smiled, tossing the redheaded girl towards him. He cradled the remaining child with both of his hands.
The blacksmith caught her safely, muttering something under his breath about Cornelius’ sanity before carrying her on his shoulder and marching home through the mass of people. “Rachel Red,” he stated aptly, giving her an immediate surname based upon her most prominent feature—her red hair. The blacksmith took Rachel to his home, but not before a short detour to the library, where he picked up a book titled “Parenting 101.” Meanwhile, a line of Excuse Me's was heard as another figure—a townswoman—made her way to Cornelius the Child Tosser. She moved elegantly as her flowing green gown swished and swirled. Her proximity, which ensured that a thrown child would be at much less risk, was a testament to her diligence. “Give him to me. I can’t let that blacksmith one up me," she said, her arms outstretched. Cornelius nodded, handing her the boy, Jack. She, too, gave him a last name, Royalis, which was inspired by the fancy design of the clothes he was wearing. “You’re my little prince now,” the townswoman cooed.