Howl's Cry

Let me escape, no-more of this meaningless life...


1. Paintings

Something around the castle seemed to change that day. Whether it was the taste of the wind or the bitterness of it, something was different. Nothing has ever been the same since Father had died on his death bed a few months ago. But the same sense of illness plagued the walls and corridors of this place. I rose from my bed, not eager of the day ahead. I dressed myself in my usual attire of leather boots, a simple white silk shirt, and cotton trousers. My Mother never has agreed with my sense of fashion, always saying I looked like a commoner, sometimes even calling me a peasant on occasions. Trying to get her point through, she's never succeed.


The corridors were wide, with paintings and wall hangings. Also occasional wooden tables with a white vase of red flowers. The pearl like marble floors were smooth, and so clean, much like everything. Tidied, dusted and cleaned after every footstep I take. It's quite annoying actually. My steps amplified the faster I walked, I just wanted to get this over with. Whenever Mother summons me, it's always bad news. As I came closer to the throne room doors, two guards swung them open. I nodded, trying to be at least gracious towards them, unlike my sister and brother. Spoilt children.


Mother was sitting on her throne, next to the now always empty throne to accompany her. “Ah, my son.” She smiled. There must be something wrong, very wrong. She wore her extremely over done red ball gown, with fur trims. Her jewellery was much much worst though. She had massive rubies hanging from a long, golden thin chain. And as for her headdress, she had humongous red and black feathers sticking out the back-end of it. Sort of as if she shot a bird, and placed the dead creature upon her head. I shuddered at the sight of the bloody thing.

She elegantly stepped down the half a dozen steps to the thrones and came to my side. “Come,” she said simply. She didn't wait a moment, and led me away from the throne room and to a long corridor, the walls covered in paintings.


I never did care much for this corridor, I don't now to be of the truth. “Now my son. As you know, the country cannot go long without a King on the throne.” “Of course Mother.” I followed her as she made her way, my hands behind my back. “And you are next in line to the throne?” Why is she asking? I know that I'm the future King. But I didn't want to get into another argument with her, she always wins. She has the guards on her side. “Yes Mother.” She finally stopped, and looked up to a painting. The man in the painting was tall, muscular and masculine. His dark hair waved as if the wind was swaying around him. His green emerald eyes pierced the rest of the painting, pushing it all back. I smiled up to my Father. My mother had a painting next to his, she looking very similar to what she looked like today. Long, fair blonde hair, and blue eyes.


“Do you see what all of these male paintings have in common?” she asked. Not sure whether or not that I knew the answer to the question, which seemed silly. “The fact they all were King?” confidence tainted my throat. “Yes but no. That is what they have in common, but not the trait I wished for you to notice.” I looked at her in confusion. She laughed simply, knowing that I didn't have a clue then. “They all are accompanied by a partner painting of their wives.” Of course. Wait! What has this got to do with me? That idea suddenly shot into my mind, and stuck there like an arrow. “Howl. I wish for you to find a Princess to become your bride-to-be.”

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