𝓡ᴏꜱᴇ 𝓖ᴏʟᴅ
𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖔𝖑𝖉
🙡⚜🙣
She was born Crown Princess Aurore Rosalind de Valois of the Summer Court, daughter of Queene Titania, descendant of that noble, fabled line of ethereal hare-like kings and queens, divine rulers over all faekind. Tall, radiant, and made from pale moonlight itself.
And she looked nothing like them.
They say there is no sight lovelier than the mirrored, marbled halls of the palace that housed the portraits and sculptured likeness of the members of the royal Sidhe line, and yet the princess took no joy in the company of her ancestors now. There was no comfort or solace in their indifferent gaze as she dashed past, her hummingbird heart flurrying in her chest and delicate fingers clutching tightly at the hem of her scarlet gown. They almost seemed to sneer and look down at her resentfully. That half-breed. Her ears grew hot at that hated moniker. It was the word echoed in state rooms when her back was turned, whispered discreetly between the dwarven officials and Sylvan courtiers who still doubted she was their promised princess.
It wasn’t until she was safely sheltered in her chambers did she weep doleful tears.
"Why has my own bloodline forsaken me?"
The lapine princess lamented, crossing the room to stare into her own reflection in the mirror of her vanity, combing at the waves of peach colored locks between her fingers. Not the snowy white it should have been. No opaline horn where there should have been. Was she fae? Or was she mortal?
“Your highness?” Aurora, startled in the middle of her distress, flushed to find her old nursemaid, an old, matronly hen by the name of Poulette, frowning with concern. In her haste she had forgotten to check if she was alone. “Whatever is the reason for all your fussing, sweet child? You look a fright!”
“I don’t care,” Aurora turned her head away impertinently, hiding her tears. From her swift retreat from court her gem-studded tiara had shifted and strands of hair that once sat neatly piled on her head now tumbled around her face. Before she had time to protest, the nursemaid had already loosened her plaits, gathered her curls in her small claws, and began to brush through them gently.
“Such pretty hair,” Poulette clucked, doting as she always did. “Like rose gold.”
“The color of my hair is the cause of my unhappiness, Poulette! How can I possibly be the next faerie queene when I don’t look like one? They say I am too small, too weak...”
“Your highness, bu-”
“And I have no horn! Why were the gifts the goddess imparted to my ancestors not extended to me?”
“Haven’t you ever looked at what’s inside, dear princess, not just without?” The mother hen cooed soothingly while she brushed through those lustrous curls. “Take pride in what you are, Aurore. The fair folk are ancient and beautiful, but do not know love and compassion the way mortals do. You were gifted with the heart of both fae and mortal. You’re the way you are because your mother found true love. Real love between sidhe and human. The first of its kind.”
The hen’s words caught in her heart like fire. She could feel it now as she brushed through her dawn-pink hair, a warm glow inside her, a tiny flame she would nurture and, in one bright moment, make a new future for them all. She was fae and mortal. Both and yet neither.
“You are a bridge for both worlds.” Poulette righted the crown so it sat firmly and elegantly on the young woman’s head. “A princess all your own.”