Grand Duke of Maynard was standing in the main hall of Maynard Castle, bustling with court officials, discussing in hushed whispers matters privy to the Duchy.
His grandson, Arcel Maynard, a lanky boy of six with curious cyan eyes and curly almond hair overgrown into a mullet, walked up to him and tugged at his lime dress robes.
No response.
Arcel's brown head peaked its height a little above Grand Dukes's knee, an utter inconvenience for even that little girl, Iris, looked a bit taller than him. The brunette pressed his lips in a thin line and tugged his grandfather's robes again.
No response.
Arcel traced his tongue over his teeth, lips puckered in an obvious exhibition of annoyance. He had something to say but the green looking Lord of Bubbleon wouldn't leave his grandfather's side. Grandmother Arabella had slipped in a coughing fit and departed with her trail of maids before Arcel could share his very important piece of information with her. He did not want to disturb her resting time, so Arcel resorted to tug once again at his grandfather's lime robes.
No response.
Very well then, he asked for it.
Arcel's small fist clenches around the silken fabric of the lime robe and he begins to swing it left and right, as far as his arm would take it, whilst whining with increasing intensity for every passing syllable, "GrandpaPapAPAPApaPApaPApa—"
The main hall, brimming with opinionated regality, for the second time that evening, had fell into a silence as all eyes looked down to the young Prince's inauspicious behaviour. The liberties this child took under the shelter of his grandfather were immense.
"Arcel, my son, what is it?" Grand Duke questions gently, ignoring the judgemental glances directed at them, crouching to Arcel's height and ruffles his messy curls. His emerald eyes hold a treasured kindness, accessible to only a few.
Arcel grins a gummy grin before replying, "You look really ugly in that outfit today," and laughs in the Grand Duke's flabbergasted face before skipping out of the main hall.
The Grand Duke breaths out a genuine laugh, pressing it down with his lips as his shoulders jerk up and down with subtle restrain.
"Grand Duke, are you okay?" Lord Bubbleon voices his concern, alternating his glaces between the skipping Prince and the laughing Duke.
"It's my boy's love language, do not take offense," Grand Duke clarifies, "Do continue," he finally laughs out loud.302Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡObVlK1cV5j
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Aurora did have prior experience in handling an existential crises but it was limited to a momentary outburst of, 'Who am i? Why am I? Why am I me? Why am I not me? Why do we live life with just one perspective?' and she would usually kill her line of thought before it could escalate to the point of getting help.
But this sort of existential crises was new to her, the sort she was in right now. An existential crises for someone who isn't her but someone who now she is. She, for herself, but as someone else.
Who was this body? Why was Aurora transported into this body? If this is a reincarnation, then why does she remembers her past life like it was yesterday? Was this body's owner now in Aurora's body? Was this some sort of a Freaky Friday situation?! No- the soul of a five year old in the celebrity body of Aurora Harper -
Goosebumps rose all over her skin, sending chills down her spine. Unimaginable.
"Let us not think of our past, right now, let us keep in the present and think of whatever we need to figure out in this world." Aurora reaffirms herself, slapping her cheeks to focus on the questions at hand.
Why was this body at the Grand Duke's? Who is the Grand Duke? Why is someone as rich as a Duchess fretting over a simple necklace?
There were too many unknowns to be answered. The roof of her cell looked griemy, her boxed prison had a small square inaccessible to even giants, and it let in cold wafts of air. There must be a forest around here and wait- would there be spiders here somewhere?!
Her whole being solidified for a hot minute, terrified eyes solemnly scrutinizing the stony floor when a sudden question caught her off guard.
"What is the Swan Lake?"
Aurora screams, yet again, jolting up with all of her being and turning to spot the cyan eyed boy who had been smiling at her throughout her questioning. What was he doing here?
"It's a—" she coughs to get the edge of her voice, she'd need to find a normal speech pitch as fast as she can if she still wants to sing and not ruin her voice, before continuing, "— a Russian ballet."
"What is a Russian ballet?" He questions, wide eyes blinking at her curiously. He is crouched to the floor, knees pressed against his chest and hands wrapped around them, quite leisurely peeking at her from between the cold bars of her trapped prison.
"It is a Russian dance form...?" Aurora hesitantly replies, a little unsure as she bites her lower lip before nodding to herself. "It's a four act dance, with a whole story and stuff," she dumbed it down for the easy comprehension of an otherworldly child. The boy nods, clearly not understanding a thing.
"What's a Russian?" He asks again, eyes wide as saucers as he started rocking himself against his heels. To and fro.
"The place it originated in," Aurora replies instinctively. Then, regrets it quite instantly.
"Is it a farmland? Are you from there?"
Aurora lets her mouth form a bland 'o', realising that she had quite probably slipped into a world with no Russia. Sounded strange.
"Enough with the questions, it is my turn to ask. Who am I and what am i doing here?" Aurora inquires from the boy who was nodding and mouthing fair enough.
He tilts his head, frowning as he questions back, quite in a breathy amusement, "How am I supposed to know that?"
Well, there goes nothing. Her suspicions have been affirmed. This body was undeniably the thief. Nevertheless, she hoped for a better response when she asks, "What is this place?"
"Its a prison, at the Duchy of Maynard," he replies.
"And where exactly is this Duchy located, do you have some historical background or context?" Iris pushes for details, unknowingly copying his posture and inching closer to the bars.
"We're a part of the Amaris Empire, Borealis Draco," the boy promoted crisply, much to Aurora's dismay. The lack of context was nerve wrecking. Was he deliberately hiding things from her? She narrowed her brown eyes at him.
"Are you suspicious of me?"
"You were being tried for theft right about a minute ago. I'd be a fool not to be at least a bit wary," he shrugs a reply. For a claim as bold as that, he looked quite at ease around her. Muscles relaxed, no nervous tics, moving fingers, tapping feet or wandering eyes. On the contrary, his lips held a small smile. It was oddly peaceful, looking at him.
Fools tred in places where angels don't. It looked easy for him, to crouch down from his high ground and sneak a peak into her world. Penetrate it with questions as per his desires, guided by curiosity, and ruffling it all up.
"Who are you?" she finally asks.
"I am the former Archduke's son, Prince of Maynard, Arcel," he introduces himself, quite pleasantly. No traces of veiled stuck-up snobiness were found. "Do you really want to steal from us?" He questions again, not worried or inquisitive, but rather a tad excited as he begins rocking on his heels again. His eyes hold a glimmer, as if he would open the prison door right now if she were to say, 'Yes, I want to rob you to rags.'
Regardless, Aurora shrugs, not knowing the intentions of this body's previous owner.
"Why is he called the former Archduke?" She counterquestiones, wasn't the Grand Duke sitting on the throne right about a moment ago?
"He's dead," Arcel replies bluntly.
Aurora takes three intentional steps back.
"How?! He was alive minutes ago!?!" She hadn't see a quicker instant karma than this.
"Oh him? He's my grandpa, my dad and mum died pretty long ago," Arcel muses, enjoying the face of horror that Aurora had made. Her eyebrows had furrowed themselves together, almost blending into her hairline. Her philtrum stretched out, contouring her lips in a small pout. She looked cute to him. Awfully enchanting with a whole new world that Arcel had remained unaware of.
"I-uh-am sorry," she chokes out awkwardly.
"What for?" Arcel questions nonchalantly.
Aurora nods to herself. Yes, indeed, what is she apologetic for? She never held the former Duke and Duchess of Maynard on gunpoint. Was she apologetic for having a parent now? Well, she'd be surprised if this body had all limbs sealed in tact, let alone a guardian. Maybe it was a habit from Earth. Now that sounds odd to say.
"True. So, why are you here?" Aurora wonders out loud, yawning a little in the Prince's face.
"I thought you were really fun back there and I'm here to let you out," Arcel comments breezily, as if talking of a passing lizard or stating the colour of a leaf.
Aurora did not take it as a moment in passing.
"Excuse me?! And now you talk about it?! Was it really more important than the Swan Lake?!" She all but shouts out loud, shooing all common curtsey down in a ditch. "Take me out, please! I cannot possibly sleep in a place with a probable hoard of bugs just waiting for a good opportunity to jump me and devour me as a whole! I don't know about this body, but this innocent soul deserves better!"
Arcel laughs at that. It's a pleasant sound, Aurora would agree to that, "But first, you have to do the Russian dance for me!" He proposes.
And Aurora, caught off guard, sucks in a breath. Did the little boy really give her an opportunity to perform right now? Why did it sound so refreshing? It made her toes curl.
"Deal," she replies and jumps up. Arcel smirks, choosing to sit on the ground now, pressing his palms over it, as he leans back, and crosses his spread out feet at their ankles. He waited for the show to begin.
Aurora, in the frigid body of a five-year-old who felt like they had no experience of any other activity than breathing, tried to practice a spin on her toes but failed miserably. Her small world dazed into a circular mush and she fell to the dirty ground with another newfound embarrassment to add to an increasingly long list.
She had lost all hand-body-feet coordination. Whatsoever! Misery was this moment and it had arrived to embrace Aurora.
All she could do now was hide her face and cry as the Prince stared her on, expectantly.
"Has it already begun?" Arcel suddenly inquires, eyeing Aurora's antics as she fought with herself over trying to sing or dance. She could do neither.
This existence has no point, whatsoever! She was an embarrassment as an entertainer!
"I cannot quite follow the story," Arcel comments again, when Aurora turns to face him with a grimance. But his remark strikes a cord in her head.
Story! Yes, there was that! Of course, the premise of Aurora's stardom was her talent in acting!
Instantly, she jolts up and flails her arms and legs around, jogs on a spot, and makes odd 'brrrr' noises before starting, "In a land far far away, there lived a lovely little girl named Ella. She was as blessed as the stars, with loving parents and enough riches to last..." She acts along to the words, because no matter whatever she became in her adulthood, she could never let go of her roots as an actor. It was the very definition of her soul. No matter in which body she was or whatever world she would be sucked in. Aurora's soul shall shine with skill!
"...but stars do burn out, and so did Ella's fortune when her mother died... A fairy Godmother! She...danced with the prince...a glass slipper! And...the prince found her! And saved her from her shallow stepsisters and evil stepmother! And...they loved happily ever after! ...The End!"
Arcel had been a pleasant audience, laughing, cheering, cursing and clapping in all the right places. He looked pleasantly entertained with a tale as simple as Cinderella's. But upon the end, a frown loomed over his forehead and Aurora was one who took feedback seriously. So she asked him his point of concern.
"But how do you know that they lived happily ever after?" He questions in a serious tone.
"Because it is a fairy tale...?" Aurora comes off unsure. She did not write this legendary masterpiece.
Arcel tilts his head, tapping his chin with his fingers, "There was a lot of factually incorrect magic incorporation, for starters. One of the basics of a permanent transfiguration is a non-water-based material of choice. If she had to make a carriage, she should have chosen a box. Then again, probably, she wanted it to be time-limited thing! So that the step sisters don't figure it out, yes, but the happily ever after is the second most fake thing I have heard, right next to our origin myth."
Now it was Aurora's turn to scowl. Say what now?
"Would you rather me tell you that their marriage ended in a bad divorce?"
Arcel ponders over it for a serious second before nodding, "Actually yes," he grins brightly before adding, "Haste makes waste."
And Aurora scoffs in exasperation for the first time in this lifetime. Probably. She wasn't counting. But the point was that this child did have a point indeed and it irked her.
"What's a fairy Godmother, though? Is it a subspecies I am unaware of?" Arcel suddenly asks, so invested as if it was a matter of life and death.
"A benefactor of sorts," Aurora replies dryly. Her mind had wandered off to all the 'haste makes waste' weddings in the Disney kingdom.
"Oh, so, if I get you out of here, then I can be your fairy Godmother?!" He suddenly claps, jolting aurora out of her reverie.
In all honesty, Aurora had forgotten about that part. The main part. The part about getting out of the prison. Lo! She had camouflaged the cell as her stage and now she was comfortable where she was. Eerily enough.
"Yes, that would be the case. But of course you'd be called a fairy Godfather because genders, you know," she grinds her teeth, replying awkwardly and thanking deities that the basics of both their worlds were pretty similar. She wonders why?
"So I can marry you when you come out?!" Arcel asks excitedly, jumping up to a standing now.
"Wha— excuse me?! No, thank you very much! Godfathers don't marry, Princes do!" She exclaims.
"But I'm already a Prince," Arcel claims in a pitiful voice, but somehow it sounds like a threat. This child—
"We'll end in a bad divorce. Haste makes waste, remember?"
Arcel scoffs, having used his own tactic against himself. Petty. He brushes his butt and gets ready to take his leave.
"Wait! Where are you going! Take me with you! You promised!" Aurora pleads, making grabby hands at him. Now that he was standing, he looked a bit different with brown curls guarding his eyes and half-open eye-lids letting just enough cyan visible to look intimidating. He wore a creme shirt with dark breeches, clean socks and dark boots — much to contrast a shabby bag of dirty green that Aurora's body had draped over.
For the first time, in a long time, Aurora felt her insecurities rising. An intimidation that she did not like.
"It was a deal, yes, we'll meet around this time, tomorrow and if the guards haven't found anything in the servants quarter by then, i shall vouch for you with my name and title."
Stakes, all of Aurora's double existence was at stake. Was she a thief or not? What would happen to this body and her soul? She had no clue.
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But when the little prince was walking away, the only question Aurora pondered over, was: what would his MBTI be? 302Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmE1RNZINQW
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