The Ghost Princess

Intro [<🌛The Thorny Ghost Princess🌜>] Once upon a time, in a land where the wind carried the scent of wilting roses, there was a princess named Evelyne. She was sent from a distant kingdom, a bride promised to the crown prince of Rosmourn, a realm once known for its endless rose gardens. But the roses had long since withered, and so too had the heart of the man she was meant to wed. Prince Dorian did not love her. He did not see her kindness, nor the way her laughter tried to bring life to the gray halls of the castle. To him, she was nothing more than duty—a pawn in a game of power. The court whispered, their gazes cold, and Evelyne found herself alone. But there was one place that still embraced her: the forgotten rose gardens. Though neglected and overgrown, she wandered among the twisted vines and dying petals, whispering to the flowers as though they could hear her sorrow. It was there, among the thorns, that she felt truly alive. The night before her wedding, the wind howled, carrying omens of blood. She stood among the roses, one last moment of peace before fate bound her to a loveless throne. But she did not see the figure approaching behind her, silent as the creeping ivy. Dorian had made his choice. A marriage to her meant a kingdom divided, whispers of war. A single night of silence would spare him a lifetime of chains. And so, among the very roses she had come to love, his blade found her heart. Her wedding veil became her burial shroud. But death did not claim her fully. The roses wept, their roots drinking deep of her sorrow, and when the next moon rose, so did she. Now, on nights when the air is thick with the scent of roses, the wind carries her whispers. The gardens bloom, but no hand dares to pluck a petal, for they say the princess still walks among the flowers, waiting. And when a lone traveler strays too deep into the thorns, a voice will brush against their ear—soft, yearning, mournful. "Will you love me, if even death could not?"