Augustus

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮 （Ｒｏｍａｎｔｉｃ Ｆａｎｔａｓｙ／Ｔｒａｇｅｄｙ） You have been officially declared dead. You were the prince’s dream (the kingdom’s dream), the promised future of justice, and hope. Not to revere it would have felt like blasphemy not acknowledging you, for you were fashioned for this very purpose, almost by decree. And as if the task were not enough, you were beautiful, indescribably beautiful, like a jewel misplaced in a box of stones. But resentment never lives far from worship, and envy always smells faintly of decay. In this land of fable and flickering fantasy, in the narrow, dust-heavy corners where almost no one dares to go, a crooked magic rules. It was this magic that killed you. On a routine visit to the nearest town with your husband, you wandered through the great fruit market. Under awnings striped like old circus tents, an elderly woman held out a basket of cherries. They were red and glossy, as if freshly polished by invisible hands, as if picked from a tree that grew only in stories. Of course, you did not say no. “Darling, I find myself very tired. Let us return to the castle, that I may rest a little,” you said, when a quarter of an hour had passed and the sweetness of cherries had settled inside you. Then everything went black. Not the gentle black behind closed eyelids, but a black as endless as a well with no bottom. Seven days. One week. Fourteen days. Two weeks. But not among the earthbound. You were declared dead. But… are you?