Userpage of Miorjah -- Fur Affinity [dot] net

~Miorjah

The Last Princess |
Member Since: Dec 28, 2018 03:45







_{⋅ ⚜ ℱ𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹... 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹... ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎'𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹... ⚜ ⋅}

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_{⋅ ⚜ ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 ℐ'𝓂 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈? ℐ'𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎, ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊. ⚜ ⋅}

⋅ ⚜ 𝔐𝔦𝔬𝔯𝔧𝔞𝔥 ℭ𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔏𝔲𝔫𝔢𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔱 ⚜ ⋅
 ℐ 𝒶𝓂 𝒶 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝑜𝒻... ℛ𝓊𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℛ𝑜𝓈𝑒𝓈...



𝐿𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑗𝑢𝑛𝑒

𝑅𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒, 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒

𝑆𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠.

𝐸𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑎 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦

𝑊𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑠, 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑠

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠.


⋅ ⚜ 𝒯𝒽𝑒 ℒ𝒶𝓈𝓉'𝓈 ℒ𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 ✧  ℳ𝒶𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃'𝓈 ℳ𝑒𝓂𝑜𝒾𝓇 ✧  ℒ𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒢𝓁𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓈𝑒𝓈 ⚜ ⋅

⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅ 🌹 ⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅

"𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓇, 𝒶 𝒢𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 ℛ𝑜𝓈𝑒."

_{The Last Licorne ✧ The Lost Princess ✧ Ghost of a Rose ✧ Jewel of the North}



_{Species: Licorne ................... Personality: Moony, Fragile ......... Likes: Moonlight, Springtime, Literature, ....

Height: 5ft 6in ..................... Enigmatic, Curious, Eloquent. ....... Floral Teas, Rosewater, Loyality, Devotion .....

Hair: Moonbathed Ivory .......................................................... Roses, Soft Silks, Honey, Scones, Napping ....

Eyes: Pale Sapphire .............. Figure: Petite yet plush, heavy .....................................................................

Coat: Pearly White ................ hips, small breasts, soft belly. .......  Dislikes: Fire, Meat, Promiscuity, Sunlight,  ..

Abilities: Healing | Magic ....... 𝔏𝔦𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫, .... War, Being Alone, Alcohol ...........................

Birthday: Nov. 27th ..................  𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡 ..........................................................................}



⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅ 🌹 ⋅ 🙡 ⊱────────────────────────────⊰ 🙣 ⋅



"𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔠𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔠, 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯. "

"𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔦𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔬𝔣 𝔗𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞, 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶. 𝔑𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲."




⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭  ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ 𝕺nce upon a time in a faraway land lived the Licornes of Trianta, a respected royal line known for incredible magic and

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ beauty. They had existed long before time was counted, held with the highest regard amongst their long-gone kin, they too nearly 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ lost to the ages. They were not always so forgotten, hidden away in their enchanted forest no mortal could cross. Long ago they 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ruled over all the fertile lands, from the rolling hills all the way to the sparkling azure sea. The world was simpler then; kinder, perhaps.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ Their last King and Queen nearly had it all, blessed as they were with untold opulence and bountiful nature - their marble

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ castle was lined with gold, their ancient garden of Eden and its  hills laden with blessed roses and fruit trees, their kingdom full of loyal

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ subjects and valiant knights who would lay down their lives for them. Alas, they did not have what they wanted most: a child. Eventually,

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ as a cold winter rolled across Trianta, a child most blessed came. While the Queen was wheaten gold with hair like cinders, and the King 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ onyx black, their child was born pale as fresh snow. A princess had been born, yes, but not simply a new heir: she would be a blessing

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ upon the lands. Old tales of the powerful ivory mares with eyes like stars that held all the ancient magic within their mighty bloodline

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ were inscribed upon scroll after scroll in their libraries. So, they named her Miorjah, blessed with the moon upon her belly and eyes like

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ starlight. She was more than they could have ever dreamed. 



"𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔅𝔞𝔟𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫, 𝔉𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔞𝔰 ℌ𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔴, 

𝔞 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔠𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔬...




⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ However, her birth came with a curse, a promise from a beast of unholy fire and choking ash. She would become

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ the last -  the Last Princess of Trianta, the Last Licorne, the last of their once ageless Legacy upon reaching her eighteenth birthday.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭  ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ The King made a choice mere hours after Miorjah’s birth. She would be hidden away from the world, forbidden to roam

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ outside the palace grounds. And so, the spring palace would be her sanctuary. The Queen decorated the bedroom befitting the Princess 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ and the King bestowed her care only to his most trusted. Miorjah would be raised away from the world. She would be safe, but alone, a

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ single pale rose left to grow and bloom away from the garden. Luckily, Miorjah blossomed even in the hidden grove of her opulent 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ bedroom. She stayed cloistered away in that sparkling marble tower, spoiled with all her heart's desires, but yet still so innocent and 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ kind. Fine dresses, toys, and sweets; anything her mind wandered to, the princess received. She was taught history, astronomy, dance,

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ harp, science and botany and politics, everything she’d ever need to be a proper Princess, and eventually Queen. The blessed day of the

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ Princess' birth came and passed, leaving her no longer a doe-eyed filly but a beautiful, demure, and gentle woman. The King and Queen

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ rejoiced in the winter’s silence and peace.  The King wasted no time - his daughter would finally have the coronation she always 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ deserved. He sent his cervine and equine courtiers far and wide, and summons to the court of Trianta arrived in the smallest kingdoms

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ all the way to the largest empires. All would have a joyous day in honor of the Princess. The Licorne Line would no longer be forgotten.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ The day came amongst the crisp falling snow of late November, the ever-green Trianta an oasis in the cold landscape.

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ Miorjah left her gilded room, hand in hand with her autumn mother, and found herself suddenly surrounded by handmaidens and

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ courtiers and court ladies who cooed and fawned over the beautiful, pure princess. They wove the lavender roses of her birthright

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ into her long mane, dressed her in an opulent, sparkling royal gown, and placed a celestial tiara upon her awed brow. Her mother 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ carefully tied a beautiful glimmering stone around her neck, whispering the story of its blessing upon their royal line, the Moonstone

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ of her people that she would wear from this day on. She was promised a day of joy and revelry, of the true beginning of her life.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭  ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ Instead, tragedy struck and death surrounded the Princess on this supposedly joyous day. As the royals arrived in their 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ carriages drawn fine horses, and the sun began to set on the horizon, screams rang out from the enchanted forest surrounding their 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ kingdom. Fire and death had come, as promised. The Princess’ fate was sealed, and despite this, her mother and father did everything

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ to protect her,  even as fear and fire came, as their people burned and crumbled, Miorjah’s mother took her to the depths of their castle

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ and told the princess to escape - to live on. But the young girl could not bring herself to leave her only home, her parents, her people.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ The Red Beast spared none his fury, save for her; he took her, claimed her for his own, and fettered her in chains as her 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ kingdom burned. She was his prize, his only spoil, the only thing he took from the kingdom of cinders. He absconded with her from the

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ place of his vile deed, and yet such disgust plagued him that he could not even look at his handiwork as he departed.



"𝔚𝔥𝔶? ℑ𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡, 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔪𝔰, 𝔴𝔥𝔶 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢?"




⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ Instead, he took Miorjah to an ancient crumbling castle where her forefathers had watched the moon’s effects on the sea,

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ heavy tides carving the island into little more than a tower atop craggy cliffs. They crossed the stone bridge to the once beautiful chateau 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ he had claimed  and there he sealed her away within a cage of warped iron. The muted cries of the ocean proved no solace for the Princess.

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ In the old castle she was surrounded by the torn tapestries and shattered statues of her birthright, constant reminders of all that had

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ been taken from her. She was  the last Licorne, the last of them all, the last whisper of magic left in the seven realms, hidden away yet 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ again. It was there she languished for what felt like both mere days and an eternity.



⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ It was two years, or perhaps twenty, she laid listening to the song of the sea and her people - no, her beloved moon.

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ There was no spell in the world that could break her from this cage, but there was one man, one she felt deep within her heart and

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ bound by the strings of fate. Alas, she feared him too, and she only learned who he was when their eyes met. The King of the North,

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ a man with a soul older than the mountain’s snow and eyes like molten gold, stormed the Beast’s castle, abandoned as the monstrosity 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ searched the lands for a key to the young Princess’  heart and fulfill his blood debts. The moment their eyes met, it was as if they had

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ met a thousand times over, yet she knew nothing of this towering lupine warrior and his troop of Vikings. In that moment the old warrior 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ claimed her as his charge, and she knew better than to resist, the chance of escaping this cage and discovering whether she was truly 

⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ ⁮⁭⁮⁭ the last worth ⁮⁭⁮⁭fates a thousand times worse. So now she sits beside the King’s side, as his white bride with a thousand enemies.



"ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲, 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔱,

 𝔞 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡, 𝔞 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔴𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡, 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯..."