Chapter 2: The Breakdown of a Princess
1532 Words
She was precisely sure that her name wasn't Princess Demeter. She has never met anyone possessing the oddly composed name—that Greek Goddess of, say, agriculture, accompanied with a commonly used name; Princess. How insulting that name combination was, if it was her own name.
Everyone in the class, even outside, knew and recognized her and her name as Chelsea. It was vivid in her memory how she had always introduced herself to them—proud and domineering, saying her name ‘Chelsea’ with conviction.
She never introduced herself as Demeter. Nor a Princess Demeter.
Now as if to challenge her wit, there was this quirky-framed woman all dressed as if she had tailored every remaining fabric on a tailor shop. She was looking at her with her left eyebrow raised, and deliberately calling her in that name—Princess Demeter.
Annoyed, Chelsea raised her eyebrow as well. "What are you talking about, b***h?"
From her smug and snobby look, the woman in her front suddenly had a confused visage. Her eyebrow was still jacked, but it was not because of irritation, instead because she was merely confused.
"b***h?" She curiously asked. "What on heaven's earth were you meaning, your Grace?"
Chelsea became confused as well. She wondered how a simple cussword was not familiar to her. "That you're a b***h," she frankly repeated.
"Heaven's God, your Grace must be sick! She is telling words no one would ever know!"
The woman once again veered to another form of heavy expression. From confused and querying, it turned fright and panic. She rolled her eyes, quickly turned her back on her, and ran away from the room Chelsea was sleeping, but not familiar with.
Chelsea would have laugh at the woman if she had not controlled herself, because the way how the maid's behind-dress jiggled as she walks was peculiar to watch—it was wiggling and bouncing.
"What the heck is wrong with that woman?" Chelsea asked herself. She scoffed while watching the woman retreat from her view.
When she disappeared, Chelsea decided to stand up. She was to get up from her bed as if she was about to do a back flip—her feet will force her to stand while her arms will be the undaunted support. Yet then, she realized that she could not easily do it because her clothes were not the same as before.
Seeing her clothe—or to be precise, a grand dress—her confusion started to swallow even a bigger portion of herself.
"H-Hey, what the hell is really happening?"
She scrunched the creases of the blue dress she was wearing. She never remembered she had it in her closet. She doesn't have as such weird dress as this. She never had any dress, to be exact. She prefers simple clothes that will not make her look feminine, instead, a boyish aura would be better.
Eager to know what was the real reason behind these events, she established her firm standup, so that she could find the woman earlier who has just left, and ask what was the true happening: why was she called Princess Demeter even though her name is Chelsea? Why was she in a room that she did not own nor had any fortune to own? Why was she wearing a weird kind of seemingly Cinderella-themed dress?
Decided, she walked towards the door. "Hey …" she was about to call the woman when she remembered that she did not know her name. "… old woman in a funny maid's dress, are you there?"
No one answered. She then supposed that the woman was not in presence.
Chelsea sighed, frustrated. She also started to feel hints of irritation because she does not know what was actually happening. She felt lost while roaming inside a glamorous room that could never be hers.
She was about to get out from the room when she caught a glimpse of her face from the reflection of a mirror that was sneakily standing in the corner.
Catching a glimpse of her, she suddenly stopped moving. Cold chills crystallized down her spine. Her lips turned gray and pale.
Slowly, as if a machine bombarded with rust and corrosion, she turned her head towards the mirror. She suddenly had the urge of wanting to see more of that reflection. Of her reflection.
Until …
"AAAHHHHH!"
Chelsea panicked after looking at the mirror. She held her cheeks with both of her palms as her eyes widened in disbelief and horror.
"N-No! This is not mine! This is not me!" she said, shaking her head.
She thought she was just dreaming. That is why she slapped her face only to send a signal to her real self to wake up. She thought it would help, but no.
"Wake up, Chelsea! You f*****g wake up!" Slapping her poor cheeks in front of the mirror, Chelsea kept on repeating her senseless command.
"YOUR GRACE! WHAT ON HEAVEN'S EARTH ARE YOU DOING TO YOURSELF?"
With panic and with her shocked and widened eyes, she shifted her gaze to the woman who had just entered the room. And oh God, the woman was frightened when she saw the Princess' pale, amok-running face. It was not the same woman she met earlier, but she could see the resemblance in their faces.
Yet, behind the new woman is where the woman who had woke her up earlier. She was frightened as she hid herself at the other woman’s back.
"See, Venida, th-the Princess is being possessed!" said the woman behind the new woman she was facing, named Venida.
"Do not tell such peculiarity, Venett, your Grace is not possessed!" replied Venida. She faced towards the hiding Vennett and forced her to stand up instead of curling at her back.
"But—"
"H-Hey, V-sisters, you know you must have mistaken me over someone. I . . . I am not supposed to be here. I am . . . f**k . . . I don't f*****g know what is happening!"
Hearing what Chelsea-s***h-Demeter said, the two maids gasped in disbelief.
"Holy God in heaven, forgive your Grace's words!" said Venett.
"Your Grace! Might you please watch the words you are saying! Or else you will be punished by the eyes of the above-all God! Oh, heaven forgive!" warned Venida.
"Then what the hell's sake should I do?! I am not Princess Demeter and this body is not mine!" Chelsea's panic even became out of anyone’s hand.
Again, the maids gasped when they both heard Princess Demeter's foul words.
"P-Princess Demeter, do not call the hell's sake. W-We call on for the heaven's sake because that is the good one," Venida tried to calm her down and explain the things she need to remember.
"Damn it!"
"Here she goes again, telling words-that-must-be-not. I think, Venida, it's a demonic phraseology." Venett whispered.
"Close your mouth, Venett. Perhaps you may hurry to the Bishop of Saxton and call for his immediate service as soon as you can?” Venida instructed.
Then, when Chelsea's head suddenly pinned an unexplainable pain, she sat down at the edge of her bed.
The maids saw her pain and instantly became worried. "Your Grace, are you okay?"
"I said I'm not—" Chelsea stopped. She breathed and tried to calm the rages swirling in her chest. "Please, I need some time alone. Get out of here now."
"It's not—"
"I said now!" the two maids jacked up from shock when Princess Demeter raised her voice.
They were surprised because the Princess never raised her voice the way she had done just that moment. Yet then, when they gained their composures, they quickly ran outside of the room, and left the jittering Princess alone.
When she finally had her desired privacy, Chelsea quickly ran back to the mirror where she saw her reflection. Somehow, she expected that it would not be the same as earlier—that she was just mistaken about what she saw.
But then, tears ran down her cheeks when she still had the same reflection she earlier saw.
It was a reflection of a woman she had never known or had ever met in her life. It was not the face of Chelsea, but of another woman that is perhaps the one they were calling . . . Princess Demeter.
She does not have the same plain and straight black color of hair. Instead, what she had right now is a copper-colored silky hair in a wavy pattern. She no more had plain black eyes, instead bluish-colored eyes that seemed as beautiful as the horizon of the ocean and sky.
It was not her body anymore. It was not hers. Yet, she still felt like there was nothing new—that she owns that body as if it has been long time since she have been inside it.
Confusion, anger, demise, and uncertainties all mixed up inside her chest. And when it was all too heavy and hard to handle, Chelsea—or much better, Princess Demeter—sat on the floor, tucked and hugged her knees, buried her face in it, and then cried miserably.
- Writer
