Burning survival

A Ball

The heavy oak door slammed shut, echoing through the silent corridor. Iris was alone, confined to her room, a prisoner of her own impulsive actions.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anger and remorse. "Mother can't do this to me!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with frustration and a tinge of apology. She paced the room, her hands wringing together. "I know I've been... difficult lately, but this is too much." She sighed, her anger beginning to subside. "Why would she do this?"

The guards had escorted her here, after her mother signaled them to, their stern faces and silent judgment following her every step. She had been so reckless, so careless. She had pushed her mother too far, and now she was paying the price.

Iris sank onto the edge of her bed, her mind racing. She thought about the events that had led to this moment, the words she had spoken, the actions she had taken. She had been so blinded by anger and frustration that she hadn't considered the consequences.

Sitting in the beautiful room that felt like a prison Iris plopped on the bed. The room was a masterpiece of elegance and comfort, a testament to the wealth and status of its occupant. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, depicting scenes from mythology and history. Soft, sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. A large, four-poster bed, draped in silk and lace, dominated one wall. A vanity, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, stood in the corner, its mirror reflecting the soft light. A small, round table, laden with books and writing implements, sat near a cozy armchair.

A soft knock interrupted Iris's somber thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned towards the door. A moment of hesitation passed before she stood up and moved towards it. With a deep breath, she turned the ornate handle and opened the door.

Three figures stood in the doorway, their faces etched with concern. Her three older sisters, each with their unique beauty and grace, sighed as they stepped into the room. Their presence filled the space, a comforting warmth amidst the tension.

Isolde her eldest sister pulled Iris into a warm embrace, her voice gentle and soothing. "You're alright," she murmured, Iris sighed into her embrace, she hadn't seen her often since she was married off to the Duke.

The second sister, Elara, stepped forward, her face as calm and plain as ever Iris had never seen her look angry or happy she always had a plain look. "How could you say such words to Mother?" she asked, her voice a soft reprimand. "Do you know how worried she was, Iris? You might be the youngest, but it certainly doesn't give you the freedom to do as you please."

As the youngest of the three sister, Anya, chirped in, "Let her be, Elara. She meant no harm. She's still young." She settled into a plush armchair, its velvet cushions sinking beneath her weight.

Her fingers idly traced the intricate embroidery on the armrest, a small smile playing on her lips.

Elara's gaze, a chilling blend of disapproval and concern, settled upon Iris. Her voice, though soft, carried an undercurrent of authority, "We mustn't let Iris believe her recent actions were justified. It would be prudent for her to offer an apology to Mother before the ball." A subtle adjustment of her perfectly coiffed hair betrayed the tension simmering beneath her composed exterior.

Iris's eyes widened in alarm, a flicker of fear and confusion crossing her face. "A ball?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze darted between her sisters, a silent plea for an explanation.

Isolde's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Wipe that frightened look off your face, little one," she chided gently, her hand resting lightly on Iris's shoulder.

Anya, ever the peacemaker, interjected, "There's going to be a ball to celebrate the joining of the kingdoms of Rayin and Evelon." A soft sigh escaped her lips as she shifted in her seat, her expression a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

A gasp escaped Iris's lips, her heart pounding in her chest. "A marriage?" she asked, her voice filled with trepidation. "To Evelon? But that's so far away! We won't be able to see each other anymore."

Isolde's eyes softened with empathy, while Elara's hardened with a cold indifference. Anya, ever the optimist, forced a smile to her lips.

"It's our duty," Anya murmured, her gaze fixed on the floor, her eyes clouded with worry.

Iris scoffed, her mind racing. "That's rich coming from you. You're all married off already." She paused, her thoughts spiraling. "Let's see, Isolde, Elara, Anya, Beatrix, and Cordelia are all accounted for. Eleanor is engaged to the Prince of Amalin. That leaves Rosalind, Hazel, and... me?" Her voice cracked as the realization dawned upon her, her heart sinking.

Isolde squeezed her sister's hand, her voice filled with reassurance. "It won't be you, Iris. You still have time."

Iris met her gaze, her eyes filled with doubt. "Who is it then? You always know." Isolde averted her gaze, a flicker of sadness crossing her face. "Who are they sacrificing this time?"

Isolde's eyes, filled with a mix of sorrow and resignation, met Iris's, a silent confession in their depths. "I can't say for certain this time," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Anya's voice, sharp with concern, cut through the heavy silence. "What do you mean? To whom is the marriage holding?"

Isolde's sigh was a heavy weight in the air. "The King of Evelon," she revealed, her voice barely a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy with implications.

A collective gasp rippled through the room, their faces a canvas of shock and disbelief. The gravity of the revelation settled upon them, a heavy, suffocating blanket, all but Elara who seemed too calm.

"That would mean it hasn't been decided?" Elara stated, her voice calm and collected as ever.

Isolde shook her head, a somber expression clouding her features. "No, it has. I just... I don't think she would be safe. I mean, it's Evelon," she trailed off, her voice filled with dread. "It's secluded from the outside world. And the King... well, he's known to be ruthless, cruel, and cold. Rumors say three of his wives have perished within the past three years."

Iris rose to her feet, pacing nervously. "I wouldn't wish that on Rosalind or Hazel," she declared, her voice filled with concern. "Rosalind is far too kind for such a place, and Hazel... I always imagined she'd have a fairytale marriage, given her perfection."

Anya rose to her feet, her expression softening as she approached Iris. She pulled her sister into a comforting embrace. "They'll be fine, Iris," she reassured, her voice gentle. "But you still need to apologize to Mother. She may be tough, but at least now you understand why she's been so protective lately."

Iris let out a sigh her mind still going wild "why would our parents agree to such a thing" Iris asks in despair. Clinging onto Anya, she took a deep breath, her sister smelt of baby milk a testimony of her little nephew, but even that scent couldn't calm her down in the moment.