Post by Princess Naahra on Aug 18, 2008 10:38:36 GMT -8
The wolf had opened its jaws and Naahra was forced within.
That was how the poor princess felt when she heard news of her father's death. She refused to leave her room since, spending most of her time either crying or silently moping. Any time someone entered, in a rage, Naahra would throw the nearest object at them and scream until they left. For the first month since that fateful day now known as the 'Day of Lacrima', the maids couldn't grasp the concept that Naahra wanted to be alone, and therefore, suffered the injuries that came from being hit with a book, shoe, vase, or even a necklace or tiara. After about a month, they learned to merely leave Naahra's meals outside and knock. Eventually, the princess would get hungry enough to open her door and take what was outside. A maid would then try to come in to get the dishes, and Naahra would throw a cup, a saucer, a plate, or even a knife at them.
But right now, Naahra was merely mourning. She sat on her bed, her dark hair unkempt, her pale blue eyes staring down into space. Occasionally, she would have to bite her lip to keep from crying again, or reach for the ivory hairbrush beside her when she heard something approach her door, but other than that, the princess merely sat in silence.
She missed her father, but that was obvious. She wanted him back. She wanted revenge.
She wanted to take those who slew her beloved father and shove them straight into the wolf's mouth. Shove them into the maw of Hell.
That was how the poor princess felt when she heard news of her father's death. She refused to leave her room since, spending most of her time either crying or silently moping. Any time someone entered, in a rage, Naahra would throw the nearest object at them and scream until they left. For the first month since that fateful day now known as the 'Day of Lacrima', the maids couldn't grasp the concept that Naahra wanted to be alone, and therefore, suffered the injuries that came from being hit with a book, shoe, vase, or even a necklace or tiara. After about a month, they learned to merely leave Naahra's meals outside and knock. Eventually, the princess would get hungry enough to open her door and take what was outside. A maid would then try to come in to get the dishes, and Naahra would throw a cup, a saucer, a plate, or even a knife at them.
But right now, Naahra was merely mourning. She sat on her bed, her dark hair unkempt, her pale blue eyes staring down into space. Occasionally, she would have to bite her lip to keep from crying again, or reach for the ivory hairbrush beside her when she heard something approach her door, but other than that, the princess merely sat in silence.
She missed her father, but that was obvious. She wanted him back. She wanted revenge.
She wanted to take those who slew her beloved father and shove them straight into the wolf's mouth. Shove them into the maw of Hell.