Chapter Text
There was once a prince and his lover, a young maiden by the name of Allison.
She hailed from a nearby village, but would venture into the forest every dawn to sit by the prince. She would weave him crowns of blossoms to wear on his mighty antlers and sing him songs of such great beauty that the birds would stop their songs to listen.
He would rest his head on her lap as she told him every detail of her mundane life, the trials and tribulations of her every day existence. How her mother wished for her to grow up long before her time. How her father wished her to stay a child for all her days.
And he would listen to her sweet voice and promise her a seat at his table, a place in his life, for today and all days on end. They would lie together in the meadows of his forest, taking pleasure in each other and their love.
The hours would bleed into each other, day by day, week after week, and their devotion to each other remained constant.
The forest rustled with gossip of their prince and his lover.
One day, they said, one day she will take leave of her village and cleave unto him, and they shall become like one.
Instead she began to take her leave of them, and by extension him. First altogether slowly, and then all at once.
When before she would stay at the prince’s side until all light bled from the sky, now she would leave sooner and sooner, until one day she left when the sun was at its zenith, and the next she came not at all.
“Oh, how I miss her so,” the prince would sigh. “Now who will make pretty things to adorn my antlers?” And Harley was summoned from her duties to weave him garlands, to see if her artistry would please the melancholy prince.
“These are very beautiful,” the prince said, and it was true for Harley was the forest’s maiden of flowers and all that bloomed fell under her domain.
Everything she wove for the prince was twenty times more beautiful than anything his lover had ever made. The flowers more fragrant, the designs more pleasing to the eye, and yet… the prince was no more happier than before.
“Her voice was so beautiful,” the prince said, “and her songs filled my heart with love.” And all throughout the forest they searched for the best singers with the most melodious voices. The birds gathered at the prince’s sides and sang and sang with all the songs they carried in their hearts. They held contests to outdo one another, singing louder and higher and with more passion each time.
The prince tried to muster up a smile and thank them for their work, but his heart was not in it. There was none of his usual warmth. Their singing wasn’t enough to ease his sadness.
The people cried out for their prince, “Oh! We cannot ease his misery! It causes us such pain to see him sad, and it hurts even more that we cannot ease his sorrow.”
The prince heard the cries of his people, and he felt the weight of their unhappiness upon him. What use was a prince that could not smile? What use was a prince whose sadness covered the forest like clouds in the sky.
“What troubles you, my prince?” the maiden of flowers asked, and the prince opened his mouth but no words came out.
Harley knew of the prince’s former lover, and though she was wise, she felt at a loss on what to say and so she said nothing and simply allowed him to rest his head upon her lap while she sang to him her wordless flower songs.
It wasn’t the same as the village songs his lover would sing, but for the first time in a long time, the prince felt himself smile.