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And there she is, the Princess of the Parade.
She stands grand, like a blossom atop a vineyard gate. So regal yet so delicate.
Much like a butterfly.
Purple Emperor butterflies spend most of their lives atop trees: the females only descend to lay their eggs on small willow bushes.
One particularity is that they feed on animal carcasses.
Purple was a regal color, befitting a princess like Dulcinea. As beautiful as a butterfly.
She did see the resemblance between her and these butterflies; in the way they would crowd over roadkill. Or maybe she was the roadkill.
In princess stories, there is always a prince. But what exactly is a prince in this world?
The prince who stood aside her had already left. He was a make-believe prince anyway. She couldn't get herself to see him with such a title.
Perhaps all princes are just fools who roleplay as royalty to make themselves look like perfect angels. She's heard all about princes on white horses and princesses trapped in castles.
Dulcinea never believed in princes until this one ordinary - at least in her world - lady had intruded herself into her shell, flowing betwixt her fingers like a river.
She didn't know how or why.
An ouroboros of a festival with the rotting carcass of a princess at its forefront, and yet...
Defying everything she knew, cracking the cocoon that encased a dying butterfly...
A prince on a white horse had shown up. A real prince.
She had trudged up the tower Dulcinea had been trapped in for so, so long.
She crawled into its open window and nestled herself beside this long-dead butterfly in its rotting cocoon.
Every glance at the prince was simply heaven to behold.
Her hair resembled a dark sky during a meteorite shower; each white streak was like a little comet.
It was something she had never seen before.
Her attire was like that of a fairytale prince, too. Her white coat was much like the cape of one.
All-white clothing. She was like a star. A rose that bloomed vibrantly. A white, spotted butterfly fluttering about.
She reminded her of the sun, something she hadn't seen in so, so long.
A warm yet blinding light.
"Dulcinea, Princess of the Parade," she said. "You're exhausted, aren't you?"
And now, right here, right now, she was shrouded in the light of this sun.
"I'm happy." The Princess replied.
"Liar." The Prince muttered.
"Why should i feel sorrow? Carnivals are supposed to be happy."
Dulcinea smiled.
"And i have a prince right before me, in the flesh."
A...prince?
"I am no prince." The Prince replied. "I am a Grade 1 Fixer from the Hana Association, there is no such thing as-"
"You're my prince, aren't you?"
Silence.
"Speak your name, my prince. The new prince."
The Prince hesitated for a moment, but Dulcinea's subtle, almost unnoticeable smile coaxed her into speaking.
"...Han-ul."
Prince Han-ul. What a beautiful name, Dulcinea thought to herself. A name befitting a prince clad in cloth cut from the sun's blinding rays.
The Princess embraced Prince Han-ul tighter. A prince like her would be perfect for the Parade.
"You're here to save me, aren't you?" Dulcinea asked.
"...Are you crazy?" Han-ul replied.
"I'm happy."
"You aren't."
Dulcinea had gotten used to the numbing cacophony of sounds and colours for a long time now. The Parade repeated on ad infinitum, nothing ever changing.
It was like an ouroboros. Constantly eating at itself, shrinking and expanding as song, dance and cheer became simple white noise.
A canvas splotched with blots of purples and pinks. A nest where dying butterflies fed on carcasses.
"I'm happy a prince is here."
"I've told you time and time again, i am no prince-"
"Then why are you here?"
Silence once again. Dulcinea and Han-ul looked at each other for a fleeting moment.
It felt like oblivion.
It was oblivion, perhaps.
For a second too long, Dulcinea forgot about everything.
Everything except for the prince, the flower, the sun in front of her.
The carcass is long gone.
The butterflies have returned to their trees.
The willow bushes are as vibrant as ever.
The fragrance of roses is suffocating.
Prince Han-ul laid her head on Princess Dulcinea's lap.
The fragrance of roses is so, so putrid.
The Princess' fingers were tangled in the Prince's hair, grasping at the dark sky's comets.
The fragrance of roses is almost vomit-inducing.
"You'll be a lovely addition to our Parade. You play the role of a Prince very well."
Dulcinea was still smiling.
"Don't even think about it. I don't wanna spend the rest of my life starving for blood like a madwoman."
Han-ul looked at her with scorn.
"I'd never make my prince take up such a responsibility, would i?"
"Enough with the sweet talking, princess. I'm here to snuff out your parade, not become part of it."
This Prince was truly keen on rescuing this lonely Princess, was she not?
"I'm here for the eradication of La Manchaland."
To destroy the tower the lonely Princess, the butterfly-covered carcass, was trapped in, was a feat in of itself.
And yet, the sun-kissed Prince, too, had left.
In her last moments, Dulcinea wished she could at least gaze at that Prince again.
Perhaps it would've been better to perish with the Prince than without.
Han-ul, the Prince on a white horse, was nowhere to be seen. There were only red roses. There was no white rose.
And as Dulcinea closed her eyes forevermore, her hatred for Han-ul, the Prince whose cloth was cut from the blinding sunrays, flourished. As she was not the one who destroyed the lonely Princess' tower.
It wasn't a comforting darkness.
"She had talked about me like i was...some prince." Han-ul muttered to herself. "But her words...they had such an odd warmth to them."
She sighed, leaning onto the desk, something she almost never did.
"Sometimes, i find myself wondering how she's doing..."
Han-ul blinked slowly.
"...Maybe i could have saved her. I don't know. I'm not that type of person."