PROLOUGE
THUD.
NEIGH.
THUMP.
Her head banged on wood,
insinuating a jolt of pain that drove her out of slumber. The subtle to-and-fro
of the carriage that once cradled her body now became an incessant gesture of
alarm. The fog in her mind hindered the comprehension of words being passed
around yet her ears did not cease to gather.
“Leonora’s lass, she is.”
“Caught her straight off the
Square, we did.”
“Dun’t know what got her!!”
“Kekekekekeke.”
A sharp pain stung through her
back as the carriage overcame a stone in its way. Her body fidgeted to find a
more comfortable position, when – her eyes shot open! Her perspective was
darkened by the lack of light, but that was the least bothersome thing in that
moment. For when she rolled her shoulders, she felt two unfamiliar weights bent
at a painful angle. When the woman turned her neck to look back, to her
absolute surprise, she spotted a pair of hands tied behind her back by their –
her – wrists.
‘I have hands…?’
Panic surged through her veins
as she realised the compactness of her surroundings. She tried getting up only
to realise that her feet were bound together, around the ankles, with yet
another rope. Her parched throat threatened to let out a scream but was
hindered by a sudden round of laughter.
“That skimpy bandit would’ve
no choice but to surrender ‘erself now!”
“How dare a pesky woman like
her threaten the Crown?!”
“As soon as we reach the
castle, let’s teach this lass a lesson. For the daughter of a Bandit Queen, she
sure is quite a looker.”
Chills ran down the girl’s
spine as her feet gave up and she fell back, onto the cold hardwood of the box.
Questions overwhelmed her mind for the last thing she remembered was sitting by
the window, staring into the sunset. The year was 2024, the wind was polluted,
her body had no hands but at least she was a free individual – who would want
to kidnap a disabled orphan? And what did they mean by the Crown and the
Bandi--!!
Her eyes widened as a hazy
memory of a name pierced through her common sense. Leonora. Bandit Queen.
Her lips broke into a mirthless
grin.
Daughter of a Bandit Queen.
Her forehead bunched into a
frown without hindering the toothy grimace. Her newly found hands grew cold and
clammier behind her back as exasperation of the situation dawned on her.
Somehow, call it fate’s folly or destiny’s greater ambition at giving the Gods
a good laugh – but she, Isadora Bailey, had transmigrated into a fantasy book
she had loved ever since she was fifteen.
The Lucielle Box.
“Holy fucks.”
The plot was simple, yet
complex, depending on the age one pursued it.
The story followed a Bandit Queen named Leonora Russet, in the land of Isdaren, who plundered the rich to provide for the poor. She was a brave and kind woman with a sickly daughter and in order to save her only family’s life, she was searching for the Lucielle Box. An object deemed to be hidden somewhere in the Royal Castle with magical properties of rejuvenation. It protected and immortalised the royal family and was Leonora’s only hope to keep her child alive. Though, after time and time again of begging the King to show mercy on her dying daughter and heeding no positive results – Leonora resorted to accumulate power, steal, bring the people on her side and protest against the crown.
The carriage halted and a gust
of nauseatingly fresh air entered into her captive box through the small holes
on top. The chattering men dragged the box down a slope, mounted it over a
trolley and began dragging it towards doom.
Bandit Leonora was wildly
successful in her pursuits and even after having the greatest bounty on her
head, she remained uncaptured for a decade. That was until the Third Prince’s
cavalry were able to capture Leonora’s daughter. They planned to use her as
leverage to make the Bandit Queen surrender and puppeteer for the Crown but
some low-level soldiers could not resist the temptation of a captive woman at
hand and decided to violate her.
The box almost dropped off the
trolley while the men were hoisting it up a staircase. A flurry of curses
resounded against the cold hard walls of the stone dungeon. A musky damp scent
prevailed in the atmosphere, making the trapped girl’s throat itch.
“Could’ve jus bot the lass,
but no! Haf’ta bring a goshdarn box all the way ‘cross!”
Leonora’s daughter dies while
trying to protect herself. The Third Prince’s plans fail and he shoves the
reason of his failure on one of his brothers. Though Leonora was a woman, she
was a concerned mother first and avenges she does her daughter’s blood by
slaying a Prince…but it does nothing to fill the gaping void of her heart. In
five years, Lenora storms the castle, slaughters the royal family, takes over
the Lucielle Box and uses it to make a deal with the devil. In return of her
child’s life, Leonora unleashes darkness onto the world and plunges it into
chaos. She forgets all regard for mankind and wreaks havoc until the Hero slays
her at the end of the book.
It was a sad story, yet one
brimming with great mystery and adventure. A tale where the sadness was worth
the journey undertaken – but that was a fifteen-year-old emo Isadora’s
perspective. Twenty-two-year-old Isadora, stuck in a box that was now being
pried open, hated the concept of valour stemming from sacrifice.
Especially when she was
the sacrifice.
She was Runa Donn Russet.
The daughter who was about to die.
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