Longing
Vivienne gazed out of one of the grand windows in the palace library, her jet-black hair catching the soft, golden light that streamed through the stained glass. The vast expanse of the sea stretched out before her, though her eyes seemed to focus on nothing at all. In front of her lay yet another book, this one an ancient account of the deep ocean's mysteries. It spoke of the Abyssal Lament—a mythical siren whose name alone chilled the blood of those who dared to listen. Unlike the other sirens, whose songs lured sailors to their doom with promises of passion and love, the Abyssal Lament sang a different tune. Her melody, some said, carried the weight of the ocean's sorrow. It spoke of lost sailors whose bones were scattered across the sea floor, of forgotten cities swallowed whole by the waves, of regrets whispered from the depths of the dark waters.
Some whispered that the Abyssal Lament was nothing but a myth—just another tale to scare children or lull them to sleep with nightmares. But others, those who had braved the storm-tossed seas and listened to the legends passed down from their elders, believed her existence wholeheartedly. After all, there was no proof. No one lived to tell the tale once they crossed paths with her, and none had ever returned from the depths to confirm or deny the stories.
Vivienne's fingers brushed lightly over the pages, though she hardly read anymore. Her thoughts were consumed by the siren’s haunting song, the way it tugged at her heart. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more—something tragic and beautiful in the siren's lonely existence beneath the waves. Something she could almost understand.
Her thoughts drifted back to her brother, Ashten, who was out at sea once again. She longed to join him, to feel the thrill of the wind against her face and the spray of saltwater on her skin. He always returned with grand tales of storms that could tear ships apart, lagoons that sparkled like diamonds under the sun, and mysterious islands that no one had ever charted. His stories made her heart ache with a bitter longing.
Just because she was the princess of Eldoria didn't mean she had to sit idle within the stone walls of the palace, bound by royal duties. But her father—her ever-demanding father—insisted that her only purpose was to find a suitor, marry, and bear heirs to continue the royal line.
"Your Highness," a voice called out, snapping Vivienne out of her thoughts. A maid stood at the door, bowing her head. "Your brother has returned. The king requests that you welcome him."
Vivienne's lips parted in frustration, but she quickly masked it with a smile. Her brother was no child—he was nineteen, old enough to come and go as he pleased. Why did their father still insist she play the dutiful sister? Her chest tightened with the weight of her responsibilities as a princess, her desires always overshadowed by the expectations that loomed over her.
Despite her reluctance, Vivienne knew better than to defy her father. She closed the book, its pages still warm beneath her fingertips, and set it down on the table with a soft sigh. The maids would take care of it, she knew.
With a final glance out at the endless expanse of ocean, Vivienne stood up and left the library. She walked through the grand halls of the palace, her footsteps echoing against the marble floors. She tried to push aside the longing that tugged at her chest—the yearning for adventure, for freedom, for a life that could never be hers. She would play her role, as always, because that was what was expected of her.