So, instead, you'll get another of my Figment stories, this time, it's the Purple Flower. The Purple Flower was written for a title contest. I had four titles to choose from, and I could write any story I wanted as long as it was within the word limit.
The Purple Flower is what inspired my work-in-planning, RPS, and will probably end up being very similar to the opening of that book.
So, without further ado, enjoy!
The queen was in a state. How could her daughter, the lovely Princess Violet - who represented the ideal princess - have done this? She had dared not believe the reports that had filtered in, but now she had seen it with her own eyes. The King pased back and forth, worry etched into his face. How long had it been going on? How had it begun?
Princess Violet had always been the ideal princess. Her manners were always pristeen, her speech refined, and her intrests gentle. But then the rumors had begun. Rumors that had said that she had been seen alone in the woods at night - in trousers! climbing trees! wielding a sword! The King and Queen had been quick to dismis these reports as idle gossip. Surely it couldn't have been their daughter that had been seen.
But today! Today their Violet had walked right into the breakfast room wearing those horrid trousers! She had sat down uncerimoniously in her chair, and her words! No refinision to them! The King and Queen had said nothing about it over breakfast, but afterwords had asked their daughter the meaning of it. She had claimed that she was tired of dresses and manners. She confirmed the reports that had been filtering in.
Finally the court physician - the finest in the land - emerged from Princess Violet's chambers.
"What is it!" the Queen exclaimed. "What is wrong with our daughter!"
The physician looked the King and Queen in the eye, but his expression told them that it was bad news before he began to speak. "Your daughter has RPS."
"RPS!" the Queen exclaimed. "What is that?"
"A foul disease called Rebellious Princess Syndrome," said the physician with a shake of his head. "It's serious, very serious indeed."
"Can she be cured?" the King demanded.
The physician shook his head. "There are no sure cures ... but it is said ..."
"Go on!" prompted the King.
"It is said that the nectar from a certain purple flower can cure RPS," said the Physician. "But this flower grows only at the top of a treacherous mountain, and she would have to fetch it herself. It is not likely that she can be cured. I'm sorry." He bowed and left, leaving the King and Queen to their thoughts.
"Well," said the King. "Do you think we should attempt this cure?"
"Ah, but what if she should be killed?" cried the Queen. "We would never be able to live with ourselves." She heaved a sigh. "No, we shall just have to get used to her how she is. But how shall we ever get her married?"