In the stories, princesses were surrounded by chirping birds and gentle fawns as they daydreamed of their handsome princes. The garden at the Park's home wasn't filled with song birds or baby deer, but it was a place of solace for Chorong, a place in which she was her own Queen.  

She sat on the ground, hidden from the garden doorway by a mess of tall sunflowers she had coaxed into life early that spring. Her attention wasn't on the sunflowers, though, and instead was focused on the small daisies that gathered around the base of the taller stalks. Her fingers flew over the paper held taught on her board, the charcoal in her grip remaking the vivid pink flowers into drab grey replicas.

She wasn't a talented artist, she knew that. But she enjoyed the feeling of the rough chalk in her hand and the sound as it scratched over the paper, making her vision come to life on the page. She used to wish that she were a magician of Noria who could make the drawings come to life and keep her company, but as she grew older she came to be thankful that her ugly little scratchings would stay dormant forever.

Or mostly thankful, she thought, brushing an errant strand of dark brown hair back behind her ear. It had slipped free of it's clasp at the base of her neck, mostly due to the fact that said clasp was older than even Chorong's twenty-six summers. In fact, most of what she owned was no newer than about five years old, something that she thought most young noble women would be mortified by. Then again, they would be mortified at being twenty-six years of age and unmarried, too. She heaved a sigh and shook her head at such thoughts.

It wasn't as if she had any choice on the matter. Her parents had both passed away when she was a young teenager, her father killed in the war with the neighboring country of Lyneron and her mother succumbing to sickness only a year later. It had left her brother Yongguk in charge, even though he was only a year older than Chorong herself and not yet a man grown. Their father was a man of prestige and renown, with a good name for himself and more than enough wealth to keep his family well dressed and well connected.

Chorong told herself it wasn't Yongguk's fault, that he had been young and inexperienced in the ways of finances, but she knew that was foolhardy. Even she, at the tender age of fourteen, had known that he shouldn't gamble at the horse races held in the neighboring town. She tried not to blame him for squandering away all their money, but it was hard to when she was wearing clothing half a decade out of style and had no dowry to speak of. But it wouldn't be so bad, she figured, if only he would keep the drinking to a minimum-

A slamming door sounded from somewhere inside the manor house, and Chorong's charcoal snapped in her fingers as she jumped in fright. She peered through the sunflowers, holding her breath as she prayed to the spirits that Yongguk didn't find her. He had been more foul-tempered of late, drinking more than ever and spending a lot of time sitting at the dining room table, staring at nothing. She had wondered if he was going mad, but she didn't think that it would be something so simple. If only he were, then he could be taken to the Citadel in Trinia to be cared for, and she would be free of him. But no, she was afraid that it had to do with the men who came to visit at least once a week now.

Each time they came, it was at least four of them, and they would shut themselves off into her father's old study with Yongguk. One time she had tried to listen in at the doors, but a tall and slender young man had caught her when he unexpectedly left the room. That hadn't ended well: even now, she caught her hand on her cheek where her brother's fist had struck her, as if she could still feel the bruise. He had apologized the next day, in his round-about way - syaing that if she hadn't been eavesdropping then he wouldn't have become angry. It was over a month ago that it happened but she was still afraid enough to stay far away if those men came to visit.

A shadow darkened the far side of the sunflowers, and Chorong's heart jumped in fear. She stayed as still as she could, her breath caught in as she watched with unblinking eyes. To her relief, though, the shadow moved on, footsteps sounding in the hall until they faded away.

She moved quickly then, packing her charcoals and paper back into the thin wooden art case that had once been a gift from her mother. She stood and tucked it under her left arm, self-consciously brushing at her pale blue skirt wit her right hand to remove any excess dirt from it. To her dismay she realized belatedly that she still had charcoal on her fingers, and now three soft grey marks marred the once fine blue cotton. She should be able to get it out in the wash, if she paid extra attention to it. The skirt was still one of the nicer things she owned, thou