In the darkness of princely chambers, cold, stone walls entombed her weakened frame. Dragging her pearly white trains on the grey slabs, she paced the room, unsettled, hanging on the verge of sanity.

Translucent fingers, long deprived of sun rays, ghosted over the page once more. The ink figurine in her storybook brought comfort as she spoke to him, wishing life upon his features, voicing forbidden tongues, purposely buried underneath dusty spell scrolls.

The man stood proud, his frame betraying royalty descent, draped in ink blue velvet, towering and demanding fealty off imaginary servants. His features foreign hers, yet she felt drawn toward his story night after night. It told of slain dragons and treasure hunts, betrayals, and curses and it ended with the prince chained for eternity onto his silver throne, awaiting a sacrifice for rescue. 

The princes came to love the Ink Prince. Far too many moons she teared over the pages, crying her ill fates, confessing her sorrows and whispering her hopes and in her deprived quarters, she imagined their life together. She begged him for salvation from the clutches of her impending exile. Her fate, tied to that of her tyrannous family would meet a kinder end, unlike her kin, whose heads rolled lifeless on the steps of the palace, following the coup. Her uncle’s treacherous act saw her locked away, awaiting departure to a land far from her home and any remaining supporters of her father.   

The Ink Prince was always there to listen her cries, her muted screams and as time went by he silently witnessed her descent into madness, unable to shoulder her teary eyes or caress her face with the warmth of his hand. 

As night rolled in an eerie breeze unbolt the heavy wood panels that stood for widows, letting in palpable fear, rendering the princess motionless. 

Her book fell and opened at his story. The page with the prince ripped itself off and gushed away into the dark, carried by an ill-fated wind. The walls began howling, sharp cries twining with a demented laughter she remembered too well. 

“I keep my promise…you keep yours. I keep my promise…you keep yours. I keep my promise you keep yours.” Resounded all around her, despite her futile effort to cover her ears.

“I don’t want this…it was a joke…I didn’t think it’ll come true.” She cried, begging an immaterial force to stop the torment.

She relived that night. She felt it, smelled the air, and tasted the crisp ice once again.

Under the moon's watchful eye, the princess placed her frail hand on the thick ice shards covering the lake. Tears frosted on her cheeks, forming crystals, her breath leaving vapors in the night’s air, as she whispered the curse: 

“I’ll give a life…I want a life. I give a life…I want a life. I’ll give a life…I want a life.” She carefully recited, just as the handmaiden taught her. The heavy slabs of ice sounded deep and hollow and underneath them a white cloak appeared. Startled by its appearance the princess tried to run away only to be halted in her steps by an eerie voice filling the valley. “Want a life…give a life. Want a life…give a life. Want a life…give a life.” Beneath the thick layer of frozen water, the princes saw a monstrous hand touching the slate. Drawn to it, she placed her trembling fingers over it, mirroring its moves. “Blood is binding, blood is binding, blood is binding.” The disturbing voice chanted and the princess felt a sharp sting in the palm of her hand. Lifting it swiftly she left behind a trail of her own blood, soaking the dark blue shards.

Her tears fell silently staining the drapes of her dress. Kneeling in front of the book she rocked back and forth, her braided tresses dangling along. “I didn’t mean to”, she gasped, before she could see her fingertips turning a shade of ink blue. Senses began to dull as she followed the dark trail taking over the paleness of her skin. She felt lifted and with her last grasp of reality she glimpsed herself in the mirror, witnessing powerless on her transcendence.

She floated through the heavy locked door that kept her confined, she went through walls, passing two stunned guards, who gazing upon her ghostly figure, diminished into dust as if they never were. 

In the great hall, sat on his usurped throne, the king whose glory days were too far behind for anyone alive to remember, watched petrified how his court vanished into thick black smoke. Mute and stunned, his eyes recognized the princes or what was left of her. Her black shadowy figure moved silently across the tall room, enclosing on the king.

“Traitor.” She decreed, her voice freezing the old man’s blood. As she left the room, the king followed the rest of his court, turning into a dark cloud of smoke. Silence fell over what was once a kingdom.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Dismounting his black stallion, the prince approached the gates cautiously. Bearing delicate yet strong features, black hair, fair skin he appeared a stranger to those lands. As he entered the empty court, his fingers clasped sternly the sword’s pommel and he advanced through, his weary steps drawn forth, as if by an unseen force. 

“Hello.” He could hear his voice echoing far as he wondered inside. Once a proud statement of power, the court's empty halls resounded with the prince’s inquisitive steps.

“I am Yixing, Prince of Changsha. I came bearing gifts from our land…” He continued, as he approached the throne, the echo of his voice returning to him. 

He stood in awe, admiring the grandiose display of granite, wondrously tilting his head back and accepting the sheer magnitude of the place. His father's halls were grand, majestic but modest compared to this castle. 

The carved grey throne was enticing, calling the young prince to sit. With fearful steps, Yixing approached and trailing his slender fingers over the carvings, he welcomed the cool feel of the stone. He sat down swiftly, relinquishing all fears and closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in.

A wicked smirk crept in the corner of his red lips and as he opened his eyes he gazed upon a black veiled figure. The woman, draped in ink blue velvet, matching his robes, stood tall in front of the throne as if waiting an invitation. 

“Welcome home my queen,” Yixing whispered as he extended his hand out to her.

“Welcome home my king” the woman replied and she took her place next to him.

Bringing her tarred fingertips to his lips, Yixing kissed them gently.

The castle’s doors shut close, thundering in the empty halls, echo trailing over perpetually.

The royal couple surrendered in each other's embrace, lips bringing forth forgotten promises of love, as black ice took over the gate and the walls, locking everything in its unforgiving grasp, guarding them into eternity.