Cassunzel Week Day 5 - Dreams / Sacrifice
In the courtyard there is a statue.
Rapunzel wonders how she could have missed it; it stands eight feet tall, and the bronze figure gleams in the sun with a fresh coat of polish. The hero that stands before her is clearly well loved and well mourned, as the base of the statue is carpeted with sunsetflowers, and those that overflow scatter onto the ground in a ring. At the hero’s feet is a severed demon’s head, half consumed by the red flowers that pour artfully around it. In her hand, a sword reaches out to the cloudless, red sky.
It’s an intriguing piece, made all the more curious by the fact that the sun dances around it at every impossible angle, blocking the hero’s face from her sight with a harsh glare. Rapunzel ducks left, and then scurries right— then fakes left but stops, but the dancing sun can’t be fooled. She looks around, searching for someone who can explain what she’s looking at, but the courtyard is empty. There isn’t even a single pigeon perched on the sandstone parapets. It’s dead silent, and not even the sound of crashing ocean waves reaches the castle.
The sun gleams off of the golden plaque, staining her eyes in white. Never one to back down from a challenge, Rapunzel approaches it with a shrewd squint until her shadow finally conquers the incessant light.
In Memoriam of Cassandra Chevalier the Demonslayer
A Loving Friend, Daughter, and Hero
May the Sun never set on her Soul
Oh.
Rapunzel looks up again, and meets Cassandra’s gaze. Her face is permanently sculpted in a proud grin, though she looks down towards her onlookers with soft eyes that defy the metal they’re warped by. Cassandra smiles at her as though they’re sharing an inside joke, but Rapunzel doesn’t share her amusement. She clambers onto the plinth with hands and knees, parting the red sea of flowers.
The counterfeit Cassandra is taller than the real thing; it probably has something to do with angles and perspective, but as a result Rapunzel can’t even reach her chin by the time she’s standing on Cass’ toes. She reaches out with trembling fingers to cup her cheek in hand, and flinches back. Cassandra’s skin is warm— it burns to the touch, inflicting pent up heat from the overbearing sun.
Rapunzel decides she’s not a fan of oneiric irony.
It has to be a dream— it has to be. Cassandra lived. Cassandra lived, and the spectre of Tromus is going to appear any second, or maybe her subconscious reflection again—
Cassandra’s smile remains stony, but Rapunzel swears it’s more melancholy now.
“I want to wake up,” she whispers, her voice cracking with unsurety.
“I want to wake up,” she repeats, firmer, but nobody appears. Not to attack, and not to help.
Rapunzel sits down atop the plinth at Cass’ feet, burying herself amongst the sunsetflowers, and rubs the tears from her cheeks. Hours may have passed, but the sun is fixed above her head and the sky settles on a burnt orange.
Cassandra keeps smiling.
