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Before Novus
The land was still bleeding. Rivers of vibrant red would forever leave its mark - a reminder of that which was spilled only a short time ago. The war that broke out between two brothers had split the peaceful realm in two. Each vying for the throne they believed to be rightfully their own, loyalties were easily divided. Families fought amongst each other, mirroring the behavior deemed appropriate by those who sought to rule. A land previously exalted for its glorious prosperity was stripped of its resources and reduced to dust. Smoke clouded the sky and darkness easily stole away the vibrancy of a fruitful dynasty.
Death marked the end of an era as the elder brother was found slain in his bedsheets. Left alone in his shame and filth. Not a single soldier was found at their proclaimed king's side when the camp was raided that very next morning. Abandoned, victory was not as difficultly won as previously assumed. Csilla's father was there, that fateful day, when the new Emperor's banner was lifted high.
Throughout the battle, their numbers had been few - but, as the child's father would recall, their loyalty was strong. With every battle they would count their dead and strategize their next move. The night the usurper would be slain, there had been whispers as the Emperor's tent revealed not a single flicker of light. Csilla would think upon this tale often, seeing it through the lens of her father's eyes. The truth of it frightened her, but - perhaps even more terrifying - was the suspicion that her father knew more than he shared.
Until that night, Papa had been the Emperor's favorite. Best friends cut from the same cloth. Without question, they fought at each other's sides - taking up wars that did not belong to them. At the end of it all, when the Emperor's crown was fitted and his throne remade, his best friend was sent away. Lands were rewarded, titles passed out - but Csilla's father was tasked with regency over the poorest of them all. A slight that stung the father's heart.
In time, as it was told to her, prosperity and music returned to the kingdom. Under the Emperor's rule, the people rejoiced and thrived - each doing their part to contribute to the new order. After years of war, foals were brought into the world - filling it with their laughter and hope. Csilla was brought into the world during such a time of renewal.
She was not the first child born to her parents. Blessed with three strong, healthy sons the father did not know the depth of his wealth. Eyes constantly set upon things seemingly beyond his reach. Driven mad by his ambition, he barely flinched when his wife fell pregnant once again. Fully expecting another son he did not even bother to attend the birth.
The labor was long and difficult, driving the gradually weakening mare. After many long hours she is barely able to deliver the unexpected child. A daughter. Tears flooded down the mother's cheeks as she gazed upon the beauty they'd fought to bring into the world. In her final moments, she uttered a name as she drank in the sight of her child's vibrant eyes of pure evergreen. Csilla.
~~~~
Csilla killed her mother. Or, at least, that was what her brothers loved to accuse her of. Despite the great tragedy - one that robbed the filly of ever knowing her dam - she wanted for nothing. The apple of her father's eye, the spotted foal was doted on. Every aspect of her life was carefully orchestrated. Confined to the father's estate, she was allowed to venture no further than the gates that surrounded it. Carefully guarded Csilla was not always aware of the things she was deprived of. Instead, her time was filled with gifts of books, fresh paints and music. With each delivery from the Capital, the young filly's excitement and appetite for knowledge grew.
Taunted and teased by her brothers, being called bland hardly fazed Csilla. The eldest of the three would become the father's heir. Meanwhile, the younger two were often away - taking charge over one of the region's many working districts. As the days grew longer, their presence became increasingly rare. Loneliness soon consumed Csilla and, even despite her brothers' cruelty, she found herself missing them. Forced to remain an onlooker, the desert sky quickly became the roof to her prison cell.
Ignorance is bliss - and in Csilla's case, such a statement could not be more true. While many gawked in her direction, she cursed her freckled complexion and stunted stature. Gangly and wild, the young filly did not take much time into perfecting her appearance. Wholeheartedly believing herself to be ugly, the truth was lost to her. Despite the many fine things gifted to her, Csilla preferred to remain unrestrained and free. And until five months of age - she was allowed to be.
Suddenly, and without warning, everything changed. Hired by the Regent, a sour face mare arrived at their gates - bringing with her a myriad of rules for Csilla to follow. Never having experienced motherly influence on her life, the little filly was excited by the prospect of having a mare in the house. Unfortunately, like most things, Csilla could not have been more wrong. Governess was a sour faced mare and she demanded order in all aspects of the foal's life. Daily lessons were imposed upon the child that yearned to play or paint or sing. Such things were deemed fruitless indulgences unless approved by Father or Governess. All too soon, the wild and reckless ways of her early days were long forgotten beneath piles and piles of study material.
~~~~
Time seemed to slow. Endless days filled with lessons and trainings and lectures on being a proper lady consumed Csilla's life. Almost without realization, the filly's first birthday creeps up on the house. For the first time since Governess' arrival, excitement permeates the air as arrangements are made. Overwhelmed by the sudden shift, Csilla watches with wide-eyed delight as a feast is planned. The sweet scents of delicacies cooking fill the estate, drawing the hungry villagers to their gates. From the start it is evident that this is to be a massive celebration.
The night of her actual birthday, the gates are open and equines from every walk of life are invited to partake in the festivities. Music that had been banished from the house's halls fill the night with excitement and dance. Csilla joins in, her previous jovial state of mind returned for one blissful moment. At the end of it all a breathtaking display of fireworks lights the night sky. Eyes lit by the display of color, the party is over almost too soon.
Just as the guests are preparing to leave Father steps up to present a gift to his daughter. At the center of attention, an ornate wooden box is presented to the filly. Silence falls as its opened to reveal a set of glistening gold earrings laying on a bed of red velvet. They're more beautiful than anything Csilla has ever seen - even in their simplicity. As Father continues to speak, it is made clear that they are not a gift from him, but, rather, a token from the Emperor himself. Overwhelmed by the meaning of such a gesture, the filly's ears grow deaf to Father's words as a betrothal is announced. The crowd erupts into applause, the Regent is beaming - and Csilla is afraid.
That night, Csilla is barely able to sleep. When dawn breaks, a jeweler is called, and the filly's ears are pierced to adorn the gifts given by her future husband. Although a simple addition, she is barely able to recognize her reflection. With her future decided, she finally understands every change that had ever been made in her life. As if a switch has been lifted, Governess grows even more strict. Csilla's previous complaints are met with harsh punishments - the filly's spirit finally broken. It is easier to remain silent than dare to question the plans laid out for her.
~~~~
Before she can stop it, a year passes. Now two years old, she is prepared to make the long journey to the Capital. There is no party in her honor, no celebration to mark the changing of an age. Instead, Csilla's bags are packed and she is loaded up like tradeable goods. Father is no where to be seen as she departs, and her brothers don't even bother to wave goodbye. The only company she is afforded is that of her Governess, a woman no more sympathetic to the filly's plight than that of the desert's heat. Lost to the quiet of the journey, emotion sweets through Csilla - though she remains too afraid to show it.
With nothing but books to entertain her, she is swept up in the everchanging scenery. The desert gives way to the tall towering of mountains, as forest fight against the dry atmosphere to create a peaceful forest. Time slips by and she quickly loses track of time. The final night gives way to dawn, revealing with its light a sight far more opulent than anything Csilla had ever before seen.
The Capital stands as a massive epicenter for trade and commerce. Fortified by towering walls, the city within is bustling with never-ending activity. Wares are sold by the cartful, while foals run wild through the cobbled streets. There is a lightheartedness there, granted only by the clear difference of fortune. Although she is young, Csilla understands that those able to live within Capital walls want for very little. Meanwhile, her father's people survive off whatever scraps they are able to grow for themselves.
Making their way through the main city center, their caravan reaches another set of gates - this one far more impassable than the last. As the bridge is lowered to allow them entrance trumpets blare to announce their arrival. Heavily guarded, they are escorted into the most beautiful palace courtyard. There, a host of faces stand ready to greet the Emperor's newest bride.
Delivered like packaged goods, the young filly's head spins as she is jostled about and examined. Confused and overwhelmed, she is relieved when Governess reaches in to pull her out of the chaos. Directed by another set of mares, she is whisked away through white cobbled halls - taken to a room where a dozen others wait. There is no time for questions as they thrust her into a tub of scalding water. Doused in oils, Csilla is scrubbed within an inch of her life - all signs of travel washed away. Combed and pampered, it becomes clear that she is being prepared to meet the Emperor. Fabric is thrown upon her, jewels fastened, and a veil set firmly in place. A golden collar, made from the finest of material, is permanently settled upon her neck - a mark of her new position and rank. At only two years of age, Csilla is made into a bride.
Dusk bathes the city in its glorious colors and bells ring cut through the still of anticipation. Preened and ready, the filly is escorted, once again, through the halls of the palace. A path of roses guide them to a candlelit hall stuffed with unfamiliar faces. Tears burn her eyes. With no escape, she is pushed down the aisle and into the possession of her groom. Standing there, exposed and alone, it is not the eyes of the Emperor that catch her attention. Instead, a pair of pure cyan watching beside him become all Csilla is able to see. The Crown Prince, bathed in the dying light of day and exceptionally handsome in all the ways his father lacked. Even as she is married to another, the filly's heart begins to beat for another.
~~~~
Just as quickly as it all began, the fanfare ends. Now part of the royal family, Csilla is inducted into a new type of family - a family consisting of the Emperor's many other wives. She is but one of twenty, and the youngest by far. It is because of her age that her marriage is not to be consummated until she turns three years of age. This mercy, however, is lost on the filly as she spends the night alone - weeping into her pillow. Freed from all her other trappings, the constant pressure of the collar serves as a reminder and permanence of her new life.
Csilla does not know when she finally falls asleep, but when she wakes there is another ornamental box sat upon her vanity. Of a similar style to the one her earrings had arrived in it is safe to assume that it is another gift from the Emperor. Hesitant, she opens it to find a collection of the purest opals. The sight of them fills her with appreciation and dread. It does not take long for her to discover the stones' purpose. After she eats her breakfast, she is escorted to the smithy where the opals are painfully embedded into her hoof wall. Her cries are ignored, and, much like an object, she is taken back to her room.
Frightened and alone, she does not dare to venture beyond the confines of her private space. Food is brought to her by slaves, though she barely eats. Losing herself she wastes hours staring out the window - dreaming of freedom. A few times, she catches glimpses of the Prince - the sight of him enough to send her spiraling into a world of fantasy. Foolish and young, she allows herself to imagine that it was to him that she had been wed.
It does not take long for her loneliness to see her willing to venture out. Heavily veiled, Csilla does not speak to the other wives - her mind set solely upon the peace granted by the private gardens. It is during one such escape that she stumbles upon the Prince. For the first time since her arrival, she speaks and conversation flows. Fast friends, the two form a bond that chases away the filly's sorrow. Handsome and charismatic, feelings bud within her chest. For the first time in months, she is able to smile.
The Prince feels it too. In a moment of unguarded relaxation, he admits that he wishes that she had been his bride. Csilla's heart explodes. In a few months she will be three years of age, and the consummations ceremony will take place. At that time, she will officially be a member of the Emperor's harem. The thought fills her with dread. Doors that should never have been allowed to be open are left ajar, and the Prince is the first to act upon his feelings.
~~~~
The two continue in this reckless manner in the months leading up to Csilla's birthday. For a time, they throw away the truth of their plight and enjoy the fantasy they create for themselves. They are never discovered. The week before the consummation ceremony is to take place, the secret lovers meet beneath the full moon. Grieving the end they know is to come, the Prince presents Csilla with a simple gold hoop. A symbol of his affection for her. With tears in her eyes, she places it upon her tail - a place she knows it will not draw attention - and promises never to take it off. Little did they know that their lives were about to take a turn.
The next morning the harem is awakened to guards flooding their sanctuary. Herded up like cattle they are driven out and paraded through the streets. Confusion spreads through them like wildfire as speculations are whispered. All is revealed, however, as they are delivered into a tower. The Emperor has died, and they were to join him in his grave. Robbed of the finery they had known, they are forced to live in squalor - their tower home hardly befitting to a rat.
Csilla panics. Too young to be considering her own mortality, she curses the ambition that drove her to such a place. There is no hope. For weeks they eat, sleep and relieve themselves in the tiniest of spaces. The oldest wife is taken first - hers the first soul to be joined with her husband's. One by one their numbers are made smaller. There are only a few left when Csilla finds herself staring out the barred window. Somewhere, in the palace, the Prince resided. Did he not care for her as much as he had said? Why had he not come for her?
As if to answer her question, the door is unlocked and three men come to take her. There is not fear in that moment as they place a hood upon her head and throw her in the back of cart. She can only lie there and think upon the actions of her life as the turning of the wheels jostle her about.
Time no longer exists, and when the wagon finally stops she is unsure how long she'd been forgotten. Thrown out the wagon, she is weak - battered and disoriented. When she is finally able to remove her hood is he unsure where she is - and completely alone.
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