Cordelia’s origin: Souls and Roses 💜🗡️

*This story is under my folder “Souls and Roses”. Gacha Club character designs are under this forum: https://www.writerfeed.com/topic/117842-my-character-designs-lt-33-3?start=390. Enjoy!*

Once upon a time, in a magical place called Rosesilk, where humans, elves, vampires, and faeries lived happily enough. The Iris’anyi family, a human family, ruled over the Kingdom of Rosesilk. There were two ten year old Iris’anyi princesses, both destined to rule. But Margaret, the oldest out of the two, was the one they all knew would be the first to rule.

The younger girl, Cordelia, hoped that Margaret would change soon. She was very weak and cried too much. That wasn’t someone anybody wanted to rule. She was also very boring. When Cordelia would drink the potions that would bring yellow spots on her skin, Margaret would tell her to stop. When Cordelia played with the sword, Margaret would scream. She was a very boring girl indeed.

But sometimes Margaret could be fun. They were both in the family garden at the moment, surrounded by an abundance of shimmering, fresh flowers. These were the flowers that they were putting in one another’s hair. Cordelia already did Margaret, so it was Margaret’s turn to make a flower crown for her.

The bright flowers wouldn’t live much longer. Just like the creatures of Rosesilk. Because strangely enough, they still died. It didn’t feel right to Cordelia. It was not supposed to happen.

“Why are living things weak?” Cordelia asked. She hoped Margaret wouldn’t say anything that was a lie. 

“Because we can’t be immune to everything. We’re all going to die some-“

“But we’re humans and they’re not! Why are they dying? They’re supposed to be strong!” Cordelia yelled. They were both told that the humans were weaker by their parents, but if that were true, then the others wouldn’t die. But they were and Margaret wasn’t giving her the answer!

“Maybe they have weaknesses we don’t know about. Maybe that’s why.” Margaret said.

She didn’t say anything else after that, because she didn’t know anything. Cordelia was tired of their parents pretending that Margaret would be perfect enough to rule, because it was itching at her that Margaret just wouldn’t tell her why!

“It’s not good to be weak. People don’t do what they are supposed to when they are. If Mom and Dad were sick then who would take care of the kingdom?” Cordelia asked.

“We would. There’s always someone else doing what the world wants and people there to take care of those who are sick. Doing what you’re supposed to do doesn’t matter if you’re sick. What matters is getting better. Why are you thinking about all of this?” 

That was easy. It was because death was an odd thing that shouldn’t have taken so many undead and not-quite living beings. It was unnatural and Cordelia wanted it all to stop.

“I just want everyone to be strong.” Cordelia said.

Margaret was never strong. One night, Cordelia had run into her room with a sword, slashing her with it. It was all just to see how much blood would spill. A lot of it came out, but not all of it. Margaret was screaming and crying too much.

“I want to see how weak you are!” Cordelia had yelled out. It would be an interesting and fun thing to do, if only their parents hadn’t pulled her away.

If only Margaret hadn’t been too loud.

“Ow!” Cordelia screeched. Margaret had pulled on her hair too hard!

“Sorry.” Margaret said.

Cordelia’s eyes stung with tears. It hurt and Margaret didn’t even fight her when she was supposed to! How could she be so weak?!

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The years had passed since that moment with each other in the garden. Both of their parents had died of old age, as was expected. Margaret became the Queen and was terrible at it, as was expected. She had grown so fearful of death that she had made a peculiar potion she called “The Blessing Spell”, a pink smoke that would prevent anyone who breathed it from dying, ever. She had released upon the entire kingdom.

Perhaps it would heal them, yes. But it was absurd. Margaret was being kind to the point of suffocation. Cordelia had to deal with her accordingly.

That was why she held a sword in one hand, stolen from the armory, as she stalked her way to Margaret’s room. It was night. Margaret would be asleep. Cordelia didn’t like to sleep. Things were better done in the solitude of night.

Her brown hand reached for the doorknob, it creaked from her touch.

“Who’s-oh. You should be asleep.” 

Margaret was up, holding onto the sheets. Cordelia could see from the shadows of the moonlight.

“I’m not tired.” Cordelia replied.

She shifted in the sheets like she wanted to leave. Cordelia would not let her.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asked.

It was funny that she should have asked, because she should have known. But she didn’t. She never did.

“You. You’re wrong. Weak people don’t help anybody. They have to go away. You’re not helping them. You’re hurting them.” 

“I thought we were over this. Where are you getting these ideas?” 

Cordelia stood up taller. If she wanted to make things better, then she had to kill. The sick ones had to die. The strong ones would live. That was how Cordelia would make things better. If too many of them were alive, then she’d kill them all. She’d make things right.

Margaret would never understand.

“From watching you. You’re too soft on them. If they’re dying, they die. If anybody be foolish enough to help them, they share that fate.” Cordelia said, gripping the handle of the sword tighter.

Then she ran towards the bed, her socked feet making no sounds on the marble and she raised the sword and slashed Margaret. There was nobody around to stop her. Nobody around to pull her away.

Cordelia would rule and she would make everyone bleed for it.