Forbidden Touch

My father, the king, had always been incredibly affectionate towards my mother and I.

They both used to joke around and play together; I never saw them fight; they were so sweet and loving.

In his chamber, cloaked in the muted lavender of twilight, the king knelt beside his queen, her alabaster hand nestled in his weathered one.

My lovely mother once a beacon of vibrant life, now lay draped in the delicate lace of mortality. Each shallow breath was a whisper of the laughter and light she had.

Their love story, etched in tapestries and whispered across court, was a ballad of two souls intertwined.

He, the warrior king, tempered by her gentle wisdom, she, the bookish princess, emboldened by his unwavering love. Now, the melody threatened to fade, leaving only the mournful echo of memories.

He spoke, his voice hoarse with unshed tears, "Do you remember, my love, the day we met? A riot of spring blossoms and butterflies, and you, lost in a book under an ancient oak."

A faint smile touched her lips, her eyes, once sapphires ablaze with life, dimming slightly. "And you, a knight in muddied armour, tripping over your own shoelace and spilling ink on my sonnet."

Laughter, fragile as spiderwebs, drifted through the air. In the tapestry of their lives, even mishaps were threads woven with love.

He traced the lines on her face, a map of laughter lines and wisdom etched by time. "You built a library within my castle walls, my queen, a haven for dreams and whispers."

"And you, my love," she rasped, her voice a thread bare with emotion, "taught me the language of the wind, the rhythm of the waves, the poetry hidden in every sunrise."

Their fingers intertwined, a silent conversation woven in touch. He spoke of their triumphs and challenges, painting a future where her spirit would echo in their laughter.

As the shadows deepened, a single tear escaped her closed eyelid, tracing a salty path down her cheek. My father, his heart a shattered echo of hers, wiped it away with a whisper, "Sleep, my love.

I broke down in tears as I held her now-cold hands in mine waiting for her to wake up and call me "Bashira".

Screaming and startling her now lifeless body, my father gently carried me away. Everyone mourned the queen's death, we had all lost a valuable treasure.

I never left my chamber, I cried myself to sleep every night, I couldn't eat or speak to anyone my servants started to worry.

I felt as though I have lot the most significant person in my life and she was never coming back to me.

After her passing, my father, the king never remained the same, he changed completely.

Became an all-powerful, terrible king that I could no longer identify as my father.

He lost the ability to smile and laugh, and I became less significant to him because he was more focused on growing stronger and capturing kingdoms and battles.