THE 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."