1er prix du concours d’écriture organisé en classe d’euro anglais de Mme Gimay : The Prince de Tya Tassone.
Once upon a time, in the Realm’s icy mists, there was a prince whose name was whispered in low voice. The neighboring castles described him as a shadow: silent, cold, unpleasant, calculating. Lonely. The rumors say that he never ever loved anybody and that he hated even more the human company.
However, he bore the invisible crown of his rank and had to deal with this burden day after day. Nonetheless, when gazes turned away, when vigilance sat down, he disappeared. Not a single spirit, not a single creature dared to follow the shadow that was dragging him down. The most daring whispered that he was secretly joining a woman. The one who had managed to bewitch his heart.
But the reality was light years away. Despite his age, the little boy he once was, was still hidden in himself. There was once a boy whose heart had been bound, from the first daylight of memory, to a little girl with eyes bright as morning dew and a smile that could scatter shadows. Her laughter was his kingdom, her joy his crown. In her presence, he had known the purest happiness, as though the world itself had bent to grant him peace.
But the years grew cruel. She was taken from him, spirited away by fate’s heartless hand. Fifteen winters had passed since that day, and still her absence haunted his nights. Dreams became prisons, where her voice echoed like a ghost, and he would awoke trembling, breathless.
Her image stayed in faded portraits, each glance piercing him with grief. She had once been a fountain of life, a child of light, a little princess whose steps filled the garden with music. Now, only silence remained.
The boy – now a man – carried a wound deeper than any blade could carve. He cursed the grandfather who had entrusted her to strangers, tearing her from the sanctuary of roses and sunlight. He hated him most when the man tried to cut down the rosebush, the last living witness of her laughter.
No one knew where she had gone.
No one knew if she still breathed under the same sky, or if she had grown up in joy or sorrow.
Perhaps she understood, in her innocence, that their last embrace was the end of their shared tale.
Perhaps not.
She had been just a child, a fragile blossom, and all that remained of her was a worn Teddy Bear whose glassy eyes seemed to cry with him. That bear was the keeper of her final words, the last whisper of love she had ever given.
And so the legend tells: he kept her memory locked away, a secret sorrow, a forbidden tale never spoken aloud.
She was his sister, his baby, his love.
The lost princess of his heart, hidden from the world, remembered only in the silence of the night and the trembling of his soul.
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