The castle had seen its days of glory. When the days were splendid and nights beautiful. It was one such beautiful night that Radhini's first cries echoed in the mansion. Radhini, the princess, ruled the hearts. Her melodies filled the corners of the palace. She was the spring, summer and autumn of that place. She was the smiles and joys of her father, the king to the civilians. She was heart and soul of the village.
Then Radhini, who ruled the hearts, lost her heart. To a civilian. Who did not belong to the royalty. Who was a common man from common lanes of village. And that was not unacceptable to those who formulate the rules and ordinances and decrees. In the name of honour, swords were drawn. And blood was shed. The village was swept away in red streams. The melodies were silenced forever. Radhini became the winter of the mansion. Perpetual, everlasting winter.
The castle and its territory weathered the dark nights alone ever since, robbed of its glory. Wanderers and passersby reported hearing the cries of Radhini in the palace. The village stays steeped in darkness all the time. Not even a candle could be lit in the premises. And the adventurous souls that dared to risk the night never saw the breaking of dawn. The daytimes were eerily heavy with the azure skies stained.
The archaeological department conceded defeat. It could not explain the source of the strange incidents observed in the castle. So they had finally put up boards warning not to stay in the precincts after sunset. The area was cordoned off. The seclusion was absolute and intense. Not even winged friends wandered there. The castle and its territory stood in its melancholy regalia adorned by the moonlight. Occasionally the streaks of lighting reminded people the power of love stories betrayed by the baseless decrees.
Courtesy: Ermilia blog: Picture it and write
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