Warnings

imothy was running. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life. He was racing to his friend, his heart lurching, he feet thumping on the floor in time with his heart. He wasn’t even sure if what he had just heard was reliable, but he knew it was true. Underneath the befuddling, thick fog of lies he had been told since birth was a solid nugget of hard fact.
He had to warn the prince………

But where was he? Timothy ran through the palace corridors, his footsteps echoing. He burst into the library, earning himself a disapproving glare from the elderly librarian, who was still awake, poring over a tattered old book. His frantic eyes searched the shelves, looking for that familiar face, but he was not there. He turned on the spot and ran outside, scanning the deserted corridor outside, and nearly jumped out of his skin when the palace clock struck, its clanging boom echoing in the silence.

Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong.

Twelve o’clock. Midnight. The deadest hour of the night. Deadest… dead… suddenly, he knew where he was. The prince, his friend, Luther.
He bolted out of the library, and raced to the other end of the palace. A feat nobody had successfully done in less than a minute. The narrow pathway, trimmed with neat flowering bushes, and the well kept blue sign saying: PALACE GRAVEYARD lay in front. His feet pounded on the ground as he shot through the pathway. A tearing stitch in his side and his breath burning his lungs, Timothy skidded to a halt outside the entrance. His quest was urgent, and his time was limited. But he would not run among he dead. He would never run among the dead. It was rude, to just run past their departed souls, and not to acknowledge their empty bodies, and all the accomplishments they made in their life. He stepped inside the iron wrought gates, looking for something in particular. It would be easy to see……… The graves were new. Aha! There they were, right at the back. And there he was, his head bowed at his parents resting site. He had beside him a bouquet of his mother’s favourite choice of flowers. Orchids and myrtle flowers. He knew why Queen Hadassah liked myrtle flowers. Her name came from the word Hadas, which meant myrtle, and she loved everything about the plant. The castle had much unusual, lovely and useful vegetation, but none more so than the myrtle tree. It was a common and beautiful tree, with starry white flowers bursting with many yellow stamens, or centres. The word myrtle came from yet another language, meaning perfume. Myrtle trees give off an enchanting scent. The shiny leaves are used to give great flavour to foods, and the dark berries are used in medications. Truly, there is nothing the myrtle tree does not do. It was small, but could grow medium to tall. The queen loved it. When she died, when the fever claimed her gentle life, the king ordered 10,000,000 myrtle trees to be placed around the palace. It was in memory of her. The king had loved his queen so much, and afterward the once strong man had just wasted away, till he was nothing more than a ghost. In the end, he couldn’t take the pain. Timothy would never forget that morning that he had been found on the floor of his chambers, his eyes open and staring, an empty wooden chalice rolling next to his cold hand.
Luther was horrified, and the entire land went into mourning. With the pain from his parent’s death still fresh, it was almost unbearable to have to warn Luther of the news. But he had to.
‘Luther’ said Timothy solemnly ‘I have urgent news’

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