In the year 1865, when kingdoms still lived under candlelight and royal bloodlines were guarded like sacred scripture, the Felòenz family ruled not only with power—but with secrets.
Secrets so old that even the castle walls seemed to whisper them.
And in that very year… a child was born.
A baby girl.
The storm outside had been quiet that night, yet the air inside the royal chambers felt unnaturally heavy, as if fate itself had entered the room before anyone else.
The newborn had pale skin, like porcelain untouched by sunlight, and brunette hair that curled softly against her tiny forehead. She was wrapped carefully in a deep red cloth, the color of royalty… and the color of blood.
An old lady stood near the cradle.
Her hands were wrinkled, her eyes sharp and ancient, as though she had lived long enough to witness the rise and fall of many crowns. She held the infant gently, but the way she stared at her was not the way a grandmother looks at a child.
It was the way a woman looks at a prophecy.
She leaned down, bringing her lips close to the newborn's ear, and whispered as though she was placing a spell into her soul.
"Famoura…"
The baby stirred.
The old woman repeated it again.
"Famoura…"
And then one final time, with a voice that sounded like both blessing and curse:
"Famoura… Felòenz."
Thus, from the very first breath she took into this world, the girl was named—
Famoura Felòenz.
And from that moment…
the kingdom's fate quietly began to change.
---
A Strange Incident in the Garden
Three years passed like a fleeting dream.
The castle remained beautiful—its towers shining beneath the sun, its gardens blooming with roses and lilies. To outsiders, the Felòenz palace was a place of elegance.
But behind its golden gates, something unseen lived within its bloodline.
One afternoon, little Famoura was running in the garden behind the castle, her laughter floating through the air like music.
In her small hands, she held a plate.
On that plate were four pieces of boiled liver, freshly prepared by the palace kitchen—an unusual meal for a child, yet the Felòenz household was not known for ordinary traditions.
Famoura ran, barefoot and careless, her dress swaying as she moved.
Then suddenly—
She tripped.
Her tiny body fell forward, and the plate slipped from her hands.
It crashed onto the grass with a dull sound.
Famoura began to cry loudly, her voice piercing the calm of the garden.
Her mother, Princess Catherine Felòenz, rushed toward her, alarmed.
"Famoura! My child—are you hurt?"
Catherine held her, brushing dirt from her dress, kissing her forehead repeatedly. But Famoura refused to stop crying.
Not because she was hurt.
Not because she fell.
She was crying because…
Something had disappeared.
A few moments later, Princess Marie Felòenz arrived as well, her presence commanding yet graceful.
"What happened?" she asked.
The servants looked at the plate, and the cooks who had prepared the meal swore they had placed four pieces of liver on it.
But now…
There were only three.
One piece was gone.
Vanished without explanation.
Famoura's eyes trembled as she stared at the grass.
She had seen it.
She had witnessed what happened.
But she was only three years old.
Her lips could not form the truth.
And the adults… could not understand the terror behind her tears.
Princess Marie's gaze darkened slightly as she looked around the garden, as though she was searching for something invisible.
Something that did not belong in this world.
But she said nothing.
Because in the Felòenz family…
Silence was the first rule.
---
The Fifth Birthday
Time moved on.
And soon, before anyone noticed, Famoura turned five.
That morning, the castle was filled with celebration.
Servants decorated the halls with ribbons. The royal dining table was prepared with cakes, fruits, and fine desserts. Candles burned in golden holders, casting warm light across marble floors.
Famoura ran through the corridors like a joyful little bird.
Her voice echoed with excitement.
"Today is my birthday, Mommy!"
Her laughter made even the cold stone walls seem alive.
She rushed from one room to another, unable to contain herself.
And then—
She ran directly into the arms of Princess Marie Felòenz.
Famoura hugged her tightly, as if Marie was not simply her aunt…
but her second home.
Marie smiled and stroked her hair gently.
"Happy birthday, my angel."
Famoura giggled brightly.
"Thank you, my second mummy!"
The moment felt sweet.
Too sweet.
Like the calm before a storm.
Just then, Prince Phillip entered the room, his tone playful as always.
"She's your aunt, Marie," he teased. "Not your second mother."
Nearby stood Prince Charles, Famoura's father, his posture proud as he looked down at his daughter.
"My Famoura is five years old today," he declared.
But Princess Catherine quickly corrected him with a smile—though the smile carried something sharp beneath it.
"Our child."
Prince Phillip chuckled and bent down toward Famoura.
"Famoura," he said, "someone wants to meet you."
Prince Charles stepped aside.
And then, from behind him…
a boy walked forward.
His steps were slow and steady, his eyes calm, far too serious for a child.
He was Prince Henry—
the eldest son of Prince Phillip and Princess Marie.
In his hands, he held a small wooden boat.
It was not a rich gift.
Not gold.
Not diamonds.
But something made with effort.
Something real.
Henry extended it toward Famoura.
"I made it for you," he said.
Famoura's eyes widened with delight, as though she had been handed treasure.
She took the boat carefully, holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"Thank you, Captain Henry!" she said, beaming.
Henry's lips lifted slightly, a small smile appearing for only a second.
It was the kind of smile that vanished too quickly—like it was forbidden.
---
A Fight Behind the Castle
As the celebration continued, Famoura received many gifts from royal guests.
Dolls made of silk.
Jewelry too expensive for a child.
Tiny dresses sewn with golden thread.
But after some time…
Famoura grew bored.
She wandered behind the castle to the garden, where another child played.
Princess Ana, daughter of a queen from a neighboring kingdom.
The two girls played together at first.
They laughed.
They ran.
They chased butterflies.
But childhood innocence is fragile.
And royal children carry pride in their veins.
Soon, they began arguing over a toy.
"This is my toy!" Princess Ana snapped.
"No, it's mine!" Famoura argued back, gripping it tightly.
Both girls pulled.
The toy stretched between their hands like a rope of war.
Then suddenly—
Ana let go.
Famoura lost her balance.
She fell hard to the ground.
Her knees scraped.
Pain shot through her body.
Her eyes filled with tears.
And the world blurred.
At that moment, Princess Catherine arrived.
Her footsteps were sharp, furious.
She grabbed Famoura, lifting her up.
Then she turned toward Princess Ana, her voice cold like steel.
"How dare you?"
Ana stood frozen.
And before anyone could speak again…
Ana's mother appeared.
The Queen from the neighboring castle.
Her eyes were not filled with concern.
Only irritation.
She stared at Famoura as though she was looking at something unpleasant.
Then she spoke.
"She truly takes after her grandmother," the Queen said mockingly.
Her words were like poison dripping from silk.
"Not even a little shame," she continued. "How could someone like this ever become Princess Marie II?"
The air turned still.
Even the birds seemed to stop singing.
Famoura's eyes widened.
She opened her mouth, ready to speak—
But before she could say a single word…
Princess Catherine's hand covered her mouth.
Hard.
Too hard.
Catherine pulled her inside the castle as though dragging her away from danger.
Or perhaps…
dragging the danger away from others.
---
The Name She Was Forbidden to Speak
Inside the castle halls, Famoura struggled in her mother's grip, her voice muffled beneath Catherine's palm.
When Catherine finally released her, Famoura's face was red with anger.
"My name is Famoura Felòenz!" she shouted, trembling. "Why doesn't anyone call me that name? Why do they only call me that inside the castle?! My name is not Princess Marie II!"
Her words echoed loudly.
Too loudly.
And in the Felòenz castle…
some echoes were dangerous.
Princess Catherine's eyes changed.
Her expression hardened.
Her lips trembled—not with sadness, but with fear.
Famoura took a step forward, still furious.
But Catherine raised her hand.
And slapped her.
The sound was sharp.
Louder than thunder.
Famoura froze, shocked.
Her cheek burned.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Before she could react, Catherine grabbed her arm and dragged her toward a room.
Then she pushed her inside.
And locked the door.
Click.
The lock sounded final.
Famoura ran to the door, banging it with her fists.
"Mother! Open the door!"
But Catherine did not open it.
Instead…
she stood outside, leaning against the wall.
And she began to cry.
Silent tears ran down her cheeks as though her heart was breaking.
She pressed her forehead against the door and whispered, her voice shaking.
"Enough…"
Her breath was heavy.
"You talk too much."
She swallowed, as if she was forcing herself to speak.
"Your name…"
Her voice cracked.
"…is Marie II."
Famoura stood inside, trembling.
She didn't understand.
Why was her own name forbidden?
Why did everyone look frightened when she spoke it?
And why did the name "Marie II" feel like chains around her throat?
The room was dark.
The air smelled old.
And the silence inside felt… unnatural.
As though the walls were listening.
---
Years Behind a Locked Door
Time passed.
Days turned into months.
Months into years.
The world outside continued to move forward.
The castle celebrated festivals.
The kingdom held grand ceremonies.
But behind that locked door…
Famoura's childhood disappeared piece by piece.
The same room.
The same silence.
The same loneliness.
And then, without anyone realizing…
Famoura was no longer a child.
Inside that room…
Famoura had now turned—
eleven years old.
And her eyes…
were no longer innocent.
They carried something deeper.
Something darker.
Something that did not belong to a normal princess.
Something that had been waiting…
since the day the liver disappeared.
And somewhere in the castle…
the Felòenz secret was beginning to awaken again.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Like a curse stretching its limbs after years of sleep.