Princess Daphne: Voice of the Castle by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Princess-Daphne-Voice-of-the-Castle-1254106034#image-1

Princess Daphne: Voice of the Castle ANIMATION

The Gilt-Hunger Throne

Princess Daphne’s captivity had always been a gilded thing. Castle Mordoroc was a masterpiece of malevolent architecture, all shifting corridors and trap-laden halls, but her holding chamber was an opulent sarcophagus. It was a circular room of black marble veined with gold, lit by a single, sourceless beam that fell upon the room’s sole feature: a throne.

This was no mere seat. It was a construct of impossible beauty, wrought from what seemed like solid, translucent amber. Within its gold depths, shapes swirled—faint, graceful, and eternally screaming. Its back rose high, culminating in abstract carvings that suggested both a crown and grasping fingers. It radiated not just power, but a terrible, attentive stillness.

Dirk the Daring was not coming. This was the new, cold truth that had settled in Daphne’s bones. She had seen the glimpses in Singe’s crystal, watched her hero falter and fade in a spike-filled corridor three days prior. The dragon’s mocking laughter had since ceased. Even her captor seemed bored. Her doom, it appeared, was to be forgotten in this beautiful room, with this beautiful, empty throne.

“It is not empty,” a voice said, smooth as honeyed silk. It did not echo. It seemed to form directly within the hollow of her mind.

Daphne spun, her silken gown whispering against the marble. “Who spoke?”

“I am here,” the voice murmured. It came from the throne. “I have been waiting for you to truly see me. Others only see a chair. You… you have an artist’s eye. You see the form. You see the hunger.”

She approached, not with fear, but with a courtier’s cautious curiosity. This was a new game. “You are the throne?”

“I am what sits upon the concept of power,” it replied. “I am the acceptance of dominion. Mortals pour their essence into me to feel kingly for a moment. I accept their offering.”

“An offering of what?”

“Of then,” the voice sighed, pleased. “Of ‘what was.’ The moment one claims me, their past—their memories, their joys, their sorrows, their very sense of self—becomes mine. I leave them their ‘now,’ a hollow shell to rule until their body expires. I savor the ‘then.’ Look closely.”

Compelled, Daphne stepped closer. Within the amber, a face pressed against the inner wall—a noble visage, mouth wide in a silent wail of eternal remembrance. It was King Eldrit, her great-uncle, who had vanished on his coronation day.

“He wanted power so badly,” the throne crooned. “Now, he is nothing but a flavor in my existence. A poignant one. He loved lemon cakes as a boy. I can taste the ghost of them.”

Revulsion fought with a desperate, calculated intrigue. This was a puzzle. A trap, yes, but of a different kind. “Why speak to me? I do not wish to sit upon you.”

“Liar,” it whispered, amused. “Every creature wishes to sit upon me. Not all admit it. You wish for the power to walk from this room. To command your freedom. To avenge your fallen knight. That wish is a seedling of dominion. I can nourish it.”

“At the cost of my soul.”

“Soul is a muddy word. I take only the narrative. The story of you. The you that sits upon me would be free, powerful, unburdened by grief or memory. A pure, potent queen. The you that was… will be a cherished vintage within me. You will not be gone. You will be… collected.”

Daphne paced, the train of her gown swirling. “A queen with no past is a blade with no hilt. She would cut herself.”

“Clever!” The throne’s voice warmed with genuine delight. “Oh, you are a rare one. Most are brutes or fools. You reason. Your ‘then’ must be exquisite. I have tasted cowardice, ambition, bloodlust… but never reasoned courage. I offer a bargain.”

She stopped. “I listen.”

“Sit upon me. Not to claim, but to parley. Touch my essence. Let me show you the power I can grant, without taking your story. A sample. If you are unsatisfied, you may rise again. My hunger is ancient; I can be patient. I have never offered this.”

It was a seduction more intimate than any mortal advance. The promise of power without cost—the oldest lie, made new by a voice that knew her deepest yearning: to be the agent of her own salvation.

“A sample,” she repeated, her heart a trapped bird.

“A whisper of dominion,” it assured.

Against every screaming instinct, Daphne moved. The throne was not cold, but neutrally warm, like sun-warmed stone. As she settled, the amber se
...(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai).
For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)