I Love You, My Cursed Prince

On a chilly but gentle morning, while the women were embroidering delicate logograms into common but well loved expressions. Doctor Bergson walked into the room and bowed. He was holding a box that was was perhaps as long as Muriel's forearm with her hand's length added to it. It also had some mildly significant width.

"Pardon me, His Highness left this box and a message outside the door to his quarters. It's a gift for Miss Devin."

Muriel looked up from her frame and gazed at the box as her stomach weakened. Across from her, she heard the princess' voice. "Oh? That's kind of him. Bring it to her."

Doctor Bergson went to Muriel and held the box out. Muriel put her frame aside and put the box into her ŀȧp. She clicked the lid open.

And she couldn't stop herself from cooing.

It was a wooden doll. While dolls were often used for children's play, many dolls were shipped around the world in order to show off each country's latest fashions. Even during times of war, when border patrols were more strict, travelers with fashion dolls were often shown favoritism. Muriel thought that this exquisite little gift had to be a fashion doll, simply had to be.

Carefully painted and varnished, the doll's body was light and soft, carved into an image of a woman. She, which seemed to be a more appropriate term than "it" in Muriel's mind, was supported by a metal stand. The "robe" part of the outfit was tightly closed in front, without need for a stomacher, and it was a solid fern green color. The revealed underskirt was a reddish kind of orange with a tiny printed pattern of black dots.

Most dolls Muriel had seen had roughly the same head shape and similar features, normally less realistic than, say, a skilled painter's portrait. And so, Muriel was confused when she took in the doll's features. Instead of looking straight ahead with oddly large eyes, the doll looked down, almost as if her eyes were closed. Her irises weren't visible.

Her face wasn't a typical round shape. Her face was ... familiar. The jaw was more narrow than the cheeks. The lips were lovingly shaped and painted, and they were plump and calm. The nose was smooth and straight instead of the small buŧŧon that was in many dolls. The doll's imaginary skin was painted a bit peachier than the stark white that was common in dolls. It looked like human flesh.

Her hair was pale blonde with false curls tightly kept in the back. There was a white cap, topped with a small silk flower. It was edged with lace, and there were two dangling ŀȧppets falling down to the middle of the doll's back. Her posture was modest but charming.

Muriel looked up to the doctor and asked, "Did His Highness ask someone to purchase this in the city?"

Doctor Bergson smiled as if he knew something very interesting. And he soon proved that to be true. He stepped closer and bent down to whisper into Muriel's ear, "No, he didn't. He carved, painted, and dressed the doll. He also crafted and sewed all her clothing."

The look in Muriel's eyes would have suggested that she had been told the prince had sprouted wings, flew across the planet, and stole a giant's shoe. She was so surprised that her brain had difficulty filtering the man's words.

She held the doll closer, and she noticed that in the green overdress of the outfit, there was actually some embroidery! They were small silver squares and circles around the sleeves, collar, and on the edges of the pinned up green overskirt that revealed the underskirt. She would have gladly believed that the prince carved and painted a doll. She'd even believe that he made her clothing. But ... embroidery? Delicate, tiny, embroidery?

Most men had a basic concept of emergency patchwork. Quite a few men worked as tailors. Sailors, too would have their own embroidery skills. But this man was a damn prince, and here he had some embroidery to show off. It wasn't elaborate, but it was crisp and tight.

But ... her face softened as she thought that if this prince was truly isolated and needed to keep up hobbies for his own amusement, it wouldn't be unrealistic for him to learn how to embroider pretty things.

As the doctor walked off, Princess Arya approached and said to Muriel with something like maternal joy in her voice, "That's a beautiful little thing! You should put it in your room!"

"It certainly is a piece of art," Muriel said as she carefully put the doll back in its box. The box's width had been for the wide skirts on the doll's form.

Later that day, as she displayed the doll in her room, Muriel realized the doll resembled her.

Was Princess Arya aware of that?

If so, was she secretly angry about her son putting such attention to a commoner?

Muriel hoped nothing terrible would happen over this.