One touch on the mother tree and all the fruits fall like seeds from a peeled orange. Because they say those who die go to the mother tree and come back as a seed.
But everyone alive is in symbiosis with fungi. So they only find meaning in all they choose, and just like that, the strawberry seed was taken by the King Mango.
To raise her like a fruitling.
The king wanted someone new, away from the cruelty and spilled fruit juice.
And so, strawberry—Celine, was raised by the King, away from the politics and the public.
Because the thing about fruit politics was that it was ridiculously juicy. Always ripe for tension and rotten with worms.
But the thing about overprotectiveness is that it prevents learning. If you grow in the shadows, how will you ever photosynthesize—an old proverb in fruitdom.
Born from the mother tree, hidden from the world, Celine grew up inside a castle far, far away from fruitdom.
She never went out.
Always inside her room, with her berry friend—Roland Blueberry.
He was her caretaker, and he was her teacher, he was her parent, he was her family.
Even if they were not related.
He taught her like he would have taught his daughter.
But she was the king's daughter; that fact was clear, as clear as the day, as the day they took her away.
Celine was dragged like she were a worm. The knights took hold of her, and Roland watched.
She screamed, but what could anyone do?
What could anyone ever do, except stare and accept the fate?
And her fate was to be taken to the castle and to take a crown she did not know anything about.
"Stop it!" she screamed.
"You are a princess, this is just how it is," they answered.
But she thought being a princess meant being carried away by a prince, not being taken away by fruits she did not know.
But that's what happens, the king knew it would happen, but he wanted to make sure she would be away from the strainer of a public, that would take everything and leave just fruit juice.
But he forgot, he forgot that fruits that have thorns are grown in dreaded conditions.
Well, she was given a piece of the world tree, her yellow eyes frozen, and her red hair covered with a veil.
A branch in her hand, and she pledged to a country she did not know or understand.
Her Mango brothers with crooked grins and Kiwis with a lot of hair, and Apples that smiled gracefully.
But what was she supposed to do?
Smile?
When the fruits all had cyanide inside.
She looked at the ground.
"What a spoiled queen, you'd be covered in worms under her reign!"
"Look at her, a wild strawberry!"
"Look at her a—"
"Look at her—"
And like a chant that was all Celine could hear, for hours and days after the coronation.
And she slept in a bed so soft it felt like her own bones picking on her skin.
And she cried, tears of strawberry, the liquid that the king wanted to avoid.
She would sleep then.
Then she would be dragged to the dancing room, break her back, then to the library, hurt her eyes, then to the dinner.
The worst of them all, with eyes bruising her flesh.
And she would not meet their eyes,
Duchess Apple would say, "Wow, you eat so slow, like a child, it's so cute!"
Her Mango 'brother' would say, "Is the food not to your liking? Should we get you something more wild?"
She missed Roland's food. Held her spoon with the wrong hand and in the wrong way.
She hated the flavourless food.
And she would cry.
And she would cry.
And cry.
What else was a princess who was never grown supposed to do?
And the King would watch her, let her be, let her regret her life, not because he wanted her dead, but because he wanted her to grow.
But candied strawberries cannot grow anymore.
And he was the one who sprinkled the sugar.
Yet, it was not something he realized, because people in power have the habit of believing themselves too much.
And he also believed he was safe.
He was the king, so he should be.
But manipulating people is an easier task than he believed.
Nothing is thicker than a payroll.
Not even blood.
And the king is dead.
It was laughable how he was killed by the son he believed in the most. And the son watched the father drink and drink and drink and suffocate and die.
And the princess ran away the moment she got the news. Hiding from the knights and running as fast as she could.
Because the wild told her she would be next.
And she was right.
Exceptionally so.
Because the knights came for the crown princess next.
But she hid and hid.
Shivering in the cold, missing Roland, wondering if he had betrayed her, too.
And it was raining.
But somehow, there was an umbrella over her head.
A girl a few years older, her green hair and yellow eyes, sparkled, even if her clothes were ripped.
And she sat next to Celine.
"I've been watching you for a while!"
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to sell you to the knights!"
Celine was about to get up and run—"Don't worry, I was joking!"
"Don't worry, don't worry, I just wanted a friend!" The girl laughed like a child with a shitty joke.
"A friend? Why me?" Celine moved a bit far, scared.
"I don't know!" The girl answered, "You seemed sparkling!"
"Someone like me?" Celine relaxed a bit.
"Someone like you!" The girl answered.
And they ran.
And ran.
Stole food.
Took baths in the rain.
Learned from torn pages.
Tearing posters calling for the princess.
Kids who grew up together.
The girl's name was Plea. A Passion Fruit.
And Plea said her biggest dream was to travel the world.
And Celine would say,' one day,' each and every time.
They would sleep together, arms covering each other, wrapping up the rotting cold.
And all they had was an umbrella.
Years passed like the pouring rain.
The fruitdom started to show its inner rot.
The palace broke down.
The people started to look for the lost princess.
"The princess, so beautiful, lost forever," said some.
"She must have cursed the kingdom! How cruel!" Said others
But she hid, her hair cut to a length easy to hide, and Plea would always lie to others.
And Plea would hug her and tell Celine, it would be fine.
Celine would never believe her.
And Celine would stare at the posters with her name for a little too long.
Too long.
And Celine one day promised that Plea would go outside of this wretched place.
And Celine was gone.
Plea waited.
And waited till someone called her name.
And she turned, hoping—but it was a knight.
The knight gave her money.
Never told her why.
She stared at the amount larger than any number, except maybe the sum on Celine's poster.
And she watched the money get wet.
Wetter and wetter.
And then she saw pink hair.
She watched Celine be dragged to a guillotine.
She ran, but her steps never reached.
They never were enough.
And Celine saw Plea.
Plea saw her mouth some words.
And then the juice spilled.
Head fell, still smiling.
Plea heard the last words, echoing in her very being.
"Live your dream."