A couple days ago now, while sitting and having a coffee together, my Mom and I came up with an entire graphic novel idea after I asked her what she’d imagine in a fantasy world.

This is my first draft of Chapter 1, please comment if you’d like to see any changes made, all feedback is welcome!

Prince John and the Spirits of Victorian Values

Written by Francis Rawlings
Edited by Christa Arbuckle

Chapter 1: A Siren of a Palace

The Royal Palace stood elegant and grand—so many rooms, so many spires, so many arches. It was massive, large enough to hold everything one could ever need. It was home to the Royal Family: King Richard, Queen Chienne, and their nine children—five princesses and four princes.

On the outside, everything seemed perfect… but on the inside, all was not well. You see, there was a fifth prince—Prince John. Almost immediately, the royals knew John was different. As a baby, he never napped and leaned away from hugs. It only got stranger as he aged—he never spoke, had seemingly random bursts of white-hot rage, and constantly talked to himself. John didn’t know why he did these things. He just did.

When he turned six, the King and Queen hid him away from the public eye. They thought he was some sort of freak, even going so far as to have him exorcised by a priest when he was seven. The torment only continued. His older siblings treated him like a peasant, making him do their work. The maids and his Nanny weren’t any kinder, using his silence against him to scold him for the smallest things. And his parents? They simply pretended he had died in a miscarriage. John felt absolutely worthless—no matter what he did, he was always a disappointment.

But there was one light in his dark life. Sometimes, usually after Sunset, he would sit by the railway tracks and watch the trains pass. The engines always smiled when they saw him, whistling a friendly greeting. Even though they never spoke, John considered them his only real friends.

One night was no different. He was sitting trackside, watching a mail train speed by, so focused on the sight that he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

“And just what do you think you’re doing out here at this hour?!”

John jumped so hard he nearly fell over the fence separating the castle grounds from the tracks. He managed to catch himself and turned to see his nanny, Nancy. She was just like the others—strict and cruel.

“You’re supposed to be in bed!” she snapped, absolutely furious.

John bared his teeth and growled like a wolf, hoping to scare her away, but she was unfazed.

“Ugh… why do I even bother with a freak like you? Come here, you little—”

She grabbed John by the ankle and dragged him, kicking and screaming, back to the palace and into his room.

After that, Nancy was ordered to keep an eye on John at all times. Now, he couldn’t even watch the trains, as his room faced the backyard and the surrounding hills. He managed to keep himself under control for a while, but it was only a matter of time before he exploded. And when he did… oh, did he explode.

One fateful day, John was helping one of the maids, Martha, clean the halls—not by choice, of course. Martha had volun-told him to do it. While mopping, John accidentally knocked over the cleaning cart. No major damage was done, just a few scratches at best, but Martha was furious.

“You utter klutz! Can you do anything right?!”

John didn’t respond at first, but his shoulders tensed.

“Oi! Are you listening, you freak?!” she shouted again.

That was it. John boiled over like a kettle—and then he snapped.

“SHUT UP! CAN YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?!”

Martha jumped back. John had never spoken before, and now, not only was he speaking, he was furious—more pissed off than King Richard himself (and that was saying something!).

“DO YOU PEOPLE ENJOY MY MISERY OR SOMETHING?! WHY DO YOU INSIST ON CALLING ME A FREAK?!”

He kept shouting, hurling insults, snapping the mop handle in half, and even landing a few strong punches on Martha. She tried to respond but found she had lost her voice out of sheer shock.

After five minutes of pure, rage-fuelled outburst, John turned and bolted. Out the front door, down the palace steps—he just ran.

Nancy, who had been working in the garden, saw him flee and gave chase, but she lost him in the dense forest.

To the royals, John was as good as dead.

But for John, the tracks of fate had begun to twist…