“In The Garden They Danced” Chapter 1

Genre: Christian, Gothic, Medieval, Romance, Drama

Word Count: 1,150

Themes: Beauty in differences, kindness, humility

Tone: Poetic, sad, hopeful

Chapter One

They buried Alexander deep in the castle long before he ever died.

Not with soil or stone—

but with shame.

Stowed in a narrow chamber, given only the barest essentials, he was kept like one might suppress an unwanted memory.

And yet, like a memory, he was fleeting—fluttering from place to place, never staying long. Maybe it was his humility, the way he always bowed his head when spoken to. Or perhaps his soft, stubborn love for birds and plants, the way his trembling hands stayed busy—always busy—trying, perhaps, to forget the names the people had given him.

Beasto.

Worm.

Ghost.

All labels he had timidly accepted.

But Alexander was no beast.

He was gentle. Poetic.

With soft blue eyes that lit up the dimmest corners of the world, and a crooked smile like a sunrise trying to rise through fog.

Still—they feared him.

For daring to be different.

Alexander Sparrows never minded the dark.

Down in the dungeon, beneath the cheer of banquets and the music of royal balls, he found humbler company.

Small brown mice who nibbled the crumbs he left behind.

Rats, more distant, but present.

And the weeds—bold enough to bloom without permission, stretching through the cracked stone like they belonged.

He wished he could thrive as weeds do.

Or match the grace of the lilies in the royal garden above.

But he was only himself.

Rough and calloused like tree bark,

modest like butterflies—

who never see their own beauty.

And still, he gave thanks.

For the secret garden he tended.

For the quiet rhythm of life underground.

For his place in this world, even if it was the lowest.

Alexander seldom complained.

He did not deem his blessings small.

Because somehow, he always found a reason to be grateful.

In the cool of the spring afternoon, Alexander knelt in the dirt, fingers trembling over a patch of wild mint. He whispered a prayer only God and flowers could hear.

“Don’t let her find me,” he said, brushing a beetle off a blossom. “But if she does… make me brave enough to stay.”

The garden—where he knelt—was never meant to be found.

It was a hidden, sacred thing, tucked behind rusted gates and crumbling stone, down a corridor even the rats ed with reverence.

He liked it that way. Quiet. Forgotten.

Things could grow without judgment down here.

Even him.

He pressed his fingers deeper into the earth like a prayer. The mint was thriving—God must’ve smiled in the rain last night. A beetle ticked over his knuckle. He let it stay. Little things trusted him. Maybe because he asked nothing of them.

He hummed an old tune, something his mother once sang when she thought no one was listening.

Then—

A sound.

Small. Sharp.

A twig cracking.

His shoulders tensed. He held his breath.

Slow as roots twisting toward the light, he turned.

And there she was.

The girl from the upper halls.

With too-bright eyes and shoes too clean for dungeon stone.

Princess.

She looked like she’d run from something. Hair undone. Cheeks flushed. But her eyes—

They weren’t frightened. Just wide. Curious.

Like she’d stepped into a storybook and wasn’t sure if she belonged.

Alexander’s chest went tight, like something blooming and breaking all at once. He lowered his gaze quickly—better that way. Eyes caused trouble. And his had been called unnatural before.

He bowed his head. Dirt clung to his palms like penance.

She stared. “Who are you?”

“Me?” His voice was low, hesitant. “I’m a keeper of the dirt… a worm, m’lady. And worms ain’t meant to be seen. Only work in humble silence, so the uppers may reap.”

The silence after felt heavy—not cruel, but full.

Like the garden itself was holding its breath.

“You… you talk funny,” she said, tilting her head.

Alexander gave a small grunt. “Words are kinda like rivers. Always flowin’… but they all have a source. All in the heart, y’majesty.”

She put a hand on her chin. “Hmmm.”

Alexander winced. He regretted speaking already. His long black hair fell forward as he grimaced toward the dirt.

She stepped closer and he flinched.

“You’re very intelligent,” she said softly. “And very right. Words do form from the heart. I was taught that what’s in hearts… is who we are.”

His face burned. He bowed lower, flustered. “Oh, shucks… I ain’t nothin’ special. A sparrow with broken wings, maybe.”

She smiled. “May that be. But I still believe you’re something out of the ordinary. And lucky for you… I’m intrigued by such things.”

Alexander looked up at last, startled.

His wide, soft blue eyes met hers.

She blinked, caught off guard. Her breath caught. “W-What’s your name? Odd man?”

He dropped his gaze again. “They calls me Beasto, mostly… s’pose that’s what you might call me, Y’Grace.”

Her face twisted in dramatic horror. “That’s a horrible name! I won’t call you that. You’re much too kind.”

He fiddled with the soil. The princess knelt beside him.

“You must have a real name.”

A long moment ed.

Then, quietly:

“Alexander Sparrows… But ya don’t call a dog by his name ‘less you can take all of ‘im.”

The princess tilted her head. “What a beautiful name,” she murmured.

Alexander blinked. Again, surprised.

She stood and curtsied. “Well, Sir Alexander Sparrows. I am Princess Genevieve Thornecrest. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”

Alexander stumbled backward and landed with a thump, legs sprawled in front of him.

She bowed… to him.

He blinked rapidly. “Thousand pardons, y’majesty… b-but I ain’t no sir… I-I’m just a low sparrow who only knows how to fly alone.”

Genevieve beamed. “Then you are the kindest sparrow I’ve met.”

Alexander smiled, bashful and small. He rubbed the back of his neck, dirt smudged into the creases of his hand.

For the first time in a long while…

He didn’t feel quite so buried.

After a moment of eye , Genevieve glanced around the garden with wonder, her eyes tracing the soft moss and pale blossoms pushing up through stone. “It’s like a secret chapel here,” she whispered.

Alexander looked at her sideways. “It’s not much…”

“It’s beautiful,” she replied.

Alexander blushed bashfully again, he wanted to say: you’re beautiful— but he had no courage…

Through his silence, Genevieve reached down, plucked a mint leaf, and held it to her nose. She smiled.

“I can stay here forever…” she sighed.

Beasto traced a poem in the dirt with his finger, “If only we could live long as trees… then we’d be able to stay-“

Genevieve nodded, “Yeah. But I’m glad I’m here with you… as we are. I think it was destined for us to meet… so I don’t feel so—- alone.”

Beasto widened his eyes big and a breath caught in his chest, “Why… why I….pleasure be mine… y’majesty…”

He smiled small and flustered,

And they shared one more, long tender gaze—

Hope you enjoyed!

I will post as I write each chapter!