Shrouded Lady

A call to the Celestial Aphrodite, hears and leaves many unanswered.
She responds only to one, a princess, a queen, alight with anger and mourning.
In media res, a battle is being fought. A great clash between fire and steel.
The battle seemed unwinnable, for they were worthy opponents.
It began, like many things, with the birth of a child.
A princess trapped in a tower. Waiting for someone, anyone, to open a long forgotten door. No one had come in years; it'd been so long, she assumed she'd been lost to time.
Locked away, the story goes, so a prince may rescue her.
Rescue her from what?
She inquired, and received no reply.
No one knew. But a prince would come, her prince was coming.
Who is he?
Silence.
Why is he coming?
Silence.
Our princess, a woman deep in sorrow, stops asking questions.
They lock the door.
The room outside her own is filled with gold and jewels. Offerings to pacify a great beast.
A monster will come, they say.
A test to prove the worth of a prince, a great hero.
He'll save you.
She doesn't ask why.
The monster comes, a thundering mass of green and flames. The princess feared for a prince who hadn't come. And our maiden hoped he wouldn't be swayed by jewels and gold, lest his soul should wish to rest with them for eternity.
Her fear grew as the dragon, a great beast indeed, gave merely a passing glance to the material haul. The monster eyed the locked door.
It let out a mighty growl and sharpened its claws on the weakened wood. The door fell with a pathetic thud, leaving the princess lying in wait, drenched in terror.
Another untold horror, a story hidden deep in the kingdoms closets. All the king's men, knights and farmers alike, were sent on a suicide mission, a slaughter.
And a massacre it was, for they had killed the beasts young while she was out for the hunt.
They led a mournful, vengeful mother to a hoard, empty and cold.
And locked her up just the same.
The fearsome dragon had felt great loss. She no longer wished to fight.
Our porcelain doll, locked away, taken under her wing. A replacement for the monsters aching stone heart.
The princess began to wonder, in a very not regal way, if perhaps she even needed the prince.
But still, he'd come.
And come he did, on a steed like they'd said. 15 years late, and many more dead.
The princess was a queen, still locked in her tower. A dragon for her steed, they lived together happily.
A mother and her child.
Then there he was, his sword bright and blazing.
The clash begins in earnest.
Powerful steel met with molten fire. A shield turned to nothing, cries of great pain. Pain turned angry as the monster fought to protect her young, not willing to accept defeat once again.
The prince knew not why he fought, only that he must. So he did.
He fought valiantly, she'd credit him that. But she felt no remorse when he fell underfoot, his body becoming crushed by the weight of her claws.
An almost smug smile played upon the girls face as his ribs cracked and his breath began to falter.
Until he threw his sword, a great effort, and it hit its mark.
The beast fell.
A soul shattering, terrified shriek befell the fair maidens lips, as she watched the only mother she ever knew go down with her last breath.
Who was this prince, this murderer, this clown?
She dropped to her knees, she wept, she mourned.
And she drew the sword from the carcass of the mighty fallen beast.
The prince drew a ragged breath and saw the reaper.
In her tattered dress, alight with flames and anger, sorrow and mourning, she pierced the armor and drove it through the heart of the man she never knew.
This princess hadn't needed saving; she was never imprisoned at all. She had been given love and protection, a mother true.

The prince slayed the dragon, he rescued the girl.
That's how the story is told, at least.

But nay forget who put her there in the first place.