My mind is always open That's what I like to say But it's not what it sounds like I don't mean it that way I 'm doing fine in school Which is enough to shut them up However what's inside my head Is an endless dreamers hub It's like I'm constantly living Hiding my point of view I won't be a liar Until someone finds out the truth I bitch And I borrow I beg And I steal Yet somehow through it all I convince myself it's not real When I close my eyes at night I don't see the black void I hear music See starlight My one moment of joy Soon enough I watch as it fades far away And I'm bombarded With the hundreds of lies from today Attention Attention Is that what I need I keep writing words I know no one will read In a world full of good I relish in sin It's not harming anyone I say As long as I win It's lies, they say You're a liar get a grip They think I make it up For the sake of it The truth, I say is that sometimes it's hard My head gets mixed up and listens to my heart When something plays out I repeat it you see Though later I'm told it was all just a dream

This morning I met up with Elisa. Well not exactly, I saw her outside the school gates. When she brushes against me, my heart burns, my skin aches. I bump into her deliberately sometimes, just for the sensation. Every moment spent around her is frozen in time, a cherished memory that sticks in the forefront of my haunted mind. Somehow, just looking into those halcyon eyes sends me reeling. For weeks on end I’ll close my own and meet hers. If I ever did meet her eyes, (not that I have) I’d be a dead man before I graduated. That guy she’s with, I don’t know his name and don’t want to know his name but the sight of him is a dagger in my chest. To walk in his shoes, I would kill. Perfection, she’s perfection and I deserve her. I’m the only person that understands Elisa, and she doesn’t know yet, but she will.

Let me start with the word blood, yes blood. Everyone seems to coil at the sight, but at the end of the day, is it really that disturbing? A naturally formed substance that keeps every living being alive, perhaps it's the association. When I say blood, what comes to mind? Something dying perhaps, or maybe a war, or how you tripped over once and cut your knee or elbow. Now, I'd like you to imagine the latter, how did you respond? Did you take precautions and maybe bandage it up, or say 'It's only a graze' and move on with your day? My point here, is that blood is always associated with something negative, and don't get me wrong, I'm not here to change everyone's perspective on blood, that would be a waste of everyone's time. I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. There's a kingdom outside these walls, a kingdom that is convinced I have blood on my hands. Now I can confidently say that I know what you're thinking, who have I savagely slaughtered? Who did I mercilessly crush for my own gain? Another thing I know you are assuming is my gender, and even my age. In your mind, I'm a grown man with a legendary sword and an ego as big as my castle. What if I told you that you're wrong. You aren't as open minded as you originally thought you were, are you? If I told you that I was a sixteen year old girl that has never touched a weapon in her short existence you'd be confused, correct? You're confused even now. I'm no genius, you're just predictable. With that still playing in the back of your mind, we shall let the story begin. On one, cold, spring morning, when the trees swayed outside my window and the birds chirped delightfully under the early sun, I was stood with my nails digging into the pine-wood drawers as my ribs were crushed by the worlds most disgraceful torture device. A corset. Having become the queen at the ripe age of sixteen, I was subjected to many things I didn't particularly enjoy; politics, scandals, assassination attempts and yet the thing I dreaded the most was being squeezed into a corset every morning before breakfast. Girls my age didn't really wear corsets in everyday life but being queen was different, the standards were different. The kingdon of Asrich didn't have high hopes for me anyway, an unmarried maiden with no experience who's father took the throne by force and died a year later. Despite the obvious objestion from the nation, I had an army and a hoard of royal staff still inclined to obey my every command, not that I made commands very often, I'll leave you to figure out why. "You're highness, the more you manage to breathe in, the quicker it will be over." Sighed Irene as she pulled the strings with more vigour than before. Irene was assigned to be my mother's lady in waiting when she was queen though since she died just after my father it never really happened. I didn't really like her to begin with, though now I realised that she doesn't mean to snap, and the tough love is good for me. "Is it done?" I wheezed. "Just about, we go through this every morning. Could you please, just once make it an easier job?" I tugged at the waist uncomfortably, "They are too tight and don't fit me properly." "Don't give me that." She scoffed, "Of course it fits you, you just blow out deliberately because you don't like it." I tried to tell myself she was wrong. "Is Paris in the hall?" I squeaked as I wriggled into my dress. "Yes, he wants to talk to you about the plans he has for the border." "Are they really going to attack? It wouldn't make any sense surely, Crasmere has all the resources it could ever hope for and this has the potential to ruin their already unstable government." "I'm sure it's just a threat, Elora." I rushed past the dining hall, breakfast was irrelevant at that very moment in time. Our neighbouring kingdom was a place called Crasmere, known for their atrocious king and the chaos that brewed in his version of society. A civil war had been on and off for centuries now and their government seemed to change every time they blinked. For a month now, many of their soldiers had been alarmingly close to the border, ordering canons and premium, enchanted weapons. The idea of invasion had been sticking in the back of my mind like a leech, sucking my sanity away. Any opening to settle my anxiety towards the situation was welcomed with open arms.

She twirled the charm in her fingers, the cold, silver web glinting in the candlelight. There was something comforting about wearing it, as though it was a part of her. Though she'd only had it for an hour or so, if she looked now and it wasn't there, she feared an emptiness like before. Lara had told her to take it off repeatedly. "Anything that father of yours sends is a curse!" She'd say, but Camille had denied the statement and fled to the caravan with her necklace still hanging around her neck. She cursed Lara and the others. Her beloved father was not a curse, it was horrible to say such things! A gift sent by him wasn't rare, but when it was a mummified frog, or a weird charm that was probably owned by a witch at some point, she wasn't massively pleased; grateful, but not pleased. This however was beautiful, and full of thought, it even came with a letter: To my little Camille for your 13th birthday, here is a necklace I saw at market a while back. The pretty little dream catcher charm made me think of you, and how far you'll fly one day, just like your mother. I know it's been a very long time, but I promise that when I have the money to travel, I'll come and get you. Remember, to catch your dreams you must chase them! He'd promised this time. Soon enough she'd be out of this dump and travelling across the land with her dear father, someone from her real family, it wouldn't be long now.  Her sodden dress squeaked as she struggled her way out of it, kicking her shoes off in the process. She'd be sleeping with wet hair tonight, the fact she had to sleep in a vest was cruel enough. She slid under the covers as gently as possible, the wooden slats that held the mattress up had snapped long before Camille inherited it. If she slumped onto the bed too hard, she'd go straight through. Taking one last look at the wooden caravan, her eyes trailed the room, from her wooden trunk in the corner, to the circus poster pinned to the wall. Many of the adults didn't have their own rooms, even so, Camille got privileges as the only child on site. She could understand why some of the more forward ones like old Tom would protest because of this, and appreciated it despite the wear and tear. As she blew the candle out, she snuggled down cautiously under the blankets, still clutching her pendant as tightly as she could. A curse, she thought, what a stupid idea.

!!This is not following given prompt!! I just like dark stuff and wanted to share my writing The girl in white was stood behind me. Glaring with those crimson eyes, each look a dagger in my soul. "What do you want?" I blurted. "If you're here to stop me it's too late! I have enough blood on my hands." These same hands trembled as they clutched the knife that had once tormented my soul, knowing what I needed to do yet never having the will. I would never rid myself of the stains, etched into my skin for eternity yet I still shrank into a child when faced with what I'd done. What a fool. The girl didn't blink. Her feet stayed, planted firmly into the carpet as she wavered in the air, like a ghostly silhouette. Then just for a moment, I felt the warmth of the home I once had, and I swear to god my heart stopped. "What do you want? Go away!" I began to blub, my voice breaking off, how was it that my once gentle hands had committed such atrocities? The same hands I'd used to wash the dishes, to stroke the neighbour's cat, to read my little ones to sleep, these hands coated in sin had behaved with such innocence and yet now you'd never imagine. The little girl, no older than twelve seemed to rattle me so much. She didn't have to scream, or fall at my feet and sob, her silence, and those ungodly eyes were enough. "I said what do you want?" The knife met her throat, that white skin looked so soft. "You can cut it if you like. It won't do anything." Her whispers seemed to travel through my body and straight to my head, the room fell cold. "Human's run the risk of eternal damnation yet still choose the wrong path, when it's been so clearly laid out for you. So now you pay the price." Her voice began to echo through the room, my body too stiff to run. That's when I fell weak, and suddenly the pressure was crushing me as I lay in agony, flailing yet no sound emerging from my throat, no one would hear my screams.

She lazed with her feet dug into the sand, the sun beating down on her as she watched the the little brat run up and down the shore like a lost dog. The steely look in his eyes, his tongue peeping out the side of his mouth. What a fool. Babysitting had never been easier. This was much better than having to sit and dig a moat while he whined “that’s not deep enough” or “that’s not wide enough” or worse yet “why isn’t there any water?” This way she could enjoy her day at the beach as she’d originally intended. About ten minutes had passed, when she began to notice the growing number of children trundling along after him. Placing a hand over her brow, she wondered at the sight. He couldn’t have possibly convinced all of them to help him look for a fabricated shell, right? She imagined hundreds of parents swarming her like locusts, or ants on an ice cream, accusing her of misleading their precious children. On top of that, she’d face the wrath of her own parents. Deciding it wasn’t worth the hassle, she heaved out of the plastic chair and began traipsing over to the hoard of oblivious children. Scouring her mind for an excuse. “Hey Lyla I found it!” He flew up the beach with a toothy grin, something shiny in his outstretched palm. “What?”