If victory had a taste, it would taste like sweet, red wine. It would taste like ecstasy in liquid form, washing away every ounce of doubt, drowning my worries in a single, intoxicating gulp.
I haven’t won much in life. But I’ll spare you the sob story. You've heard it all before, from others just like me. Right now, though, all I can feel is the rush—standing over the girl who met her end at my hands, savoring the triumph. I wave to the crowd, who cheers and throws coins and flowers at my feet, their admiration palpable in the air.
Six months. That’s how long it’s been since this competition began. Six months of pushing myself further than I ever thought possible. The things I’ve done, the things I’ve seen—I'm not sure the person I was then even exists anymore. But I guess that's the point of these games: to break you down and build you back up into something else entirely. Something stronger. Something more dangerous.
I scan the arena, eyes lingering on the bodies scattered across the floor. Most are from my hand, a few from others, but it doesn’t matter. There can only be one victor, and today, that victor is me.
A shadow falls over me, and I don’t need to look to know who it is. The Arena Master stands behind me, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips as his eyes flicker to the girl lying at my feet. “A fine fighter,” he says, his voice low. “Don’t you think?”
I glance over at the crowd again, feeling the weight of their gaze. This feeling—this sweet, intoxicating rush—is all I’ve wanted for so long. But I know it’s fleeting. It always is. The Arena Master chuckles softly, his voice rising above the noise of the crowd. “This is only the beginning, child.” His words hang in the air, a reminder that this victory, like everything else, is just a small piece of a much larger game. And I'm only getting started.
They say forgiveness is a virtue, but I’d rather keep my rage. I’d rather let it smolder under my skin, slowly becoming a beast.
Your words only feed it, sharp and bitter, slicing deeper, fueling the blaze. No mercy.
I can feel the burn, and the needles sinking in, reminding me of this madness, reminding me why I stay here. But I’d rather be this— a monster than the other side of me.
The side that aches with love. How I trace every freckle on your face, wondering how the sun chose you to carry her light.
Why not me? Why can’t I be the one with the freckles and the freedom to feel?
So I will let this anger swallow me whole. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.
I keep my face blank as the army’s general paces back and forth, his boots echoing in the cold stone hall.
If he catches me, I’m dead.
If I show any emotion, I’m dead. __ __ Don’t think. Don’t think.
“It seems we have a problem, soldiers,” the general says, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you want to know what that problem is?” __ __ Don’t think. Don’t think.
The general stops in front of us, his eyes lingering on me for just a moment too long. My dark hair falls over my brow, but I don’t bother brushing it aside. I need to look like everyone else.
But I feel his gaze like a brand.
“I’m sure you all know the story,” he continues. “That the royal family is the only group allowed to practice magic.”
I hold his stare, silent. It’s getting closer now, the pressure building.
“But once or twice a decade, anomalies happen,” he says, his words turning to ice. “People—at random—are ‘blessed’ with magic from the stars. And do you know what happens to these blessed individuals?” He shoots a pointed look in my direction, demanding an answer.
I swallow, the words coming out rough but steady. “They are killed.”
The general’s smile flickers, just a hint of satisfaction. “Yes. And as you all know, we’ve been hunting for one of these anomalies—someone hiding among you.”
I tense, my pulse quickening. He knows.
Someone shifts behind me, but I don’t dare look. The air feels thick now, as if every breath carries danger.
“Someone’s been feeding information to the rebels,” the general says, his voice cutting through the silence. “Someone here has magic. And I’m going to find them.”
I can feel the weight of his words pressing down on me. The room feels too small. I feel my magic stir inside, but I clamp it down. I can’t give him anything.
“You seem too calm,” the general says, his eyes narrowing on me. “Don’t you have something to say?”
I hold his gaze. “I’m not the one you're looking for, General.”
His smile sharpens, the look in his eyes calculating. “Funny. I thought the same thing.”
He steps closer, his presence heavy in the air. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about how a liar moves?” His voice drops, quiet but lethal. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?”
“I’ve been doing my duty,” I reply, my voice steady, even though my heart pounds in my chest.
The general watches me for a beat, then steps back, his lips curling into a thin smile. “One of you is the traitor,” he says. “And I’ll find out who. Until then… keep your eyes open. If I find anything suspicious, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
I don’t speak. I don’t move.
When he leaves, the tension in the room doesn’t lift. He knows. Regret gnaws at me. I shouldn’t have signed up for this. But now, there’s no way out.
It’s hard to be inconspicuous when you’re hanging upside down.
I glare at Noah, who stands below me, struggling to keep a straight face. I’d been too distracted by the floating crystals, and before I knew it, the magic had me dangling by my ankles 50 feet from the ground.
“You know, I could get you down if I wanted to,” he says, his voice a smooth mix of mockery and patience. “It’s my magic that’s keeping you from falling after all.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.
He shrugs, the faintest smirk on his lips. “It’s kind of amusing.”
I try to use my own magic to sever the threads holding me up, but it’s useless. “Okay, Noah. I’m sorry I tried to run. Are you happy now?”
His eyes harden, but his tone stays measured. “Why? Why did you try to run?”
“Everyone in Court wants me dead,” I mutter. “And don’t pretend it’s not true. Your father nearly had me executed in front of the whole kingdom.”
There’s a flicker in his gaze, a flash of something I don’t like. “And you think I didn’t try to stop it? You think I didn’t fight him for you?”
“Then why save me?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Why drag me back here, where nothing’s changed?”
Noah’s eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, the mask of the prince slips. “Because I wasn’t going to let them kill something that’s mine.”
I freeze. __ Mine.
The word hits like a blow to the chest. I’m not just some stray he’s taken pity on. I’m something he thinks he owns. “I’m not yours,” I hiss, fighting the tremor in my voice. “I never asked to be.”
He steps closer, and for the first time, I feel the full weight of him, of the power he holds. “You don’t have to ask. You never did.”
My magic flares again, but I can’t move, can’t break free. “You think you can just decide this for me? That I’ll play along with your twisted little game?”
“No, I don’t think you’ll play along,” he says, his voice cold. “But you’ll survive it. Because I’m not going to let you die, Sitara. Not because of my father. Not because of any of them.”
I can feel it now—the weight of his words, the impossibility of what he’s asking. I’m trapped, and he knows it.
He extends his hand, magic swirling between us. “I’ll get you down,” he murmurs, almost gently. “But don’t think for a second that things are going to change just because you hit the ground.”
The magic snaps, and I fall. But I know now—there’s no escaping this. There’s no escaping him
Swirling green, eyes bright with wonder, life springing with every step you takes.
When no one is watching, who are you?
When their prying eyes and judgmental words, are too far to reach, a starved creature, too tired to see the next day’s light.
When no one is watching, who are you?
When it’s okay to laugh- such a wonder it is, when that beast locked in your mind isn’t whispering doubts to you.
When no one is watching, who are you?
When you look at food and realize that’s it’s okay to eat it- the scale still haunts your thoughts, but because no one’swatching, it’s okay to drown in those treacherous waters.
When no one is watching, who are you?
Because the masks you wear only fool for so long. Time and again, I see more of you.
Please don’t fade away completely, I want to see that girl who shines when no eyes are on her, be the only version of you.
Ripped, shattered, torn, words that describe the ragged mess that I am.
Gave him my heart, blood, sweat, and tears, devoted to the love that I thought was mine.
Wounds are suppose to heal, stitching themselves over to reveal a scab, but the scar on my heart will never go away.
A constant reminder of the darkness I went through. And even though I feel like I’m healed, scars never truly go away.
So the tears, streaks that I once washed away, darken once more. And the echo of my internal screams ring in my ears.
The scars on our hearts, our trauma, will forever stay with us. Like a ball chain strapped to our ankles.
The scar on our hearts, the unforgiving weights that we are now burnded with, makes us who we are.
_(Author’s Note: This is one of the longest stories I’ve ever written, but I promise it’s worth it. Thanks for reading! <3) _
“Again!”
Nikolai held his head in exhaustion. He had been at it for literal hours. Shadow warping himself so he can be “invisible”. But the closest he’d gotten was a dark cloud surrounding him that sparked with white hot electricity. Definitely not what he was going for.
“I need a break.” He panted to his mentor, Aldric.
Aldric, a man whose indifference to Nikolai was as palpable as it was suffocating.
Nikolai never had a choice in his training. He even tried once runnning away. A stupid idea of course. The minute he was caught, the punishment came swiftly—broken ribs,bruises, the familiar agony of failure.
“A break?” Aldric asked quietly.
_Oh hell… _Nikolai thought and braced himself.
Sure enough, a swift backhand raced across his cheak, sending him sprawling to the floor and almost impaling himself on his own knife. Aldric walked forwards and grabbed a fistful of Nickolai’s black hair and pulled him up.
“Are you weak?!” Aldric asked. “Do you not have what it takes to be an Elite? In 14 days time you will be in that trial and you will die. All becuase you needed… a break.”
Nikolai stayed quiet. He knew better than to speak. When Aldric goes on a rampage it’s better to stay silent than tempt the beast.
Aldric shoved Nikolai back to the floor and kicked him in the side, “Do it again I said!”
Nikolai fought back tears of pain and clutched his side. He staggered up and hid his face under his bangs. It would only get worse if Aldric saw him showing any weakness.
He summoned another shadow cloud and clutched it to himself tightly. He focused all his energy, desperate for anything to go right. But atlas, the cloud flickered once, twice, and then fizzled away.
Nikolai slowly looked up to see a fuming Aldric clamping down on his sword at his side.
“Draw your weapon, boy.” He spat.
With shaking hands, Nikolai drew his knife, the familiarity making him a bit more steady in his feet.
“Aldric, I’m sorry. But I’m exhausted. Maybe I can try again in a few minutes.” Nikolai mumbled.
But there was a hard resolve in Aldric’s cold gaze, “Fighting stance.” He called.
Before Nikolai was even completely ready, Aldric lunged forward with his sword, nearly splitting him in two. Nikolai rolled backwards and swept his leg out, but Aldric jumped over it with ease and continued his assault.
For what felt like hours Nikolai played defense, but just barely. With every second he tired. Limbs slowly turning into weights of sand. His shadow warping ability becoming less and less portent as he used it.
Eventually, Aldric disarmed him and held his sword close to Nikolai’s neck. The cold bite of Aldric’s blade was the last thing Nikolai needed.
His entire body was on the verge of giving out, his legs wobbling beneath him as exhaustion sank deeper into his bones. His shadow warping, the one skill he can rely on, faltered once again, a weak flickering cloud that dissolved into nothing.
The sword pressed harder, beads of blood starting to show, and for the briefest moment, Nikolai wondered if this is how it ended.
Not in the trial, but here in this pit of endless suffering. A failure, taken by the sheer weight of the training he had to endure for 15 years.
Aldric’s breaths came in sharp controlled gasps as he stood over Nikolai.
“You won’t take a break until I say you can.” Aldric growled, his voice low and filled with the same unyielding cruelty that had never softened. “You think you’re weak now? You think you deserve rest? In two weeks, you’ll be in that trial. You’ll be fighting for your life. And if you can’t even handle a lesson, how do you think you’re going to survive out there?”
Nikolai bit his lip, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. His body screamed in protest, but he didn’t dare speak, didn’t dare show any weakness.
He knew Aldric wouldnt tolerate it.
Not now, not ever.
“I’m not here to pamper you, boy. I’m here to break you, to make sure your strong enough to survive.” Aldric glared at him with something colder than anger in his eyes, “You don’t deserve rest—not yet.” __ __ Nikolai didn’t respond once again. He didn’t have the strength to do it.
Aldric reached down and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground with a causal force.
“Now listen to me carefully. Go to the healer inside. Get yourself patched up, and when you’re healed enough, you will come back out here. We will continue this lesson. Understood?”
“Yes Aldric.” Nikolai rasped.
He shoved Nikolai away, the force knocking him back to the ground, “Get up!” Aldric barked, his voice devoided of any compassion. “And remember this: you’re not a _child. _If you want to survive, you’ll stop whining and get back to work. When I say jump, you better ask how high.”
Nikolai forced himself to stand, clutching his side where the pain was sharpest. He didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded again.
Aldric’s eyes followed him, as cold as ever. “Two more weeks Nikolai. Then the trial. And if you think you’ll find mercy there, you’ll be as dead as the others who’ve come before you.
Nikolai didn’t respond. There was nothing to be said. He turned and headed towards the healer’s quarters, every step aching. But he kept moving.
Becuase in two weeks he’d be free.
And then—he’d have the power he was so hungry for.
I was quiet, but I was not blind. could hear you and Dad argue every night. See the way you both tensed when you had to talk about something. I never said anything, in fear of my suspicions coming true. But now…now I can’t keep quite anymore.
“Quiet mouths don’t get fed.” Isn’t that what you’ve always told me? That when something is on my mind, I should express myself. You’ve always been such a supporter of mental health awareness. But the minute I say something you don’t agree with, you snap.
And it’s not just you, Mom. It’s Dad too. When I got diagnosed with ADHD a few years ago, his lips pressed into a thin line. Almost annoyed that there was something wrong with me. And forget about my depression diagnosis 6 months ago.
I’m suppose to be the perfect daughter. Seen but not heard.
But trust me when I tell you I have a voice.
So I will be using that voice to tell you EXACTLY how I feel. I feel sick to my stomach. It’s a betrayal that you’re now only revealing the truth i’ve sensed so long. Like I was naive enough to believe it wasn’t coming. I actually assumed you were going to go through with it sooner.
I’m not going to lie and pretend that it’s okay. Because it’s not. Its almost comical how blind you’ve both been. You’ve ignored me when i was hurting most.
I was quiet, but I was not deaf. And I think both of you need to realize that now.
Her fleeting, warm touch is always too far for me to grasp. Like awoken from a splendid dream.
I can practically smell her perfume, roses and vanilla. The comforting scent always put me at ease. Now, it’s just a reminder of how she abandoned me.
Her laughter on the wind, her glittering smile and striking green eyes. The way she held my hand as we walked together in the park.
It’s like she’s everywhere, the sweetest torture someone can bear. The absence of her is like sharp nails across skin.
When I breathe, it hurts to see my chest rise and fall. It means that I live another day without my love. And sometimes it feels like a weight is on my legs, and I’m sinking to the depths of the ocean.
Drowning, suffocating, all becuase she won’t stand next to me. She should’ve just ripped my heart out with her own hands, it would hurt much less than…this.
While chasing her ghost, I became one myself. My memories haunting me for all time.
It was never supposed to work. She was never supposed to… die…
But the injuries were too great. Too much blood spilled.
Now she’s dead. And it’s all my fault.
Dahlia and I shared the stage at the theater downtown. God, was she talented. Always securing the leading role, embodying each character with effortless grace and a radiant smile. Her tanned skin and curly blonde hair, a beautiful chaos, somehow always elegant.
But after years—years—I grew weary of living in her shadow.
I was great. But she was spectacular.
I was pretty. But she was beautiful.
How I craved her curves, her soft green eyes. I longed for the standing ovation, the accolades that were hers alone.
Eventually, my envy festered into something darker. I devised a plan, one so wicked and fatal that I questioned my own resolve. But I went through with it.
I knew she was deathly allergic to poppy flowers. So I concealed some in a bouquet, delivering it anonymously.
Reflecting now, it seems so petty.
That night, during the final scene, she collapsed on our makeshift balcony. She rolled, fell—right onto another actor wielding a sword. None of us realized how sharp those “play” swords could be. Not until it pierced her sternum.
I leaped from my position, rushing to her side, desperate to staunch the blood flowing from her wound. It was never supposed to escalate like this. I was blind to the depths of my actions.
The audience, hundreds of eyes, witnessed my anguish as I screamed for my friend, shoving away anyone who dared approach. I did everything I could. But it was not enough.
Now, I’m known as the Girl Wearing Crimson. The girl who watched her friend die, standing in her blood-soaked dress for hours afterward—all born from my unspeakable jealousy.
If Dahlia exists somewhere beyond, I know she gazes down at me, not with anger, but pity.
And maybe that’s the worst of all.
