The rain was relentless that day, as if the sky itself had decided to cry for me, saving me the trouble. I watched it hit the window in small explosions, each drop a reminder of how small moments can collide and shatter into pieces. I used to think those moments didn’t matter—one look, one touch, one fleeting decision—but now I know how wrong I was. It all started because I liked him. Honestly, that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Liking someone. Just liking them, that’s all it was. He wasn’t even the type of guy you’d expect to ruin your life. Quiet, gentle, with that half-smile that tugged at the corner of his lips when he thought no one was looking. But I saw it. I noticed him. And somehow, that was enough to send everything spiraling. Everyone warned me about him. The whispers started before we even touched, before his name even escaped my mouth like a secret I couldn’t keep. They told me he was trouble, but not in the obvious ways. No, it wasn’t that he was dangerous, or cruel, or broken. He was the kind of trouble that sneaks up on you. The kind that makes you believe you’ll be the exception. That with you, everything will be different. I thought I was different. But the truth is, the world doesn’t care if you’re different. It doesn’t care if your heart is full of good intentions or if your love feels pure. It only sees the surface—the rumors, the glances, the way your name gets tangled up in someone else’s until it’s no longer your own. And once the world has decided who you are, there’s no going back. The texts came first. I remember sitting in the school library, a place that had always felt safe, like it had its own kind of silence. I was flipping through my notes, pretending I could focus on something other than him, when my phone lit up. It was a single message, just one line, but it felt like the ground opened beneath me. So, you’re really with him? It wasn’t from a friend, not really. More like someone who used to be. The accusation sat there, staring back at me, waiting for my response. But I didn’t have one. What could I say? Yes? No? I didn’t even know what we were yet, but apparently, everyone else did. By the time I closed my notebook and left the library, more messages were waiting. One from a girl I barely knew but who seemed to know everything about me. Another from someone who hadn’t spoken to me in months. My name was already spreading like wildfire, and with it came the embers of everything I thought was mine—my reputation, my friends, my safety. It only took three days before the world had decided who I was. It didn’t matter that he was kind to me, that he made me feel like I was someone worth looking at twice. It didn’t matter that when he held my hand, I felt more alive than I had in years. The truth was never as interesting as the stories people made up about us. About me. Slut. Liar. Fake. I used to wonder how people could be so cruel, so quick to tear someone down when they didn’t even know the first thing about them. But now I understand. It’s easy. It’s too easy, really. Because once you start tearing someone apart, you forget that there’s a real person underneath. A person who wakes up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, because they’re drowning in things they can’t control. I stopped going to school. I stopped answering the phone, stopped opening the messages, stopped looking in the mirror. My parents thought I was sick, and in a way, I was. Sick of being who I was. Sick of being this version of myself that everyone else seemed to have written for me. There was no escaping it. Every day, another post, another comment, another stranger who thought they knew me better than I knew myself. And through it all, I kept thinking, all of this, just because I liked a boy. The halls of the school were loud, but not in the way they used to be. It wasn’t the chatter of friends or the rustle of papers anymore. It was the sound of whispers—sharp, slicing whispers that seemed to follow me no matter where I went. They were always just loud enough for me to hear, but never clear enough for me to confront. Did you hear? Yeah, she’s with him. Can you believe it? It started small. A few people staring a little too long, a few laughs shared as I walked past. I told myself it would blow over. That people would get bored, move on. But they didn’t. It was like the entire school had made me their new hobby, and the more I tried to disappear, the more visible I became. One day, I was walking to class when I felt it—the weight of eyes on me. A group of girls stood at the end of the hallway, leaning against the lockers, waiting for me. I had known most of them for years. We used to sit together at lunch, sharing secrets and complaining about homework. Now they looked at me like I was something less than human. I tried to keep my head down, but that only seemed to encourage them. “Hey, how’s your boyfriend?” one of them called out, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. I didn’t answer. I just kept walking, hoping if I pretended not to hear, they’d stop. But they didn’t. “I’m surprised you’re even showing your face here,” another one said, loud enough for the whole hallway to hear. “After what you did.” The whispers stopped. The entire hallway went silent, like everyone was waiting for my reaction. I felt my chest tighten, the familiar panic creeping in. My feet moved faster, desperate to get away, but I could still hear them. “Slut.” “Traitor.” “Pathetic.” I don’t know why that last word hit me the hardest. Maybe because that’s how I felt—pathetic. For thinking I could just like someone and not have it ruin me. For thinking I could be strong enough to handle it. My hands were shaking by the time I made it to the classroom, but even there, the silence followed me. The teacher called my name for attendance, and when I mumbled a quiet “here,” someone in the back laughed. By lunch, I had stopped trying to fight it. I found a corner in the cafeteria, far from the tables where I used to sit. Where my friends still sat, laughing and talking like nothing had changed. Like I had never been part of their lives at all. I watched them from a distance, their smiles so carefree, so distant. I wondered if they even remembered me, if they thought about what it felt like to be on the outside looking in. No one sat with me. No one even looked in my direction. When the bell rang, I didn’t move. I couldn’t. The noise of everyone rushing out around me made my head spin, made my chest feel tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. I stayed there, frozen in place, until the cafeteria was empty, until the silence was so loud it was unbearable. I felt the tears coming, but I swallowed them back. I had told myself over and over that I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not where they could see. But it was like holding back a tidal wave. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop any of it. I stumbled out of the cafeteria and into the nearest bathroom, my vision blurring as the tears spilled out. My legs gave out before I could make it to a stall, and I collapsed onto the cold tile floor, sobbing into my hands. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending that it didn’t hurt, that I was fine, that I was strong enough to handle this on my own. Because the truth was, I wasn’t. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t brave. I was broken. Broken in a way that felt irreparable, like no matter what I did, I could never put myself back together again. I thought about texting someone—anyone—just to hear a familiar voice. I opened my phone and stared at the list of names, my thumb hovering over each one. Every person I used to trust, every person who used to care. But when I looked closer, I realized none of them had reached out to me in days. Weeks, even. I had become invisible to them, too. I didn’t understand it. How could they all just leave? How could they look at me and turn away like I didn’t matter anymore? Was I that disposable to them? And then it hit me. I was alone. Completely, painfully alone. The realization broke something inside me. A sob so deep and raw escaped my throat, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop the tears, the shaking, the overwhelming sense of abandonment. It felt like drowning, like I was trapped under the weight of everything that had been taken from me. I cried for what felt like hours, curled up on the cold, unforgiving floor, until the tears dried and all that was left was the emptiness. I wiped my face with my sleeve, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My eyes were swollen, red, and I barely recognized myself. I looked like a ghost—like someone who had been hollowed out. I stayed there, in that bathroom, long after the final bell rang. Because at least in that small, quiet room, no one could hurt me. No one could judge me. No one could see me falling apart. No one could see how lost I’d become.

My fans in the crowd, I don’t think you know just how many people I’ve had to eliminate to get here. Would you still be clapping had you known?

Tonight my dress feels heavy and seems to drag me down, but at least it looks splendid for the cameras. It cost a pretty penny, but I need to look impeccable. Would you still be clapping if I didn’t?

Fame is overrated. It’s just a reminder that the world is watching and therefore judging my every move, and that I must be better than every other person to earn your love. Would you still be clapping if I wasn’t?

Why do you think that every one of the other stars in my field of work have disappeared into the night before your very eyes, all except for me? Of course I killed them. Who else would? I can still see the ghosts of blood stains on my hands. It’s messy work, but it worked like a charm. Earned your short lived attention, didn’t it? They’re gone now. Would you still be clapping if they weren’t?

You yell and applaud and whoop and whistle because you love me, all of you. I am adored by all gathered in the auditorium tonight. Would you still feel that way had you known the real me, had you known the person I am rather than who I pretend to be? I think not.

I woke up in a room that smelled of broken promises and betrayal. The bed was soft, but like the one I always had. I wasn’t in my house though. Where was I?

I slowly opened my eyes. The room was dark. I could see the stone walls and the wooden wardrobe. There was a fireplace that wasn’t lit and a desk that was covered in papers. Where was I?

I sat up and winced. The world around me blurred and pain shot through me. My head. It was injured.

Where was I? How did this happen? The last thing I remember was waking up to kill the king. I was in the castle. I’d gone to my mother. What happened after that?

Was Alaster ok? If he wasn’t, I’d never forgive myself. He meant a lot to me. He was something special, but I couldn’t love him because of this war. I needed to find him.

My vision went out of focus again as a voice popped into my head. His voice was clear as day, yet fogged up like a memory.

“I impersonated you, brother. It’s not a hard thing to do. You’ve got very little brains and a tendency to flirt with any pretty girl you see.”

I remember feeling my heart shatter. I remember feeling like I was a fool. Why? What had happened?

The voice was Alaster’s. I knew that. What had he been talking about? What happened last night?

I got up and grunted. My body was stiff and sore. I felt weak, but trudged to the wooden door. I placed my hand on it and released a breath. I could do this. Whatever this was.

I opened the door. I instantly recognized the hallways. I was in the rebel base.

It worked. The plan had been to poison the king and return here. Did it go to that plan? Did we win? Did we lose? What happened?

I took a ragged breath. I needed to focus. Get information. Find out what happened.

I made my way to the meeting hall. I could hear voices. I knee those voices. Evorana, a strategist. Lucille, a witch. Nereus, a weapons expert. And… Alaster.

My body froze up again. His name didn’t sound right in my head. It felt wrong. Why? What was going on?

I opened the door with a bit of force. They all were there, sitting around a table. They were conversing about something. All of it stopped when they saw me.

“Hope!” Lucille said as she rushed to my side. “Whst are you doing up? You need to rest.”

“No…” I mumbled. I could barely form words. “Ans…answers.”

They all looked at me confused. Lucille placed her hand on my forehead. She was using her magic on me. She was searching my brain. She was looking for my question.

She gasped. “What?” Alaster asked.

Everyone was quiet for a moment or two. “She doesn’t remember a thing about last night.”

I sighed. I nodded. I wasn’t pathetic, but I was injured. I didn’t care. What happened? Did we win? How was I injured? I needed answers.

“You need rest, Hope.” Evorana said. “Lucille, take her back to her room.”

“No!” I shouted weakly. “I’m… fine.”

I would be fine. I needed answers though. They knew me. They knew I’d be fine.

They nodded and I sat down in a chair. They weren’t going to talk without me. I would be here.

My head was so light. My entire head hurt, but I would survive. I had to survive. I would survive. I always did.

“Answers. I need… answers.” I said.

Nereus turned to Alaster. “Davian?” He was asking for permission.

Davian. The name. Davian.

Davian. Davian. Davian.

‘“Davian.” Alaster said. “In the flesh, brother.”

“Our father is dead! All thanks to you and your little servant!”

“I impersonated you, brother. It’s not that hard to. You’ve got very little brains and a tendency to flirt with any pretty girl you see.” Davian said.

My heart shattered. It was all an act. He’d been acting as his brother, acting like he liked me. He’d made me fall for him, but it was all a lie. What a fool I was.’

The world went black.

I woke up back in the room I was in before. I felt better now. The missing piece was there. I knew everything.

I tried getting up, but a strong hand was there coaxing me back down. Him. He was always there, protecting me and helping me. Even when I don’t want it.

“Alaster?” I asked. No. That wasn’t his name. Davian.

“Yes.” He said. Lies. Stop lying. Please.

“No. Davian.”

No reply.

I stared up at him. He looked like a fallen angel. His sky blue eyes looked anguished. Those eyes. God, I hated them.

“Why are you here, Davian?” I asked. I was annoyed. He should leave me alone. I hated him. He had no right to act like he cared for me when I know he didn’t.

“Someone has to take care of you, Hope. We can’t have you passing out every five minutes.” He replied, trying to smirk.

I was angry. He used me. He was a monster. A devil. He would pay for it. I wasn’t going to fall for his tricks again. I wasn’t just a toy to be played with. I was a monsterous rebel. I killed the king.

“Leave me alone.”

Davian was taken aback by my harsh words. “Hope, I’m-“

“You’re what? Sorry that all this happened? Sorry for lying to me? Sorry for using me? Which one, because I know it’s not all of them.”

“You don’t know me.” He was being defensive, but only proving my point.

“Exactly.” I said. “I don’t and I never did. What did your lies accomplish? Getting us to kill your family so you can take the throne?”

“I…” Yes.

I laughed coldly. “Of course. How could I think anything else? You’re Prince Davian. You’re cold and heartless. You don’t care about any of us.”

“Enough.” He said, sternly. “I’m the King now. It’s over. I killed my father and brother to get here. You will show me some respect!”

All his gentleness was gone, but so was mine.

“I killed your father. You killed a weak prince. You were just too coward to show your true face around them.”

“Shut up!”

“No!” I screamed.

I wasn’t thinking anymore. I grabbed a knife and stabbed him. My knife went right to his heart.

Shock filled his eyes. He didn’t realize what just happened. Blood soaked his clothes. His cry was strangled and dying.

King Davian, the cruel and evil twin, was dead. At my hands. I killed him.

~Two Weeks Later~

I was the most adored girl in the room; all eyes were on my as I waltzed elegantly across the floor. Little did they know the dark secret I was hiding. All the murder I took to get here.

I had to kill my friends. They were all holding me back. They didn’t realize who I was. I was heartless. I deserved to be queen. Now, I was.

All the pain and suffering I’d endured. All of it to achieve this one point. It was worth it. I had what I deserved. I was Queen.

More importantly, I was the girl who killed the King and King Davian. I was a Poison Mistress and a Stabber.

I was Queen.

She balancées around him, As he watches her in awe Trying to catch her eye through her feather mask She draws him in unknowingly

He does his best to keep up With her swift and silent way She blends into the music’s pulse It’s safer inside the melody

They think she’s putting on a show They say she’s such a pretty girl On the dance floor, she is crying Why must they all look at her?

The song fades out with aching chords She hurries away, out to the garden It’s like Cinderella at the ball And he is left alone again

She is too innocent for their world A foolish young spirit with a tender heart But someday she will know herself She won’t pretend to be someone she’s not

Her body was sharp and angular, crafted from triangles and lines, her posture immaculate and unfaltering. She was the perfect puppet, a combination of delicacy and wit, equipped with the nimble, pale body of a child and the plump lipped, rounded face of a woman. Shockingly white locks spiralled from her scalp like a waterfall, picking up strange tones of light from the glittering chandelier and contrasting them against her silver skin. Deep, black river stones sat in her skull instead of eyes, pale lashes making up for the lack of white pupil inside her eyeball. Her movements were dangerous and beautiful, she glided across the ballroom floor like a ghost, barely present yet still impossible to ignore.

No one questioned anything, never wondered how a girl had been gifted with such painstaking beauty. Instead they watched in childish awe and wonder ,but never touched, terrified that if they reached out to stroke her soft skin they would ruin the otherworldly piece of art twirling and leaping before their naive eyes. The girl used her beauty as a disguise, masking the sharp rows of teeth nestled neatly between her gums, the barnacles clinging to the feet beneath her silk dancing slippers sodden with sea water, the delicate webs between her fingers and elbows. No one smelt the stench of salt water and sunken ships when they danced with her, instead they smelt delicate peony and warm hazelnut. They saw her as a beautiful young girl and nothing else, something to be protected, not feared.

the secrets woven underneath her wet, salty petticoats where neatly hidden beneath the satin glimmer of her hoop skirt, silver earrings and cerulean bodice. Beaty was the greatest disguise, it stole her mind and intentions, left her an innocent empty shell to be stared and glared at, a competition, a prize to be won. The ocean called to her, begged for her to return, but the girl declined, dancing and gliding from partner to partner, planning and scheming her next kill, stealing hearts and hopes from young sailor boys as she did so. The hours drew on and the night darkened, the sea grew angrier as the girls patience slimmed and her skin longed to feel the tang of salt water once more. but a promise was a promise and a promise had to be carried out and like a predator on the hunt, the siren had chosen her victim and a life had to be lost.

All eyes are fixed on me. My graceful steps, elegant dress, and endearing smile. All the men adore me. All the woman envied me. Everybody tries having a dance, even if it’s just for a few seconds. As I glide from man to man, dancing to there hearts content, I see Rafael. I begin walking over to him until Vanessa spots me.

“Oh dear, you look absolutely stunning” she says.

I give her a transparent smile and say, “thank you, but I must go now”.

Her brows furrow and her hands clutch my arm as she begins escorting me to the top of the stairs.

“Your father sent me earlier today to tell you that you must give the final speech to close of the night. Not everybody will have the privilege again to lay eyes on the adored queen”.

“Fine, I’ll do it” I say.

I catch Rafaels eye and point to the hallway so he can meet me right after the speech.

“Attention, attention please” says Vanessa while clanking the spoon to the glass.

The whole ballroom falls silent and stare directly at me.

“Thank you for…that Vanessa” I say. “So as you all are well aware, the prophesy said that in my eighteenth birthday, my magic will slay the monsters lying outside the walls. My birthday is tomorrow, and the prophesy also says I might not make it back. If I don’t make it back, it’s been a privilege to serve everyone in Quorstia”.

Everybody young or old, girl or boy, rich or poor, begin clapping.

“To the queen, the greatest woman alive” says a voice from the crowd.

“To the queen!” The rest of the room shouts.

The chatter begins again and the music fills the room.

I rapidly and swiftly run down the stairs and go to Raphael.

“Did you do it?” I say.

“it’s all done”.

We walk over to my fathers bedroom where a knife is stuck to his chest.

“Thank you” I say while hugging him.

He wraps his arms around me as tears begin falling down my face to my red dress.

I loved my father when I was young. There’s still a part of me that still does. But no monsters besides himself exist. No prophesy exists. He was going to kill me for my magic on my eighteenth birthday. But now, he can’t.

We take a shirt out of his closet to give to Raphael instead of his white suit, which has drops of blood.

When I get back to the ballroom, I continue dancing, and being adored.

I practiced this dance a million times. I practiced my greetings and my words. Everything had to be right.

I had to act and speak just like them.

Thousands of miles separated me from my home town; a place no one on this strange continent knew existed. Nobody here knew what lay beyond the vast expanse of water surrounding this place.

The polish on the wooden boards shined as my foot took another step. It was accompanied by the soft sound of a click from my simple, beige heels.

The dress I wore, abhorrently long and large — though not lacking in beauty, with a slight purple, sparkly hue, swished against my ankles with every step. The man leading me in the dance was, no doubt, the towns golden boy.

The way he looked at me would’ve sent any, regular girl into instant cardiac arrest.

When I looked at him, however, I didn’t feel a single thing. I should have, I really should have.

He was exceedingly handsome and so so very charming, but, being constantly reminded of my past, I didn’t allow a single crack in the wall that shields me from everyone else. I can’t afford to love and lose, not again.

My heel clicked on the ground again, instantly reminding me of the one night that ruined everything.

I was wearing heals that night too.

Another dancing click.

Suddenly, deeply enthralled in the depths of memory, I was in a snow-covered wooden cottage. A handsome but different man from before stood in front of me; his jugular vein bulged from his neck as his voice rose unpleasantly high.

I walked away, the sound of my heels getting quicker and quicker as I realized he followed too closely behind. My body strode for the door, not caring about the icy harshness I’d face outside.

It was better to be cold than to stay inside with a man who acted so out of proportion.

Without a second thought, or as much as a glance in the furious man’s direction, I thrust opened the door and stepped out.

Before I could escape the man grabbed my hand. His grip deathly tight.

“Stop let me go. Let me leave. You’re hurting me.” I said, just as my gaze landed on the shotgun that regularly sat outside the door, used to fend off the wild mountain cats and wolves.

“What was that?” The voice sucked me out of my head. My feet stopped moving and I reached my hand up to my cheek to feel it wet.

“My apologies. I was just thinking about something.” I offered the towns golden boy, Damon, my sweetest, most reassuring smile. He seemed to relax just a little bit.

“So you don’t want me to ‘let you go?’” Damon’s eyes held an odd weariness, one that he’s been more frequently looking at me with.

Well. I guess I said that out loud. I inwardly groaned at myself. Stupidstupidstupid.

“It’s nothing, Damon. Don’t worry. It’s fine, really.” I leaned in closer to him, putting my face against his chest. If he couldn’t see my face, he wouldn’t be able to see the lie.

Instead of dancing, we swayed. I didn’t want my heels to click anymore. I didn’t want to remember the sound of that awful shot gun when it fired, not once, but four times.

In my old town, no one would’ve believed me when I told them what happened. I would’ve been condemned to burn without a hearing.

After all, in those lands, women were only lambs, and lambs were so frequently brought to the slaughter.

“She is so beautiful and smart, liked by everyone. Good at everything. There’s no competition.”

“Indeed. It makes it difficult sometimes to stay neutral and not get consumed by jealousy, for being so adored by everyone.”

“I think it’s her stare. She looks in deep, deep into you till you go transparent. It’s scary. She sees through your body and gets a visual of your soul. She seems to be able to tell if you are rotten inside. It’s frightening when you think she can aquire a glimpse of your rotten side. She is a like a mirror that can project your rot and faults. A side of yourself that no one wants to see, especially yourself.”

One, two, three. Hair flashed like the pale sun. One, two, three. Brilliant sapphire eyes shone. One, two, three. Cherry lips curved upwards. Shimmering crystals dance on silken foxgloves. One, two, three.

The opulence of Lehár’s Gold and Silver waltz fades out as the lights dimmed. Sweet emotion pulled from the strings of violins, bringing in the Wiener Blut. She had always been impressed by Strauss’s work, more to her taste than the delicate charms of Lehár. Well practiced steps kept the tempo, dazzling the guests that lined the ballroom edges.

Deep navy velvet curtains draped, languidly framing enormous sheets of glass. Behind the reflective panes a sky full of stars; pinpricks of the past suspended in eternity. Under foot the boards shifted, wavered and leapt with each sweeping turn. Every pair of eyes, living or painted, were trained on her lithe form. They had watched her grow, transforming from a defiant child into a forgiving adolescent. The balls she hosted under the magnificent weeping chandeliers were not of societal politeness. One, two, three. She was buying their silence for her traitorous mind.

All unaware of her deceitful plot. One, two, three. Hear the whispering rustle of expensive taffeta, chiffon, organza and lace. One, two, three. Conspiracies seep into the melodic air. One, two, three. Intricate patterns camouflaged in the men's suits catch in the warmth. One, two, three. Everything will be revealed eventually.

Stepping gracefully from the floor, she snags a flute of champagne from a passing server. Holding up the fragile glass, observing the precious bubbles that ascend from the depths; a colour all to itself. Taking a sip, she allows her gaze to wander out across the swaying mass, each body unique yet so mind-numbingly dull. Eloquently crisp words, precisely measured into a conversation deemed fit for such occasion. Mindless gossip only befall those with a loose tongue.

One, two, three. Patting wayward strands back into place, she excuses herself. One, two, three. Gloved hands sealed off the ballroom once more. One, two, three. Music fades and voices die. One, two, three. There is work to be done.

Dainty feet encased in bespoke slippers move soundless over the plush carpet. Paying no heed to the disapproving stares of ancestors long gone. Hurrying down the panoramic staircase, her milky hand brushes over the rich mahogany banister unleashing a torrent of noise. Yanking back her extremity, she sucks in a lungful of air. Hauling herself back from the strong grip that threatened to drag her away.

One, two, three. A curse? One, two, three. A gift? One, two, three. A weapon?

Fleeing through an open sash window, she lets the tender caress soothe her burning skin. Leaning against the brick exterior she wills her mind to calm. Focus on the music, the beat. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Staring up at the clear artwork of the night she wonders what might happen if anyone were to find out her dark secret. Perhaps they would mercifully have her killed. To them a cruel way to go, to her a welcome relief.

One, two, three. Her feet begin to move. One and two and three. Faster still. One, two, three, four. One and two and three. One and two. One and two. Until she is running over diamond studded emerald planes. Minute beads frolic about her ankles, bumping playfully against the heated skin. One, two. One, two. Under the shadowy archway, she melts into the memories.

Weaving through the walled garden, she pulls at the hair pins that hold her hair precariously in a swirling bun. Relieved of their duty the slim metal clips release the shimmering waterfall, letting the waves froth and tumble over her shoulders. She felt the tickling strands brush against her pale cold shoulder, a natural blanket against the rising chill. Carelessly, she allows the clawed hands of a rose catch and tear her dress; a memento of the adored girl.

In a time blinded by suspicion of the supernatural, she felt like a fraud. Weighed down by a burden that she could not share. Wistful fantasies cavort through her imagination. Wondering what it would feel like to be able to speak what ever she felt; just as the weather screamed, smiled and ignored.

For many years, she had known that she would fail life’s test young. Flashes of the future plagued her, explosions of the past shook her and shivers of the present left her fearful. She wasn’t scared anymore. Not now that the pieces of the puzzle had come together.

One, two, three. Her flight slowed. One, two, three. Ragged inhale of oxygen. One, two, three. Breath trembling on the breeze. One, two, three. She finds the hidden rope. One, two, three. Nimble fingers secure the knot. One, two, three. On frozen feet she climbs upon her favourite bench; the one painted in white with looping honeysuckle all around. One, two, three.

Ocean eyes, pools of turbulent emotion, let their gaze sorrowfully drink in the enchanted garden. Tonight the moon lay her gentle fingers on every surface, painting silver linings. Glorious flowers nod quietly, trees murmur lowly.

She had danced her last dance, a final triumphant waltz. Every rise has its fall; every fall has its rise. Perhaps someday she will come again. To waltz means to roll or revolve, she knows that and it’s where she found the strength to go on for twenty years.

Two decades of memories. Short and bittersweet. Her head slips into the hold of the noose. One step forward. One slide to the left. One step diagonally backwards. One, two, three. The perfect balancé, chased by a chassé that never lands.

One, two, three. Frantic arms try and stop the crushing suffocation. One, two… Three. Her vision starts to blur with crystal tears. One… Two… Three. Darkness walks up shyly, offering its hand and slight bow. One… Two. She curtsies in acceptance of the offer, the chance to dance once more. One. Feet pointed in a graceful curve, frozen forevermore as she hangs. A final breath and the most adored girl succumbs to haunting music of the night.

Prince Ameron may have kept perfect time with her, but Cecaylia commanded the attention of the ballroom. She glided across the floor, never missing a step. Her skirts shimmered and flowed around her ankles as the music slowly built to a climax.

Cecaylia smiled at the Prince, never taking her gaze from his. He smiled back, a mischievous glint in his too-warm brown eyes. She felt his grip at her waist tighten, bringing her body closer to his own. In response she tightened her own. By the hitch of his breath she knew he liked that.

Cecaylia loved dancing. Some would say she was so skilled it was her greatest weapon. But tonight, she could not wait for final measure of the music. She already knew how the song ended and had heard it many times before; an explosion of music with a perfect opening for a finishing lift. It was beautiful, yet she wanted to be done and rid of this place as soon as possible. Tonight—tonight was different. She had a job to do, and she would not fail.

As the music reached its height, the prince spun her around in a complicated lift no amateur could complete. During the spin, confetti began to rain down from above. This was the signal. The second her feet touched the ground she broke away from the prince, racing towards the door to the gardens. People gasped and cried out in confusion. The dance was breathtaking. They couldn’t understand why she’d just left. It was completely improper.

When Cecaylia was standing in the doorway, a match appeared in her hand. She struck it against her corset, lighting a flame and tossed it back into the room before disappearing out the door. The partygoers were too focused on the dismayed prince and his runaway lady. The flame barely grazed a piece of the confetti and the entire ballroom blasted into flames. Not even screams of bloody murder of every single person exploding into fiery bits could be heard over the sound. In a matter of seconds, at least a hundred people were dead and nothing but rubble and flames remained. The music had come to its close.