(Warning: “deep” themes possible)

The crown lay heavy on my head, more like a curse than a sign of power.

The heavy velvet clothing draped round me was always suffocating, weighing me down like chains, or quite literally so. It’s as if they grabbed seven curtains and decided to wrap it round me nineteen times, and call it iconic fashion.

I’m a royal.

I should be grateful.

But nobody in this kingdom would like to have my place.

Not even the royal guards or maids.

Why?

Because I’m destined to die within 3 days.

.

.

.

There came a point, through this bizarre tribulation, when I really didn’t know what to do.

My timer countdown had been set, and every second passing by represented a significant portion of my life remaining.

I’m a scrape goat.

Someone had to die, of royal blood.

Yes, like those classic fantasy books. Someone royal had to be sacrificed, one way or another.

I was young. Insignificant.

16 years old.

The ideal age:

Too young to have made powerful connections in society, like the elderly king and queen,

But too old to be classified as “pure”, like the radiant toddlers and babies of the castle, who, understandably hadn’t done anything yet to damage their name.

I hadn’t lived life either.

I hadn’t even reached adulthood.

I’m still a child, right?

Why do they follow this cursed tradition?

I don’t necessarily have to die.

Nobody has to die.

It’s just a cruel demonstration of the kingdom royalty’s power and ruthlessness.

To prove to the civilians and subjects that they do not show mercy or compassion, and that any disobedience will not be forgiven.

So, they kill one of their own, and put them up for show.

This decade, that’s me.

What do I do, in 3 days?

What can I do?

Honestly, I considered running away.

I was ready, packed my key possessions, and was about to escape though the window into the freezing night air.

But a voice in my head stopped me.

They shook me to reality.

The truth that lingered in my mind.

I couldn’t ignore it.

I couldn’t.

“If you go now,” the voice whispered. “You know who will be taken instead…”

It was true.

If I left everything behind, the tradition would continue, and they’d take another youthful royal’s life.

Something about that ripped me apart.

Ripped my heart in two.

I was no altruistic hero.

But I did have basic morals, and this somehow reminded me of that attribute.

Being a coward and leaving this behind would make me a killer.

But I also did not want to die.

So what did I do?

.

.

.

2 days remaining.

My time was running out.

At this point, I realised that I wouldn’t run away.

And I began to formulate a better idea.

I needed to end the tradition.

But, how?

… no, no, I was not going to kill the creators of the ritual. I was not going to harm anyone.

But I needed to do something. To create a lasting impact.

In a state of frenzy, I visited a childhood acquaintance.

The local wizard.

-

(THE END,

I don’t know what I’m writing at this point, I keep changing tenses too, sorry for the bad writing this time 😔)