Blood coats the cobblestone in a sickening pool of sticky life, pouring out of a body.
A child’s body.
I feel frozen—locked in place. My ears ring with every sorrow-drenched, yet rageful, wail that escapes the dead girl’s mother’s lips.

The street blurs in my vision—trees become blobs of green and the blood is merely reduced to a blurry sea of red. Long burgundy hair billows into my face from the breeze that sweeps through the hovel as time slows to a painful crawl.

An imperial steps forward—red uniform clinging to every sharp curve of the ruthless body beneath—as he bellows at the people crowding the dead body.
It’s an eerie sort of resemblance to a street performance, and perhaps for this imperial, this is merely that.
A performance.
A show of his power over the residents of the Hovel.

We are merely inconveniences.
We are people to steal hard-earned money from and store away in the royal treasury.

I tear my eyes away from the stab wound decorating the little girl’s chest, brown hair fanned out in a grieving mother’s lap and hazel eyes glazed over, stuck in a look of terror forever.
The streets have begun to empty.
The body will be picked up—buried away somewhere.
No one will raise a hand, a voice.
We only raise the white flag.
We only surrender and watch the royal family’s imperials ride into the Hovel every harvest season to steal every bit of hard-earned money, crop, or sliver of gold resting beneath aged jewelry boxes.

The people of Orovia know better than to act clever in front of the royal family’s demands. Those who obey get robbed and left to live, and those who don’t… My eyes slide back towards the dead body mere inches away.

I would sob at the fact that my heart doesn’t thump inherently fast at the sight of so much life leeched out and staining the soiled cobblestone. At the fact that tears don’t prick my eyes like flirtatious needles—inviting me to grieve another person.

What I feel is a strange, numbing sort of rage.
An all-consuming haze.
A white, hot sensation that lashes against my spine and burns away at the edges of a scarred heart—hoping to reach the center
 I’m not quite sure there is a center anymore.

A heart is supposed to be stuffed full of love, hope, and devotion to something or someone—but what of those who lost everything and everyone?
Our hearts are a mere mockery of the deep red symbols of love and care. Our hearts are blackened from the corruption—leeched of life, of purpose, of joy. My feet slowly carry me back to my home—a little hut of sorts.

Scrawny, unstable walls with crumbling bricks replace the color of sickly blood.
A worn rug at the door soothes my feet from the ache of standing motionless on the cobblestone.
And a warmth emanating from the almost-dying embers wraps around me—allowing sensation back into my frozen fingers and my lips that are perhaps pulled in a permanent frown.

……………………

It’s been quite some time.
Quite some time since I slid against the groaning door of my hut— the wodden slab threatening to fall from its hinges to crush me beneath it.
Perhaps I’d like that.
Yes, I’d like that very much.

My eyes stray around the mess I call home—snagging on the newspaper I stole from the drunk man who lives across the street.

A smile tugs slightly at the corners of my lips at the sight of the fine sprinkle of dew on the paper as I pull it towards me.

I ache to relieve myself of the sadness slowly beginning to pour into the mangled organ that beats stubbornly beneath my chest.
I ache to relieve myself of the violence and the unfairness. The ink printed finely across the paper drags my eyes—a not-so-pleasant distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.

Robbery.
Murder.
A half-naked woman.
A dance show.
Another half-naked woman.
A theatre play on the northern side.
The princess’ new jewelry being worth far too many gold coins.
Another half-naked woman, yet again.
And—

I almost put the newspaper away at the sight of so many crude pictures of women captured and printed onto each page because mostly, in Orovia, it is the men who read the paper, when my eyes snag on another news:

The royal family opens a chance for new recruits within the army! And, on behalf of the king’s decree, even women are allowed to join! Be prepared to join if you wish to serve your kingdom and bring honour upon yourself!

Perhaps the men do look at something other than seductive women.

Before a dangerous thought even begins to swirl behind the confines of my boarded-up mind, a bellow rings out on the street and the familar yet unwelcome feeling of terror pools in my heart —

Author’s note:

Hello baddies! 😀
It is so great to see all you lovely people here to support this new journey I am taking on! I know it’s a little confusing right now, and I am so incredibly sorry for that, BUT—I promise within the next 3–4 chapters, I will provide more clarity!
For now, make sure to show me you’re as excited for this as I am with those cutsie votes and comments I would love to read!! <333333333