“Greg?” called Odette, knocking on the half bathroom door. Taking his wife into his arms he slowly walked her out of the hotel’s lavatory. There was a broken window and glass splinters beside the doorway that caught both their eyes. 

“It’s the gale,” said the cleaning woman who sat crouched, picking up the shards of glass, “it’s heading towards Stratford.” Odette slowly touched her belly and smiled subconsciously. Every time her baby kicked, she felt a resurgent joy flowing through her veins. Placing his arm around her shoulder, Greg slowly escorted her back to their room. 

“It’s time we leave,” said Odette, kissing her belly. Greg stood staring at all those windows that were broken. For some reason, he didn’t want to leave. 

“You heard that the storm is heading towards Stratford,” he knelt down to feel his child, “should we leave? Why can’t we stay here for a few more days? After all, you need some rest.” 

It was Odette’s eighth month. Greg had promised to take her around the world to celebrate their sacred gift from heaven. Their journey would come to an end once they reach home at Stratford. But he had observed that Odette’s health was getting progressively worse with every passing day. At nights he had seen her sobbing in pain. Terror was haunting him everyday and he didn’t have the caliber to combat it. He loved Odette and he didn’t want to lose her. 

“We have survived a dozen storms. We endured the famines in India and the volcano eruption in Africa. We have seen floods, landslides, tornadoes and toxic algal blooms in this long journey. We did them all, ’cause we had faith; we did them all with God. This is nothing but a little storm. And why should I be afraid when this little man is creating storms and cyclones inside me! Have faith, darling. We have started it and I won’t stop without ending it,” Odette gently touched his chiseled face. He had the kind of phiz that stopped you in your tracks. Of course, he was handsome to every eye and heart, but deep inside he was much more beautiful. 

“Have you ever answered my questions with a yes?” he asked, to which both of them laughed. It was time to pack things up. Their train was to come in half an hour. And their journey would end there; their first long journey together as a trio. 

The Greater Anglia train arrived right in time and they waved goodbye to the beautiful city of Northumberland. 

“The Met Office has predicted that cities like Stratford, Kitchener, Hamilton and Brampton will witness heavy rains with a wind speed of 60-70 kilometres per hour. Meteorologists have warned that a similar thunderstorm-like condition that ensued in Toronto the previous day, can be expected in parts of Stratford...,” the newscaster on the television announced. Every time she spoke, Greg’s mind translated, Don’t go to Stratford! Don’t go to Stratford! He dug his fingernails in his arms and bit his lower lip. Odette knew that his mind was in a turmoil. She slowly reached his hands and held onto his fingers. She wasn’t merely holding his hands but their fingers were intertwined. 

“Have faith,” she whispered those words of comfort, though she herself was going through a hurricane inside. 

Gusty winds welcomed them when they reached Stratford. In fact, they seemed to be the only people to have taken the train. They were finally home after the two hundred and forty three day vacation. Greg tried to call for a cab to take them home, but Odette stopped him. Her bony face looked pale and her eyes had sunken deep into their sockets. Some cry out in pain, some throb in hurt, but this was the problem with Odette; she did nothing at all. Her body shriveled as though she was ready to return to the soil. 

“I-I think, we should go to the hospital first,” she said, as her soma went numb. The skies grew darker and a rolling lightning flashed through the carpet above. It was followed by an ear piercing thunder that reverberated throughout the station walls. Carrying his dying wife in his arms, he ran over the damp earth where the worms had surfaced to breathe. The rains had already started pouring and he ran as fast as his legs could take. Even after living in Stratford for twenty years, he couldn’t think of the nearest hospital. 

“Jesus!” he cried and turned his head to find a building with a red cross. He laid down his immobile wife in a stretcher and a few nurses came running towards him. They wheeled her into the casualty ward, asking him to stay back in the waiting room. 

“We have to do the surgery, else both their lives will be in great peril,” Greg heard the doctor’s words as he put his ear against the door. Running out of the hospital, he made a loud wild scream. He felt like tumbling into a dark seemingly endless chasm called agony, going down, down, down and dwindling to an atom. He felt like falling into the dark abyss for hours when suddenly the rains paused. Loud cries of a newborn baby filled the air. 

Greg found himself standing on his knees on the crumbling road of tarmac. The sky that was dark and cloudy seconds ago was now fully clear and a scorching sun appeared as if it had come all the way to dry his soggy clothes.

“Gregory Miller?” a woman from the front desk came calling his name. He ran into the doctor’s room, water dribbling from his wet clothes. 

“Dr. Diane Jones,” read the wooden name plate. The look in her eyes was more than enough for him to perceive that his treasures were in right hands. Her silver hair was in a tight bun, not a strand out of place. Kind words were all that came out from her mouth. He felt quite odd to be treated so much like a child, yet he listened to every word she spoke.

“Odette is perfectly fine and has gained consciousness. It surprises me how she made no sound at all,” said the doctor, with a gentle smile plastered on her face. 

“Can-can I meet them?” Greg asked at last. 

“Oh, yes—” the doctor began, but before she could complete, Greg rushed out of the room and went to find his wife and child. In a flash, he entered room 28 and led himself inside the doorway.

There was whiteness all over the place; white walls, white sheets, fluorescent tubes and lace drapes. Odette lay on the little bed, tucked inside a blanket. Her arms were covered in tubes and the paleness had disappeared. She glowed like a new primrose, so ethereal, so delicate, so new. 

“She has your eyes!” Odette chuckled as she slowly traced her fingers over his brows. Greg remained silent for a minute and all at once his face buckled and tears streamed down his cheeks. He kissed her fingers and whispered words of love. He knew how excruciating it must have been for her.

“The struggle was really hard, Greg,” she said, “seconds stretched into infinity; I don’t know how long the process really took. I prayed, prayed for the agony to subside. But it only grew more intense. I don’t think anything could be more brutal. Yet, I had faith. And all of a sudden, I felt like the world was put on a pause. Muted scenes flashed through my mind. And in a quick moment, like flowers opened for spring, I saw the most beautiful thing before my eyes in the whole wide world, Greg! It felt like a glimmer of light passing through a soul that had seen nothing but dark shadows. Go! Go take a look at the angel you have brought to the world!” sweet tears of joy rolled down her cheeks like an endless stream of emotions. Greg rose from his bed, making himself ready to let happiness soak through his bones. 

A silver cradle was attached to Odette’s mattress where a cute, distinct form of an angel laid pampered in the finest linen. Her nascent eyes glowed with the warmth of an everlasting hearth. Greg slid his little finger into her palm and watched her slowly curl around it. He held in his hands, the greatest gift God can bestow; a parcel, packed and delivered freshly from heaven. 

One of the little girl’s fingers got hold of his sleeve. For an instant he felt like a new sunshine was passing through his veins. But as he turned back, he found a little spark in his blouse that grew into flames. Placing the child back in the cradle, he rapidly used his hands to put out the fire. Odette was taken aback. The two slowly turned towards their baby. A new layer of ice started growing in the metal bars of the cradle where she held her hands. Greg and Odette stood awestruck at those unnatural things that happened right before their eyes. She was no ordinary child. She played with the water and wind like snakes and ladders. Odette was appalled that something bad might befall her daughter, but Greg was enjoying the little sprog’s tricks. 

“So Millers, have you decided your baby’s name?” a familiar voice came out of the blue. It was Dr. Jones. They wondered how long she had been standing there.

Long before their baby was born, Odette had talked about George and Georgia while Greg went on with Oliver and Olivia. But relishing in this moment of felicity, they didn’t give a second thought about deciding their child’s moniker. 

The young couple looked at each other. It was as if they could read their minds by simply looking into their eyes. After a long pause of complete silence, they put forth, together, the most beautiful name anyone could give their child — Faith. 

She was the rose with dewy complexion and peach kissed cheeks. Her moist green eyes were mesmerizing to the man lurking in the shadows. Furtively he followed her into the park, snatching her from behind and hurling her to the ground. Plucking her petals one by one, he disrobed the whimpering woman, exposing her creamy white skin. He pulled his stiletto and took care of his prey. When he was finished with his job, the beautiful rose was left wilted and limp on the grassy slopes.

He smiled slyly to himself, knowing that his rose would fertilize the ground along with the others and new life would form.

It is only when I wake in thee mornings of my worst days that I realise everything we tend to take for grantd. On these bad days I find myself in prayer, writing my golden list to say thanks.

I usually start off thinking I wont exceed more then three items but to my suprice the little things we neglect are often not noticed and they come in abundance.

1) The breath that comes with ease.

2) Waking up to another day.

3) Basic needs.

4) New opportunities to look forward too.

5) God never left my side even when i left he's.

6) Being given a second chance to start over with each day.

7) Money.

8) Health.

9) Renewed strength.

10) Survivng another bad day.

11) Protection and love.

I would see people hold hands and hug each other.

One day I saw a couple and I pointed to them, and told my mother "I want what they have, what is it that they have?"

My mother replied with a small smile "happiness. That is happiness"

I grasped her larger hand in my smaller one and hugged her.

"I want that, I want happiness."

The sun peeking through the windows does little to ease my discomfort. My hands shake on my lap, and my corset feels tighter than usual, making breathing harder.

“Having regrets now?” Odin’s voice is a murmur, something I hear faintly as I watch dust in the streak of sunlight make its way to the floor. Everything is eerily quiet. Even him. He’s on the other side of the room, back against the wall, eyes closed.

I sigh, wishing I could be anywhere but here. “No. I feel anxious. Like the whole country depends on me.”

“Maybe because it does.” I wait for him to continue while he rolls his shoulders, a gesture he does when he feels out of place. “You know, if you strike a deal with them, then maybe we can tackle Lanese’s invasion quicker.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I control the urge to snap. “The only deal they want is for the decrees to be gone, thing to which the council will never agree to.”

He opens his eyes groggily. “So why even call a meeting in the first place when you can’t offer them anything?”

Fuck it. “You know what? Forget it. I’ve got enough to deal with other than your pessimistic ass.” He fixes his eyes on me, green pebbles taunting. “You shouldn’t even be here. It’s supposed to be private.”

“I have to make sure you’re safe.” His hands fall to his pockets, a sly smile playing with his lips. “I’m becoming king in six days.”

“Conceited ass,” I mutter. “Heard that.”

We wait for a couple of minutes. They drag on forever, hours and hours of excruciating uncertainty. I count the seconds by drawing circles on my arm, trying to drop my habit of biting my nails. Something my mom hated and now, Greece insists it makes me look naïve. Why do I keep getting myself in these situations?

I’ve had my fair share of awkward, uncomfortable moments. However, the feeling I get in my gut and Odin’s face confirm my fears. This isn’t something I’m prepared for. Father chose not to do it for a reason, but I’ve grown tired of waiting on the line and being handled like a puppet on strings. I need to make choices of my own, and now even more so with Lanese chasing our tails.

It’s hard to explain the nausea I feel. It’s similar to the time I rescued that boy from being killed in the massacre. I knew I was stepping out of line but didn’t care. My little episode caused a domino effect, ending with my parents being gone and me becoming queen. Is this what this meeting will unfold? A consequence I don’t know I can deal with?

Odin has been behaving weird all day. He knew the meeting was coming early in the morning, but his quiet and serious attitude makes me feel there’s something more clouding his thoughts. I tried asking him about it, but he shrugged it off, insisting he was just getting ready to provide security when we were in the room with the brides’ leader.

Now I’m not so sure. I curse the part of me wishing for him to hug me close, ask me if

I’m alright and calm my fears with the assurance I’ve grown accustomed to. Unfortunately, all I get are darting, green eyes and a stiff posture from his part.

His usual uniform is substituted for a deep, rich red. So is my dress. Unity and class, Heaven said. She begged to be here, but I differed. This isn’t about Lanese, and even if it were, she and her army have enough advantage as it is.

There’s a gun on one of Odin’s hips, a knife on the other. It’s weird seeing him with weapons. I’ve grown used to the loving, sweet- though-jerk Odin. It’s hard reminding myself a couple of months ago, before our paths crossed, he was a soldier with no issues killing the opponent.

However, life in court is never easy. Who’s the opponent now?

He looks lethal, menacing, tense shoulders, working jaw, his eyes scheming before me. I don’t have to think to know he’s seeing maps in his brain. Focal points, strategic battles, numbers and days. Always planning.

“Thank you for being here,” I whisper, if only to see if there’s a spark in his eyes to get rid of some of the chills I feel. There’s none. Before he can utter a word, the door is opened, and three guards come in, holding a girl by her upper arms. It seems tacky and unnecessary. Her body is thin. A guard could do the job himself. Her face barely registers, adrenaline kicking in. I jump at the sudden noise, furrowing my eyebrows once it hits.

She’s the leader of the brides, the one who has slowly but surely kicked the pedestal off my feet. Weirdly, she isn’t what I was expecting. Not sure what I was expecting, either.

I smile at the guards as Odin steps forward. “That’s enough. Let her go. Thank you.” Her face is bowed, so I can’t see her features. As soon as the guards release their grip, her shoulders tense, her spine straightening.

The life in her eyes takes my breath away. I don’t know what I expected, coming inside the room to meet with the issue that has been holding back Alemiss since before my birth, but it clearly was not this.

She can’t be much older than me. Probably twenty-two or twenty- three. Dirty blonde hair makes its way, straight, over her shoulders. There’s a scar on her forehead, a cross. I shiver at the sight of it.

The tissue is mostly healed, but the skin is raised, her brows up in a gesture of scrutiny. She looks me over. I do my best not to squirm under her gaze. Her eyes, greener than grass, taunt me, but I’m beyond caring for how I look as I inspect this woman. Her face is long, carved perfectly. High cheekbones and beautiful lips twisted to a sneer. If the scar and the smudges of mud on her cheeks weren’t there she could pass for a royal anytime.

Her body is thin, but her arms hanging from a sleeveless white shirt show years and years of arduous work. Odin’s eyes linger on her face longer than mine. Hemust be as shocked as I am.

I clear my throat, extending my hand. “Hello, I’m Alexandra Coltrane. You are...?”

She spares a glance at Odin before focusing on me. “I know who you are.” Her smile cracks on thin lips, unsettling. “Your Highness.” Just as I’m about to ask for her name again, Odin steps forward, offering his hand. “She’s Bridgit Glasser.”

I blink at him, unsure about how to respond. I slowly lower my arm. I didn’t really expect her to take it. It makes sense for him to know the names of everyone who enters and leaves the castle. I let it go, doing my best not to take her dismissal personal even if it obviously is. She doesn’t take his hand either. After a pause, I turn around. “Here, Bridgit, take a seat.”

She doesn’t say a word as she follows us to the table, my eyes trailing her posture.

Confident yet uncomfortable. Is that how my posture must look, too?

“Thank you for being here,” I begin as I take a seat, stealing a glance at Odin, who’s just as perplexed for our visitor as I am. He lowers himself beside me, glowering. “I organized this, so we must get to the point. I’m here to listen to you, my people, and you are speaking for them today.”

She scoffs, rolling her green eyes. Her face remains oddly calm. “Your people? Your father didn’t care about us. Or his father before him. What makes you think I believe the words I know are rehearsed coming out of your queenly lips?” Her tone is disinterested, bored.

Practiced.

As much as I wish I’d rehearsed something beforehand to be ready to deal with her, I didn’t. I settle for the truth. “Yes, that’s true. My father and my grandfather were—had a different agenda in mind. But I am different. For starters, I’m a woman, just like you are.

I understand what you’re going through more than they ever could.” I am pleased with myself for keeping my composure even if my heart hammers inside my ribs. She doesn’t look impressed.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she kisses her teeth, trailing her eyes over me. “A girl. You’re a girl, not a woman.”

I lay my hands on the table, holding her scorching gaze. Her remark stings but I let it. I deserve it. “I’m aware I’m younger than you are but—”

“It’s not about age,” she says shortly. “You have never gone through the struggles women go out there. You’ve seen nothing. That makes you a girl.”

Praying above for patience to her rude behavior, I sigh, drawing back. Odin replicates my manners. “You’re right. But we do have one thing in common, though.” She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. I hesitate just a second, hoping Odin will understand my use of words. “We were and are being sold in order to keep men pleased and comfortable.”

Throwing her head back and laughing like a crow, she fixes her eyes on Odin, smirking. “Cat got your tongue?” she asks him. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this... marriage charade because you’re being forced to. I’ve seen the speeches, too. I know there’s something between you two because if it wasn’t, your brother’s wedding would be enough for you. For a while.” The easiness with which she talks to us as though she’s known us for her entire life astonishes me.

I bristle, forcing myself to hold her empty stare. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be getting married. I’m eighteen. I’m not ready for that kind of commitment, but I’m doing it for you.”

She holds up her hand, a silver bracelet glinting. “Save it. The self-sacrifice bullshit again? I’ve heard it over and over, memorized your speech so I can laugh at it on my low days.”

I tip my chin, showing her my teeth. A smile of my own. Her words betray the hint of insubordination I share with her. “So you’ve heard the speeches? You’re the leader, you must be aware of every movement I’ve made. I took away the decrees.” Little, but better than nothing, I remind myself. At least I’ve done something good, humane.

Exhaling, she pulls at her hair. “No, you took away the pretentious chores your dear aunt gave us. The decrees are still there, and thanks to you, millions of girls are dying, starving on the streets, being raped. And what are you doing about it? Playing dollhouse with me.”

I blink at her, reaching over to touch her hand. To my surprise, she doesn’t even flinch, as though she saw it coming. My skin crawls at the contact, her skin cold against mine.

“You’re the leader for a reason. May I know why?”

She chuckles sadly, eyes going to the window, far away from me. She pries her hand away with agile motions. “I wasn’t until recently when your father decided to murder the real leaders.”

At loss for words, I begin to make up an excuse. “Fath—”

Her words quiet my uneasiness. “I know. I know what you did there. You saved the kid. I won’t say I’m thankful. You saved one life out of the millions we’ve lost.” Her tone is void, no anger but no compassion either. She’s seen too much.

“What about your parents. Are they on here too?” On here, I meant the movement. Maybe if they are, I can offer her something in return. I don’t necessarily know what yet, but something will come up.

Before I get the chance to make up my mind, she smiles darkly. “Those were the old leaders. That’s why the brides chose me, I guess. Because I knew more than most.” The woman back in the council meeting Odin snuck me into burns in my memory. I shudder at her eyes. Restless, determined, bold.

Those same eyes stare through me now.

My heart sinks. She knows what’s losing both parents, too. She knows what it’s like to have their bodies displayed for everyone to see and how you can’t mourn because others will think you’re weak.

“Maybe you and I have more in common than we think,” I grind out, swallowing the rancid taste the memory of my parents leaves on my tongue. “We both lost people. Our parents, both of them, were taken too soon, at the same time. Displayed for everyone to see. I beg you to understand that, though we carry the same last name, I am not my father.”

The smug smirk splitting her gorgeous features is grotesque. “You must be desperate,” she observes. “You to degrade yourself that way.” She glowers, tracing her teeth with her tongue. “I bet your... kind carrying the same name as their predecessor must be an honor.”

Odin stares. He refuses to speak. I go on. “It’s not an honor knowing my father killed people during his rule. I am not him.You’re tying me up with him like I’m bound to make the same mistakes he did.”

“Aren’t you, though?” she counters. “You’re keeping the decrees.”

Not because I want to, I want to scream. I take a deep breath instead. “The decrees help.”

The lie leaves my lips easily, and I almost choke on the words.

“The decrees kill. Girls are being raped. Nine-year-olds, eleven- year-olds, pregnant. They die. Men use us as their sexual slaves, mistreating us. People starve in the riots, or they die at the hands of your soldiers.” She throws a pointed look at Odin. “Don’t tell me you know what’s happening if you haven’t seen it yourself.”

“I haven’t,” I admit. “Tell me more.” Odin grimaces, leaning closer to me. If he refuses to tell me, I can get the answers I yearn for from someone else.

I almost hope for her not to. I wish she hadn’t. Instead, she leans over the table, eyes on me, spilling words like a fountain, painting a vivid picture, burying it in my heart.

“Girls start being sold as young as four years old. They go to the church for four years, getting them ‘ready’ for the holy path you’ve chosen for us, and most of them are married by ten.” She bites her lip, thinking. “If a girl is caught with a boy who’s not the match, the boy is executed, and the girl is sold off for less money. Women who aren’t sold by their eighteenth birthday are sent to low-income cities. They have an auction there, once per month, of women who weren’t... attractive enough to be exploited sexually by rich men.” She glowers at me, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Is that what happened to her?

“If a girl younger than twelve falls pregnant your doctors refuse to provide attention. ‘It’s their responsibility. They’re old enough to care for themselves.’” She throws off a bunch of colorful slurs, spitting right next to Odin’s hand. He almost flinches.

My muscles clench and my heart stops. Why didn’t I know any of this? Fear and shame twist my stomach. To my dismay, she goes on.

“My younger sister, Theresa, was sold when she was fifteen. The man was a very rich noble, and as soon as the wedding happened, he raped her, allowing his other friends to do the same. She died. She was beaten to death.” At the mention of her sister, her eyes drop to the floor, the only step back she’s given since she took a seat. Odin exhales loudly, closing his eyes for a second.

I swallow my concerns, leaning in. I fight to find my voice. “And you? You’re older, are you—”

She looks at me, pink cheeks flaming. “Yes. I was sold five months ago.” I see doubt cloud her green eyes for a second before she closes them, exhaling. “I’m pregnant.”

For some reason, her eyes lay on Odin as she says the words, deep and soft, her hands shaking on the table.

I nod. “I will look after you personally. You’ll have a doctor who will—”

“The doctors are there. I have one. But millions of girls don’t. In fact, I don’t need one.” I brace myself for what’s about to come, like I have any way of knowing. “I’m getting an abortion.”

“You’re not stupid, Bridgit.” Her defeated smile takes my breath away. “An abortion is even worse than the actual birth. You could die.”

“I’ll die either way.” She shrugs. “My husband, or you, charging me with treason. Why would I bring a baby to this world? What if she’s a girl? What will I tell her when her innocence is gone at the hands of a spoiled, unloving man? How will I have the heart to sell her off?”

Odin shakes his head, sitting straighter. “An abortion isn’t a choice,” he growls.

They trade glances. I get the feeling they have their own language, even if they’ve known themselves for less than an hour.

“You’re going to tell me what to do with my body now, too? Or what? Was this a decoy to send me to jail and get me killed? Because if it is that way, my people won’t be too glad about it.”

I intercede, blocking whatever Odin was about to say. “Don’t get rid of the baby.” The words come out rushed, begging. “I promise you, if it’s a girl, I won’t allow the church to take her. Give birth to her. Or him. Please.”

She raises her eyebrows, taken aback. Clucking her tongue, she can only smile. “Is this what privilege feels like? Why not offer the same condition to the millions of women dying from abortions or rape?”

Guilt slows my resolve. “I can’t take the decrees down,” I mumble.

“Why not? You’re queen.”

I sigh, struggling to paint the picture and omitting the incriminatory words at the same time. “In a monarchy. You’d beamazed, but not everything is ruled by me.” I bow my head, closing my eyes. “If I had it my way, the decrees would be gone. I promise.”

She snorts. “Promises are worth nothing when they’re void,” she shoots back. I know that all too well. “You are a queen. A queen born. The council can’t force you; your king can’t force you, and most people need the decrees gone. What’s stopping you?”

The legacy I swore my father. Lucas. My head and Odin’s. Lanese. The council.

Too many things to count.

“I can’t change something which has been established since before I was born,” I answer

instead.

She briskly nods. “Have it your way. I came here to bring some light to the truth you’re so eager to ignore. I also came by to...” She opens her palms, trying to find the right words. “...attempt to strike a deal. Of course, now that you’re so sure the decrees can’t be dropped, it has turned more into an ultimatum, if you must.” Her eyes focus on mine. I shudder under her gaze, unspoken words and a light behind them filling them with rage.

Rage, I understand. Rage, I feel.

“You can’t—” Odin begins.

Like I’m witnessing this from another perspective, I can only nod. “What is it?” I spit.

She leans back on her seat, licking her lips. “Drop the decrees or you’ll lose someone.”

“Won’t work,” Odin chides, smirking. He stands up quickly, a soldier ready for action, hands on his hips. “We have security—”

Bridgit lets a low guttural growl. Laughter, I realize. “The security has failed you twice before. Two sieges in the same year? Killed the king and the queen? Wake up, people!”

She jumps, extending her arms. She slams a fist against the table. For a second I wait for it to splinter, crumble, just like my brain begs me to. “We own the castle, Alexandra.” She turns to me, tipping her head. She looks menacing, dangerous. I’d wager she knows as many ways to a slow death as Odin does. Could kill me just as quickly. “Drop the decrees. You thought losing your father was bad enough?”

I blink, memorizing her features. “When?”

She smiles, crossing her arms lazily. It’s like poking a bear. Odin’s feet dig into the carpet. “Curious, huh?” she teases.

“If she tells the plan fails,” echoes Odin.

He is a soldier, but diplomacy is my suit. I can read this girl easily. I know what she’d do, what I would do were the roles reversed. I might have the crown on my head, but they have the numbers, the power.

Bowing before me, she laughs. “I can tell you when and I’m sure the thing won’t go to hell. Can’t you see?” She gestures to the room around her, sounding like a maniac. Her words slide through her lips, hissing like a snake. “You’re like puppets moved by bigger, imposing puppeteers. It’ll happen on your wedding day.”

She raises herself to her full height once again, puffing her chest. Odin calls the guards.

They don’t come. “Sleep on it, Your Highness. The clock is ticking.”

Just like she swore she did, she opens the doors by herself, skulking out proudly. No guards on the hallways. She leaves on her own feet, a demonstration of the power they

hold.

The power undermining mine.

__________

hiii! i dont know what bridgit came off as to you, but i love the idea of her in my mind lol. let me know what you think!

thank you for reading!

-goldenmel

Note: I wrote this a little while ago. It still needs some editing and fixing up. Also, I know the beginning doesn't make sense and seems kind of childish but I promise it gets better. xD

There once was a girl. She found a tunnel. A variety of factors led her there, but soon she forgot. When she arrived at the entrance, she saw a sign. It was held in place next to the tunnel by many tiny nails. It said, “I can solve all your problems and teach you control. I can make you beautiful and strong,”. Underneath that, some faded, wobbly looking words were partially scribbled out with red pen. She squinted to read them, “Do not forget what you are giving up.” How dramatic, the girl thought. I can always turn around. So she took the first step in. It smelled like lemon water.

A voice greeted her, “Hi! I’m Ana!”

Who? Where are you?

“I’m at the end of the tunnel. I’m here to help you. When you make it to me, I will reward you and make you happy,”.

The girl was startled, “Um, sure. Okay.”

I’ll only go a little ways she thought, just to see what happens.

“No you won’t,” the voice said.

“Ah! How can you hear me think?” The girl jumped.

Ana just laughed, “Soon you will understand,”.

Curious, the girl began to walk, and as she did they talked. Ana told her that to be happy, she must be pretty. So the girl listened to Ana. Skeptical, she ate a little less and walked a little farther into the tunnel.

“Mediocre,” said Ana.

The girl just laughed, “You’re weird,”.

Every night for months the girl left the tunnel and ran home to a big dinner with all her family.

Then the next day Ana would scold her,

“How could you leave me? I do so much for you!”

The girl would apologize, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but you haven’t made me happy!”

The girl became miserable and sick, but Ana kept making promises.

She clicked her tongue in disgust, “You are unhappy because you are fat, but don’t worry, I can help you. When you are thin, everything will be better.”

So Ana explained what to do. The girl began to skip meals entirely.

“Do you feel that? That is what empty feels like. That is what pride feels like.”

The girl nodded, and went to run home. That night the tunnel felt longer than normal. When she returned the next morning, Ana wasn’t pleased.

“You had a big dinner last night. Pig. Don’t you want to have joy? It’s time to teach you guilt.”

The girl came sprinting back early the next day. She was crying, “Ana you were right! Who am I? I should do better!”

Ana nodded, "Remember, hunger is strength. Every chest pain, stomach ache, weak muscle, every symptom of starvation means you are doing something right. If you are full, then you don't get to rest until those worthless calories are gone. Understand? You understand."

Weeks passed and the girl began to notice things. When she listened to Ana she felt good, and when she didn’t she felt terrible. Pleasing Ana consumed her thoughts. She was addicted. The girl was confused though. People outside the tunnel had begun to look at her strangely. They did not approve, and Ana said that she had to hide her transformation from them. So, the tunnel reeked of lying. The girl didn’t pay attention to it though, she knew that others just didn’t understand. Ana understood. Ana reassured her what was right and wrong. Next time when the girl returned, she was excited.

“Ana, I didn’t eat all day and it felt like I was floating.” The girl kept walking, “Ana?”.

“Running burns more calories.”

But I’m tired, thought the girl.

“You will never be enough until you reach the end. You are a horrible person, you deserve the pain!” Ana cried.

Her voice lowered to a whisper, “When you are a skeleton, you will be perfect like me.”

So the girl ran, and as she ran, the walls thinned. She was confused until she caught sight of herself in the tunnels shining walls. Her skin was gray. Her eyes had dark under them, like slashes of paint. Her arms were bruised. Her stomach sunk in like the tide had gone down, and her hip bones rose as mountains of marble. Her ribs poked out of her flesh like fingers she could count. She had thinned too.

“Ana, am I skinny now? Skinny is pretty right?” she slowed to a walk.

“No, you should exercise more. You are still not committed enough. You are still not sick enough. don't you want to be special?”

That day the girl did not turn around to run back home. I mean, I could if I wanted to, she thought. The girl stumbled forward for hours, for days. All she thought about was getting to the end. So as skipped meals and guilt piled up behind her, she crawled on. Sometimes she tried to stand, but it made her vision spot.

“Are those birds, Ana?”

“No, that is your weakness. Clear your eyes.”

But the girl found herself laying down. The ground was cold, and smooth as ice. The pressure hurt against the bones of her spine. The air smelled like her breath. Her breath smelled of something decomposing. The girl tried to look behind her, but the tunnel was so long, and she was too weak. She knew if she laid too long she might not rize again. So, propelled by guilt, she pushed herself up onto her knees, feeling something fuzzy beneath her hands. Is that my hair? She didn’t care. I’m fine, she thought. I’m almost at the end, then I can stop. She hovered there for a while. Time had no meaning in the tunnel. Frozen still, she registered a noise. It was so soft she had to strain to hear it. Thump. A pause. Thump. She waited. Thump. Pause. Thump. The pauses kept growing longer.

“Ana?”

“Come on, you’re almost at the end my dear. Soon your pain will go away.”

The girl, not able to do anything else, obeyed. Every few minutes, she crawled one bit farther. Then another few inches. Ana encouraged her, but her voice kept growing quieter. The girl was confused. Aren’t I getting closer?

“Ana, I need you,” she said.

Then the world went grey. When the girl’s eyes opened again, there was silence. No thumping, no Ana. She felt light, and strong. Standing up, she saw the end! She took her time walking, confused with what was there. It was silver and shiny and scratched. A mirror.

“Ana, where are you?” The girl was relieved it would soon be over. I’m here, don’t you see? In your head.

“What?” she cried, “Then where am I?”

Look. So the girl approached the mirror.

“Ana, I don’t see me...I only see you!”

Quiet, the free bird. She has no reason to yell, to rage, to cry her story, her voice silenced by the vastness of the wind.

Serene she hovers, no song escapes her lips, the joy of the boundless confines of her own mind the only cage she has now, to beautiful to utter a sound against, one that could only shriek by comparison.

Hushed, her soul turns to dance and fly, to be free in the expanse of destinies unforseen.

Mute with incoherent thoughts, all scrambling for purchase yet none finding hold on the once sharp tongue now dulled by overwhelming emotion.

Reticent to disturb the peace flowing in her breast, she utters not one sound, not one drop of a pin to puncture her new world.

Silent, the free bird who dare not by words return to a cage.

A long time ago a queen of a small little kingdom gave birth to a fucked up firstborn named Cinder - or Cin, for short. The queen felt so proud of her little one she whisked her away from her father - who didn’t apparently care or notice - and placed her upon a pedestal encased in glass to prevent the outside world from ever possibly damaging her mint condition. Cinder stayed trapped inside four walls, able to see the grander world beyond yet never able to touch it.

Then one day a lowly little goblin thief happened by and greedily spied the shiny box. He always loved a challenge, and after some quick thinking he managed to knock said box from its pedestal and onto the ground. When it shattered into a thousand pieces he gently reached in and pulled Cinder up. “Hey - what were you doing trapped inside a box?”

She blinked. “I was trapped inside a box? I didn’t see one. Did no one hear me screaming?”

The little goblin thief - also a fucked up firstborn, except sadly his father had stayed - shook his head. There had been too much screaming for both of them growing up, so he whisked his little collectible away to his den where they built a Fortress of Friendship. For many happy years they reclaimed their childhoods playing games, rolling dice, singing songs, and living happily without ever needing to shout (except maybe over differences in strategy).

One day a letter came from Cinder’s stepbrother - a wayward bard with an eye for the ladies. Cinder loved her stepbrother, and he had apparently caught the eye of a princess in the neighboring kingdom. They had given birth to a beautiful little girl who was the gem of the court, always dressed up and smiling. Cinder had thought they were doing well.

Her stepbrother’s letter, however, was not well.

The royal family had forced her stepbrother to work for them in their palace, cooking meals, cleaning, doing home repairs, all while constantly trying to work and support his child. He spent several sleepless nights working late unto the dawn in taverns for tips, coming home nearly passed out to try and spend moments with his precious little one. Yet the royal family snubbed him, for he was but a lowly bard and his eye would still travel to the ladies every now and then. They complained he had not brought a true prince’s fortunes with him, and made him feel a failure for having to stay inside the royal castle with the princess. Whenever he tried to complain he could not keep up or afford his own castle, the princess would scream at him about how she had kept up ruling a kingdom and raising a child - obviously he should have been able to live up to her expectations as well as her standards.

At the end of the letter her stepbrother also admitted that he had never actually wanted a child; the princess had decided for them. He had only wanted to be a good father to his little one - not like Cinder’s father - so he stayed for many years to try and work things out.

Cinder showed his letter to her goblin thief and they grew very, very angry. People did not like them when they were angry. Firstborns have a tendency to demand their way.

They rode to the princess’ tower together, and before Cinder could explode (as Cinder admittedly had a tendency to do) the goblin thief piped up, “Excuse me, princess, but I would like to make a bargain.”

The princess eyed the goblin thief suspiciously (as she should - goblin thieves are very devious) before asking, “And what bargain would you like to make?”

“In exchange for your firstborn, I will take that lowly husband off your hands and find you a better one.”

She sniffed. She had worked hard to catch her husband, and she rather liked how he took care of things around the house. “Why would I give you my own child?”

“Well, you used her to catch a man once already - why not hold out for what you really want?” The goblin’s grin grew twisted. “You don’t want some sloppy, middle-child bard do you? I mean, he’s cute and funny but I bet what you really want are one of those strapping firstborn knights that go around rescuing poor princesses like you from lonely lives of luxury.”

Considering, the princess asked, “How would you guarantee me my own knight in exchange?”

“Simple,” the goblin offered, “No knight wants a woman with a child, children are an inconvience and they like to make their own.” He opened his hands wide. “Therefore if you give us your child you needn’t worry about that anymore. And your silly bard of a husband will likely leave you to follow her, easy as pie.”

His plan made logical sense - as goblin plans often do - and the princess thought for a few more moments before clearing her throat, “Very well. But I am a good mother, and I will demand visitation rights to my child.”

“Absolutely! As you should, all good mothers put their children first.” Cinder’s fists twitched but the goblin thief held her back. “Now - we’ll just collect your darling parcel and your foppish man and spread the word that a poor princess appears to have been trapped inside a lonely tower here.”

Nodding in excitement, the princess began brushing her hair in preparation. “Excellent! I shall wait for him here, then. All knights know it’s polite to make the first move.”

The goblin thief’s eyes glowed. “Oh yes. So polite.” He motioned for Cinder to fetch her stepbrother and niece. “It’s been lovely doing business with you, princess!”

“Likewise, little green one. I had thought your kind quite stupid but you can actually make sense.”

Cinder nearly exploded but her stepbrother and niece quickly distracted her into the carriage. The party rode back to the Fortress of Friendship, where they continued to play, sing, laugh, and support each other as true families do. And there was never any shouting - except over differences in strategy.

The lights of fire trucks and ambulances

flashed by in that old city street. He didn't have curtains,

but the classy windows were half-covered by some white sheets.

She wasn't used to city noises as a small-town girl, so she couldn't sleep.

She turned around to look at him,

the light of the moon hit his face softly,

surrounding his cheekbones,

and then she realised: "I'm already in this too deep".

The surrounding noise finally faded away

as she fell asleep.

Derrick opened the door to his apartment and stood at the threshold. This was usually when his toddler would come teetering over to him, arms stretched wide with a green binky clasped in her four little teeth. His son would be running around, since he was one of three kids in his class being tested for ADHD, probably with the toy car he'd gotten for Christmas clasped tightly in his hands. Dr. Phil would be wrapping up his session with his guests just in time for Judge Judy to take over. The cat in the window would be stretching, debating whether or not to investigate him. His girlfriend would be in the kitchen, yelling at one of her friends in Cantonese as she tore open cupboards trying to figure out what they were going to eat.

Now, there was nothing except the cat, who barely came around anymore. Derrick dropped his coat on the floor and went past the living room where bullet holes still riddled the furniture. He passed the dark bloodstain on the floor where he'd found his daughter and the microwave with the glass in the door shattered. He pulled a bottle out of the refrigerator, the only thing he still kept in there, and sat on the couch and looked at the Swiss cheese holes in the TV and pondered again why he didn't get enough money to move them out of this hell hole sooner.