Everything felt broken. My bones, my muscles, my ligaments, every fiber that held my physical form together was twisting and snapping apart after being stretched to its limits. I couldn't stand it, I didn't want to stand it, but I had to. There was no escape from the splitting headaches that felt like Athena was tearing my head apart rather than Zeus’. I was tired, so gods damned tired nothing seemed worth it anymore. My physical body was falling apart, but it was leagues better than my emotional and mental form was. That had collapsed ages ago, slowly and steadily crumbling while I stood there trying to hold all the falling pieces together. My whole life had ended, everything I had known and loved was dead and dying, and it was taking me with it. The captain goes down with his ship, they say, I and my vessel were sinking, drowning, dragging to the bottom.

War had been raging on for what felt like years. My grandfather and some other kingdoms had finally had it with each other, and now they were tearing at each other throats with their armies. My father had tried, he had tried so dam hard, to prevent all this. He didn't want the children of his family, my cousins and my brother and I, to grow up in war as he did. But here we were, war on our doorstep. I stared blankly at the scene in front of me. The cries of suffering and agony sounded about from beneath the castle on a hill I was in, the symphony of horror floating through the open window. How much longer was I to look at this? Why must I see this? Everything felt broken. My bones, my muscles, my ligaments, every fiber that held my physical form together was twisting and snapping apart after being stretched to its limits. I couldn't stand it, I didn't want to stand it, so I collapsed. Onto the floor I fell, the plush ornate rug that was imported from Gods-know-where gave no softening to it.

I stared at my empty hands, smeared with stains of ruby red. My fine silken gown was bleeding red from the hem up the rest of my cream and blue fabric. There he was, the man who my kingdom called my mother for he had carried me and born me, laid on the carpet where his blue-blood status drained away almost as quickly as his true blood left him. I knew what lay beyond the walls of my rooms, he had come in screaming and crying, wailing that all was lost after grandfather had had his way. I couldn't see it, I didn't want to, but what if… There was no escape from the splitting headaches that felt like Athena was tearing my head apart rather than Zeus’. I was tired, so Gods damned tired, but I couldn't just sit here. Could I? My brother, my father, uncles and cousins. The people I had lived with since my birth, the ones who raised me, and sheltered me from the cruelty of the world weren't running to my side to shield me from the harsh bloody reality that was soaking into the hardwood floors and plush carpets I now sat upon.

The harsh sound of booming came through the halls, startling me back to the present. Tears were running down my cheeks as thick as streams, my throat felt choked and I could no longer breathe as I wished to.

The screams, the noises of boots thumping of armor clashing as the men from afar stormed the palace. Everything seemed deafening, the sounds of my mother's blood dripping into the steadily growing puddle, the noises of ransaking.

Everything was loud, far too loud for me to take anymore. Until a gentle knock hit my door. With it, all had stopped, my tears froze on my face my head stopped spinning. I stared at the door as it opened, not to a familiar face but to a stranger. A knight, talking to me though I could hear nothing.

I ran, I don't know why. I'm scared so scared, I just want my mother, but he's lying dead on my floor by his own hands. I wanted my father, my brother, my uncles, and my cousins, so I ran. Ran to where Mother had come from, ran to where we had all been called just moments ago. Was it moments? It must have been, but the sky was dark now. Was that because of the setting sun or the smoke from burning bodies? They were chasing me, and some men lunged at me but they were tackled to the ground. The one from my door was talking, to me or to the others I don't know. I don't care to know.

I threw open the doors to the throne room and rushed to my father’s side. Above me sat grandfather, stabbed through by my brother's sword. My cousins lay limp by my uncles' sides. My father was cold, his blood pooling on the floor warm and sticky as I fell on it. Throwing myself into his cold stiff arms I closed my eyes and sobbed silently, only opening them when I heard more people enter the room. My agony became loud and clear to anyone watching as my eyes met with my brother’s, his head lain next to my father away from his own body.

My physical body was falling apart, but it was league better than my emotional and mental form was.

My mind and my soul had collapsed what seemed like ages ago, slowly and steadily crumbling while I stood there trying to hold all the falling pieces together. I knew it had only been mere moments, but what am I supposed to think? My whole world fell apart, everything and everyone I loved now lay around me dead and dying. My sea-bearing uncle had always said ‘The captain goes down with his ship’ and now it is me, for I and my vessel were sinking, drowning, dragging to the bottom. I don't remember anything and I remember far too much. The feel of my father’s cold arms slipping from me, the stink of my family’s blood soaking the palace I knew as home. The frozen stare of my twin's eyes, golden hues so usually full of life now lifeless and sparkless as they stared at me being dragged away. I had screamed for them, begging them to help me, to save me, to wake up, but they did nothing. My father lay unmoving, my uncle's body slumped over their children’s -my beloved cousins-, my mother did not stir from his place on my bedroom floor, and my brother’s mouth did not open to speak in protest at the rough hands dragging me down the hall.

Perhaps I should have been scared, was I scared? I was, I was terrified, but not for the reasons any rational person would have been. I was the lone survivor of the royal family, on the side that lost. Emeny men were dragging me away, down hallways that I didn't recognize in my blind grief. I was a princess, young and untouched, and beautiful as I had always been told I was. I should have been terrified of it all, but I wasn't. Not of that.

For the first time in my life, I was alone. And that was petrifying.

“My lady.” it was a whisper but I couldn't care to hear it. I was weeping and wailing as my mother before me was, the knife in his hand seemed much fairer now than this.

“My lady…” The gentle hand took me, my breath faltering as I was pulled away from my father's embrace. “That's enough now, little one. It is time to leave them.”

“No… nonononononono nonononononono” I cried, the sobs and whimpers leaving my hoarse throat. I was dying inside, so leave me be with them, don't take me away.

“I am Sir Lionel, set by my king to look after the royal family of the Cephalophore Kingdom during this trying time of uneasy peace.”

“No…no please no. no!”

“I see that I was too late. I apologize.” The knight pulled me into his chest. His sharp metal armor was covered by a thick blue cloak, “I will look after you in their stead, I swear to you that no harm will come to you now.”

The next thing I remember is waking up in one of the guest's rooms. Sir Lionel standing in the doorway. My memories blurred together, for I had sworn I was dragged outside to be given up to the hungry masses, but I knew he had taken me to my room after gently pulling me away from my father.

I sat up, I wish I hadn't, I wish I had stayed asleep forever. I wish that I had joined my family at night.

“Good morning.” His voice was soft, his eyes softer against the hard lines of his face.

“It isn't.” Those were the last words I can remember speaking. I was barely a month over thirteen and I had had everything taken from me. I cared not for the power, the riches, the lands, or the titles that had been lost in the war. All I wanted was to be with them again, alive or dead. I couldn't care.

“No, I suppose it isn't.” He had watched me so carefully, he was always watching me carefully. Was it because women were fragile and he was worried I would try something like my mother had in my own bedroom? Or was it because he saw me as I was? A child who had lost everything, a child who had nothing left. A child, a grieving, dying child. “Would you like something to eat?” He talked to me as if I would break at the barest of noise, I think I might have.

I didn't answer him, I just stared out the window.

The sun had come up, the moon had set. The stars had hidden themselves away behind the morning sky. The clouds still moved in the gentle breeze, and birds were singing. Voices were heard from down below, orders, shouts for more hands. I could hear footsteps along the hallways and the sounds of mais whispering outside my door.

Why was the world still going? Had it not heard what had happened? That my mother, father, uncles and aunts, cousins, and brother were dead in the throne room? On my bedroom floor? That my mother in his grief had tried to give me mercy before he left too?

How could it go on? How could it go on as if nothing had changed? How could it go on as if nothing had changed when everything was different?

“Little princess?” Lionel tries again, “You need to eat and rest. It's a shock, I know, all that's happened. Eat and rest and we will speak afterwards.”

Again I said nothing, for there was nothing I could say. He seemed to understand this, he opened the white-painted doors of the guest room and spoke to the group of maids that awaited him outside. What felt like mere seconds later I was being gently positioned in the bed, into a better sitting position with more pillows behind me and blankets wrapped tight around my lap and shoulders. A tray was carefully placed over me. I remember it was filled with food but I have never been able to remember what was on it. I do not remember the taste or the smell of it, nor if I had been able to eat it at all. I remember that some sips of water, or wine, were slipped down my throat by careful hands at worried murmuring.

The next thing I remember was waking when the duck had set into the sky, Sir Lionel was looking over me from behind the doctor my father had always called upon when my brother or cousins and I were ill. That was the only face I recognized throughout the blur that followed, for all the faces and people around me whom I know I must have known, I could not keep any of them in mind long enough to recognize them.

Words were said, but again I did not hear them, however close to me they were spoken. The months I stayed there, in the palace I had once called home after it all had happened, were just a mindless blur filled with constant silent tears and pitying looks from all who saw me.

Except for Lionel, he had shed a tear or two in the time we were there.

He took his role as my temporary guardian very seriously, he even seemed to grieve with me. Though now I know he was grieving for me, for I had indeed died the day my family had. I had simply not died in the way they had. When they were together in the plain beyond my reach, their life taken away from them and their body separated from the soul to allow them to rest, I had died alone. My mind had died, my heart had died, my soul had died. The only still living part of me was my body, stubbornly clinging to life every next day. I remember crying and begging it to die too, so I could finally go to them.

He grieved for the loss of life I suffered. The loss of my childhood, the loss of my heart, mind, and soul. It was for that that he shed tears.

Sir Lionel was a good man from what I could remember. He was barely ever away from my side and hardly allowed anyone who wasn't a maid I had been raised by or the doctors near me, he saw how much people distressed me then. In his way, he tried to care for me, in the months that we stayed there.

He might have told me at the time, though I had not heard it, but plans were being made for me. The King of his Kingdom has been an ally of my father and had a son who was a close friend to my mother. More than close enough for the prince to call himself my uncle and demand me, and any other surviving members of my family, be brought to him for him to care for. Lionel’s king had sided with my father against my grandfather, the two of them working towards peace and prosperity between our lands. My father cared not for money, lands, or titles, he simply wanted his family to be happy and well provided for.

I would not learn until much later that this was the reason my grandfather had called us all into the throne room that day. He had found out about his adopted son’s trickery, and knew of the plan he and my uncles had devised. He knew that the castle was meant to be taken and that he would fall when it did while my family lived happily ever after in our little fairytale world. How I wish it had gone to that plan.

Instead, Grandfather had slaughtered them all. Leaving my brother to kill him in vengeance for our father and my mother to run to me. To give me mercy and then give some to himself as well. But that had not fallen out as it should have either.

“Little princess?” It has been a month now. The rooms were colder and I was wrapped in more blankets. The snow was coming soon. Sir Lionel had wanted to get me back to his kingdom, to my unknown uncle, before the winter fell.

I was too weak for it and the journey was too hard in the colder months to do so. “How are you feeling this afternoon?”

Again silence met him. He knew to expect it, knew that it likely wouldn't change anytime soon. I was dying and he did not think I would rise again until I was at my new home, with a new family.

He would have to wait until the season thawed again to take me back. The prince and the King of this other kingdom would have to wait. According to the letters he would read aloud to himself, they were far less potent than he was. Suggestions of going by sea, or the prince coming here himself to care for me were talked about often in the months leading up to the first freeze, but none of it ever occurred.

It was just Sir Lionel. And I was fine with that. I was used to him now, to his quiet mannerisms and his gentle movement. He treated me like I was glass, something I remembered I hated before this had all happened, but now I felt I was on the verge of breaking at all moments.

“Princess. The chef made something light for you this afternoon. You need to eat, to build your strength.”

I wonder if the people who were working here now were the same ones who worked here before. I couldn't remember much about the time between when it had all happened and now, but I can remember the smells of the burning.

Despite the best efforts of Sir Lionel, closing the windows and stuffing scented cloth between the gaps, the smells of burning bodies were still after through the room.

It was probably fallen soldiers, animals, and civilians. Usually, only royalty is burned, to send our souls to the gods, but there were so many dead that it had to be done. I can't remember if they had burned them all yet, or if my parents and cousins, uncles, and brother had been sent off properly.

Perhaps I should have been more conceited about it, but I could hardly bring myself to be concerned about anything.

“Princess?” Lionel had moved me into a sitting position again, tucking pillows and thick blankets and furs around me before putting the tray onto my lap. “He said it's what you and your brother used to eat in the summer.”

So he was the same at least. I remember how my brother and I would distract him while our cousins would slip into the kitchen and swipe the freshly baked tarts as if we didn't have a fresh plate of them still steaming being brought to our playroom.

“You need to eat.” Lionel knelt by my side, his voice was more stern than usual, though his gaze was gentle as a; ways. “I know it's hard, but you must eat. We’ll be leaving as soon as the thaw, and you’ll need your surgeon for the journey.”

When I didn't move to eat he did, straightening himself up on his knees before gently picking up the sandwich on the tray and holding it up to my mouth, “Just a morsel. Please. You’ve barely been eating anything.”

It usually went like this, though normally the maids were the ones coaxing me to take little bites. I hardly made it past the first few before I became ill again.

“Just a bit or two. You’ve become almost bones.” Even if he was right next to me I could hardly hear him. I know I haven't been eating, I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to live so why would I eat? I don't even know if I felt hungry anymore, I didn't feel anything. I was just tired, I just wanted to sleep. Forever if I was able to.

Still, I ate. If he gently forced me to or if I just started without knowing I don't remember even moments after I finished. Lionel was smiling triumphantly, he had gotten me to eat the whole sandwich and had managed to convince me to have a few sips of water with it. A big accomplishment for them all, I'm sure he would insist the chef make the same thing tomorrow for me, even if the old cook hates making anything more than once a month.

“Would you like to read the letter that came for you?” Lionel had handed off the tray to someone behind the door, smiling and nodding happily at their exclamations over what I had managed to eat. He was next to me again, the envelope opened to make it easier for me. “It's from Prince Cyrus, your uncle.”

My soon-to-be caretaker, soon-to-be father. No, I don't want to hear from him. I didn't want to read his letters or know that he existed. I didn't want to go with him, I wanted to stay here, I wanted to stay with my family.

“It's alright if you are ready.” his hand was careful as it brushed my hair out of my eyes. “His Majesty is a bit over-eager to have you safe with him, he doesn't fully understand your condition right now. You don't have to read or reply to them yet.”

I must have started crying again, he had that look of shock and panic he always did when I started crying out of nowhere again.

“Oh poor dear… It's alright, you needn't worry about it right now, it's alright.” he was quick to start wiping my tears away, pulling me into his arms and stroking my hair gently. “Why don't you rest for now princess? I’ll handle the letters from now on.”

He laid me back down, pulling the blankets tight around me and bringing the furs up to my chin. He was quick to draw the lighter curtains shut, darkening the room but leaving some light still in it.

“Rest now. I’ll wake you again for dinner.”

My sleep was fitful, as it had been since it all had happened. The haunting sight of my brother’s golden eyes rolling back into his head that lay away from his fallen body followed me whenever I closed my matching set.

That is what Mother used to call us two, his matching set. We weren't his children, father had had us with his first wife before the two of them had met and married. My brother and I were still barely babies then, so all we knew was he was our mother. We were identical twins, my brother and I. The same silky brown hair, the same porcelain skin, the same sloped nose, and a sharp chin.

We had some differences between us. He had a dimple on his left cheek and I on my right. He wrote with his right hand and I with my left. He was the bravest thing I had ever known, while I sat complacent in my room.

Our most identical trait was our eyes, they matched our fathers. Golden hues so bright and clear that people swore we had actual gold in them.