There is a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. A fan creaks and groans as it spins slowly, soothing the hope of morning into slumber. Inside is a young child, no older than 12. She turns page after page after page of a leather-bound book seated on her lap, sifting through the silken pages for the smallest simile, the most miniscule metaphor, the alluring allusions. The words form in her head, painting a picture of another time, another place. Another life. One where she herself could create wonderful works of literature. Where she could mould and shape these beautiful words to form any idea she wished- a life where she could create and create and never destroy. But reality is no place for dangerous hopes and dreams. No, rather, it crushes them to powder, shatters them into shards, burns them into ashes, tramples on them until they are nothing more than dust. She places the book back onto the shelf, her fingers lingering on the leather, her longing for more making her hesitate. She restrains herself, and leaves it be. She stares at the stack of books on shelf upon shelf upon shelf. She remembers turning the very pages of each book, gasping in childish awe and wonder at the fantasy worlds she could escape in. She knew every single name and author off by heart, the names slipping off her lips like a prayer. Her love. Her hope. Her inspiration. Yet there was a sense of sadness and sorrow, and she knew that no matter how great her longing, how bright her passion, how deep her yearning, she could never do what they did. She would never see her own name published, would never create sacrificial characters, would never express her own experiences through the words she loved. She simply couldn’t. And so she finally understood- what it truly meant to have both hope and despondency, both joy and sorrow, both hate and love. And yet- she holds on to this dream, like a child clinging to a mother, nursing the tender flame, waiting for the day it grows into a spark, and finally, into a consuming fire that blazes even through the darkest of days. And the loneliest of nights.

"It should have been me." The words were poison in my veins, a riptide crashing into my lungs, blades cutting into my heart. "It was a mistake." My voice- barely more than a whisper. "Turn around. Now." Harsh. Cold. Unyielding. Numbly, I turn to face her.

Helene. My dearest friend. My recent rival. She stands with her arms crossed, her mouth fixed in a scowl. Her straightened back and squared shoulders give the illusion of cold apathy. Jet black eyes bore into my skull like twin daggers. Those eyes. So familiar and yet so foreign. I meet her stare. Nothing but a glittering wall of obsidian. I search her face. Nothing but a blank slate. She had shut me out. Of course she had.

"I demand an explaination. Why." Not a question. A demand. I oblige. "It was a mistake. It was never my intention." A pause. "I'm sorry." I force the words out of my mouth. A moment's pause. "You alone knew how much it meant to me. I worked hard. Hardern than anyone. Even you." I was stunned into silence. She was never this open. Not with me.

Not with anyone.

"I was prepared to do anything for this. Even waste away my life. I practiced for hours on end, sleeping late and waking up early just to train. My body was breaking, and I would have let it." Guilt crept its way down my throat, constricting it, clawing its way into my lungs. "And then you found me in the training room, exhausted, my body on the verge of collapsing. And you saved me. Trained me yourself. Showed me that there was more to life than just this. Taught me to have fun. To enjoy myself. You taught me how to truly live. And for the first time, I understood what it meant to truly live." It sank its claws in my heart, gleefully ripping it apart, shredding it to pieces. "You said that you would do anything to help me. Anything. Including failing on purpose." There was a hole in my heart, an empty void that could never be filled. "You promised. Promised that you would do it at all costs. That I could stay, that I would stay, even if it meant you would lose. But when the test was over and the results came out..." Helene laughed, a laugh filled with bitterness. With rejection. With resentment. "When the results came out, you were still in. And I... was not."

The remnants of my heart shattered, splintering into fragments. Memories raced across my mind, to fast for my mind to follow.

Memories of when I first saw her, so weak she could barely stand, her shallow gasps and the whites of her eyes speaking for themselves. She had looked so fragile then, so easily broken.

The time when I first introduced her to books, she had stayed up late reading Pride and Prejudice. She never spoke of her love of reading. She never had to. Soon, she was taking piles of books off my shelves, and when she finished with the books I owned, she walked all the way to the nearest library 5 miles away just to borrow more. Soon, she moved on to poetry and literature, often reciting her favourite quotes off by heart. The way her eyes sparked when I bought her a book bound in leather, with her favourite author's signature. The way she perked up whenever she heard any mention of a new release.

That was nothing compared to when she discovered music. I had my headphones on when she burst into my room. She had laughed at how ridiculous I looked with them on, but quickly fell silent when I let her listen to some of my favourite songs. The next day, I caught her using my laptop to listen to some of the songs I downloaded. From then on, she had blasted different genres throughout her room, her head bobbing up and down to the beat. After that, she started humming the melodies during training, and would quietly sing them to herself when she was alone. When she lost in a match, I pretended to leave the hall, but I hid behind a wall and listened as she sang, the soft melodies countering the darkness engulfing her small frame.

Then, the numbness after the results were posted. I faintly recall my knuckles bleeding as I punched the wall over and over again. Images flashed in my head. The sudden change in her expression as the truth sank in. The anger and rage that overwhelmed me. Marcus screaming as I pinned him to the ground and punched his face again and again for laughing.

Her face filled with fury.

At me.

The same face that haunted my memories flooded my vision, and I forced myself to meet her gaze. This time, I saw the flames of fury that engulfed her being, the same passion and anger that burned so brightly it consumed her. She met my gaze, and extended a hand. "Until we meet again." A final farewell. And a promise of vengeance.

I took her hand. We shook.

"Good luck. Work hard." There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to apologize in my false hopes and failed deliveries. I wanted to embrace her once more, to breathe in her scent one last time. I wanted to explain, to tell her about my own expectations I had to uphold. But there was something lodged in my throat, preventing me from saying more. So I didn't.

The next day, the students at Ashwell Academy filed into the training hall. Or, at least, those who weren't eliminated. I looked to my right, expecting a flash of raven black hair and a confident smirk.

All that was left was the foreign face of emptiness.

3 years later

This was it. The most prestigious competition in the entire realm. The Tryce. Every year, the best from around the world come to our city just to have a chance in competing. Those who make it have to be the best of the best, the elite members of at least 10 different fighting styles, familiar with at least 20 different weapons. You had to be able to hold your own in a fight against insane numbers, and had to be able to scale 10 storeys in a maximum of 15 seconds if you wanted to apply. Every year, millions apply. Only 15 make it in to the competition.

I was the only student from our sector to enter.

I glanced around, impatient for a look at the other competitors who made it in. Slowly, they entered, stone faced and impassive. There were the strong ones, with pounds of muscle clearly visible. The wiry ones, agile and lean. Then there were those who had an average form, yet I sensed there was something deadly inside, that they were little more than a spring ready to snap. As each competitor filed into the room, I sized them up, one by one. They all posed a potential threat, but I was sure I could take them down. I counted the numbers. Only one more competitor left.

Suddenly, a flash of dark hair and jet black eyes caught my attention. The familiar scent of mint triggered flashes of bold smirks and sarcastic exchanges, sending a jolt through my spine. No. It couldn't be. She had grown taller, her height almost equivalent to mine. Her false bravado was now replaced with steely swiftness, and she carried herself with an air of confidence. All eyes were on her as she stalked past them, making her way to the allocated space. Her footsteps stopped. The silence hung in the air, making me all to aware of her presence. I looked up, only to be met with cold amusement. Our eyes met.

"Hello Cyanthe."

I smirk.

"Hello Helene."

A prince and an assassin stand on the terrace and watch the stars. Nearby, the clock tower chimes. One. Two. Three. It's three in the morning. But neither of them want to fall into a land filled with demons that haunt them and ghosts that remind them of their past. Nor do they want to hear the voices of their tumultuous thoughts reminding them of their worries and anxieties of what was to come. No. They weren’t ready for it. But no one ever is.

P.O.V of Cyanthe(the assassin)

  I stand at the balcony, staring up at the sky. The pale light of the moon casts a soft glow on the town below, painting it in colors of peace, of silence, of beauty. The wind blows, sending a cool breeze against the warmth of my skin, and I shiver slightly. I rub my arms to keep them warm, my movement causing my companion to notice. "Here. Maybe this can help." He takes of his blazer and drapes it over my shoulders, his hands softly brushing my neck before he pulls away. "Thank you." I reply, my face a mask of casual indifference. He seems to catch the double meaning in my thanks, and turns away, hiding his face from the light. 

  "It was not your fault. None of this is your fault." At my words, he freezes completely, his breaths coming out in short gasps as he struggles to control his overwhelming guilt. No one has ever blamed him, but I knew-as we all did- that he has constantly been involved in the movement, putting himself at risk as compensation for it. 

  "Ready for tomorrow?" He refuses to look at me, staring up at the sky instead. He doesn't answer, and I don't expect him to. His silence is answer enough. 

  I don't blame him. 

  I turn to go back into the comfort of my room, and just before I slide back the glass doors, I hear his soft voice. "Don't go. Let me do it instead." I freeze. "Impossible. I am the only one capable." "You and I both know that I can do it as well as you can." How did he find out? I had done my best to make sure that he wouldn't know the truth- that I volunteered in his place, to protect both him and this country. "Besides, everything has already been planned. It's impossible to change the arrangement." 

  Not wanting to continue the discussion, I head back inside. 

  A moment later, he follows me into my room.

  "Why? Why did you do it?" He knew. "What do you mean?" "Don't act innocent. I know you volunteered in my place." There it was. The truth I had so desperately tried to hide. Now that he knew, there was no point in trying to cover up. I turned to face him. In the light, his angular cheekbones and smooth jawline had given his features a sharp look. His blue eyes burned with fury, and his mouth was fixed in a firm line.

  "Who told you?" Calm. Casual. Cold. "No one. I figured it out myself. What I can't understand is-why? Why would you do it? Why would you take my place? You knew the stakes as well as anyone, even more so." "I had to do it." "Why." Not a question. A demand. "Because I had to." At that, his eyes seemed to glow, and his expression turned to one of anger and fury. "You didn't have to!" He was shouting now. "It should have been me! Not you! You did nothing wrong!" At that, he stopped, suddenly drained. "You did nothing wrong." He slumped into the chair, his energy drained. The guilt had been killing him slowly on the inside. His fault. His mistake. His failure.

  As I saw him, broken and crushed with guilt, something inside me snapped. Before I knew what I was doing, I walked over to him and crushed my mouth against his. I let the final moments of the kiss linger, and I lean in to whisper in his ear. He looks up at me in shock. I give him no warning as I smash his head with the hilt of my dagger I had hidden in my shoe. I looked at him again. It had been the only way. If I hadn't done this, he would. And then he would go in my place, only to never return. But his kingdom was depending on him. And so he cannot go. I will not allow it. I look at him a moment longer, before I turn on my heel and walk away. And never looked back.

  The Prince P.O.V

  I should have struck first. Then maybe she wouldn't have to die. She doesn't deserve to die. Not her. I put my head in my hands. My mind was still reeling in shock. Her words danced around my head as I replayed it over and over again. The kiss. That last kiss that tasted of a broken promise made eons ago- and a final farewell. Then- "It stopped." Just two words. But the two words had left him broken. 

  He had once given her a watch. She had always been fascinated with machines, loved the way their gears turned, loved the soothing rhythm of the ticks. She fell in love with that watch- she always wore it, even in training, never taking it off in case something happened to it. I had told her then. "Here. For you. May it be a reminder that we are always running on borrowed time. For time was never under our control, and the length of our days set." 

  It stopped. Time, for her, would stop at last. Her time had run out. She knew the danger, and would accept her death when it came. And it would surely come. Time was what they had all planned for. But time had run out.