I've edited it again. I found out that publishing company doesn't take short stories so I'm gonna find another one, a big one this time. For that, though, I need an even better draft.
Thanks especially to Oranj to his review of this story- it made my day in so many ways- in fact probably my month. Thanks also to fourinone- I'm glad you looked at it in such a light as it shows you were paying attention and that's what this story is supposed to do- make you think. I'm not trying to convince people she's right or be really typical. In fact, I'm not really sure what I'm trying to do. This is one of those stories where the character pops up in my head and she writes the story for me, and I just type with her spirit nearly egging me on in thoughts. I'm possessed!
But yeah, that's really how I get these ideas. 
All feedback is appreciated, as well as proofreading. Thanks!
MoD
Where am I, who am I and how did I get here? Right now, it’s all up in the air. I’ve found a piece of limbo- Even as I have everything and even as I am someone, it all may as well be gone and washed away into an endless, formless white, like a fire consuming everything I know.
And it’s by that concept, by that vision, that I will die tonight.
I start that journey by driving alongside the river. The sky is a starless, cloudless, colorless canvas, and I’m just here in my Lexus under the cover of a grey night. What a nice, shiny Lexus he got me for our anniversary- shame that it's really been his possession all along. The same can be said of me- how sad that I’m on the level of a luxury car. But ask anyone else and I'm the princess- to him, I’m the trophy. I remember the days when I was the most beautiful thing in the world. Back when I was the reason that he went through hell or high water with no complaints. I don't know where the hell that sentimental, romantic man went but I wish he'd come back. He isn't going to, though. He was killed a long time ago, by the new persona -perhaps the lurking persona- that took over him the day he became my prince.
It takes me about six hours and a few hundred miles away from the kingdom’s capital city to feel like I am far enough away to park. What a shift of pace- I lived in that quaint little place in that adorable little castle that put on an acceptable mask of old-time charm but really wasn’t much different than the rest of our current-age kingdom. I can even now, in the faint distance, see the busier cities of our nation, cities that are not afraid to embrace the 21st century my capital seems to hide from. It’s a far cry from where I was, and thank the royals upstairs for that.
Along this lonely countryside road with no pavement a mile away from that bustling city of light is an empty patch of thin grass. I decide to park into that field rather than let my car stay in the narrow dirt road. With a level of reckless abandon, I speed into the field, hoping that I screwed up the bumper a little bit; after all, it doesn’t matter what shape the car is in. I smash the brakes to a sudden stop, and the car throws me over the steering wheel. I move my chin off the dash, shake off the flash of vertigo, and exit the car.
I step into the dull, yellow patch of grass and pull out four suitcases from the backseat and trunk of the car, making careful sure to slam the doors as hard as I could. It relieved a touch of my boiling anger. Fine by me- I need to think straight instead of being clouded by rage.
Each suitcase is frilly, pink, and therefore disgusting, save for the last in line, which is plain black. I line them in a row with an evil sneer. I find sick amusement in the idea of them and their contents being oblivious to what I'm about to do to them.
Usually whenever people realize they're about fed up with life, they go and have a big cry and reconcile and inform the world of their misery as a warning sign. Trust me, I've tried the first part and not a damn thing happened. I’m simply not going to wallow in self-pity and shame any longer.
The second objective, however, I am going to use to my advantage. I'm going to take action. My action isn't exactly what one would deem correct, but I know the people who like to deem things correct or not, and they're the ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ I want to get away from.
People would think that I'm a selfish, whiny ♥♥♥♥♥ for thinking my life is so hard- after all, I'm a princess. I have the kingdom, the perfect man, and all the riches and spoils to last me forever. I will be going down in history. But that's what they see, and that's all they see. I see, hear, think, feel, and breathe differently when they don't see me.
And trust me, the sights are dull, the sounds are passive, the thoughts are empty, the feelings are cold, and the breath is purposeless. And trust me; no young girl alive should ever want to be me. I can barely stand being me anymore.
I open the first pink suitcase and I pull out a handful of objects. They're all small, colorful and incredibly expensive. I pick the first jewel out of the pile. It's a bold ruby, my second least favorite color right now after pink. It's about the size of a small coin, but worth a fortune.
I walk over to the river. It's not so much of a river as it is larger than a creek, but it'll do, because it's rushing away from here. I turn towards the ruby just to sneer at it and then toss it into the river like a skipping stone that hopefully a homeless man will find and cash in with glee. After all, if he doesn’t suffer a heart attack when seeing all of the spoils, he deserves them.
And if the spoils don’t change who he is, all the better for all involved.
I remember when I first got that ruby. Back at the moment that was just perfect at the time but turned out to be the start of all my nightmares. It was atop a ring, an engagement ring that my hero, my knight in shining armor, my love gave me. He was the sentimental, idealistic, loving, wise, caring Knight David, and I admit to being hopelessly in love with that man when he was around.
The moment was just beautiful. I remember he had taken me in a carriage with the windows blocked off. I kept asking him where we were heading, and he kept shaking his head. He was blushing a bit, too, but I didn't think much of it. He was often as red as the overcoat he wore, because at that time he took the greatest honor in my presence.
I wish I had a love like the one my love used to be.
Finally, after an hour of bugging and playful banter, the driver of the carriage opened my door and David led me out. I was a mess of giggles and nerves, because I didn't know what to expect- David had put his hand over my eyes while leading me up onto a platform. It was there he opened my eyes.
I stood in shock as I viewed the ruins of one of the late Lafirian king’s castles. The first, actually. Black disorganized slabs of stone mixed with the bright field once unfairly belonging to a tireless, hateful nation that treated war like their favorite pastime. Disheveled memories of the wicked enemy ruler holding me in for the sake of my kingdom tried to stand on their feet, but they were fuzzy due to my control on them. He always was a horrid ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥; he even looked evil. Even if his body belonged to a saint you would still get chills looking into his empty eyes that held no soul. And he was arrogant and proud of himself; like one of those villains you laugh about in tall tales and kid’s books because they can’t possibly be that flamboyantly evil. Well apparently they can.
I did ask nervously “Why are we here, David?”
“It was where I first met you,” he stated with a fond smile.
“...it's the dungeon where I was held captive.” I stated, a bit of pain laced on my voice, all the time thinking that he better have a good reason to be carting me over here.
He sensed my discomfort and rectified the situation by holding my hand. “It was, Ella, was. Now look at it. With it gone, with him gone, we've helped the land regain peace.”
“That's true,” I admired the idealism in his ideas even if this place still gave me severe chills, “but really, you've been what helped the land regain peace.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself. A true knight doesn’t fight out of hate for the dragon, but… out of love for the princess. My love, you’re what keeps me going,” he insisted while looking at me shyly. That really got me good, and I embraced him tightly, pulling him in for a brief, passionate kiss. He knew exactly what to say and I knew that he meant it.
After a short time I let him go and watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a small box. Recognition of its purpose rang through me and shocked my body like a church bell.
Before I could speak, he had opened it, and I saw the ring I have now come to resent. I swore at that moment that I would never see any object more beautiful than that ring, and now I cannot think of any object uglier.
This wasn’t then, though. At that time, though, as soon as I saw that ring, I spoke before him, shouting “Yes!”
He chuckled. “You didn't even let me speak!” he shouted boldly in jest, a grin across his face.
“You don't need to say anything,” I insisted. “Oh my god, David...” and that was it. I pulled him in for another kiss, and this one lasted longer than the last one. Much, much longer, and it was like a dream. It felt like the happily ever after all the princesses were supposedly destined to get. I always thought the idea was just a myth and a dream, but it was real, if only for a moment.
I’ll always remember that moment, on the stone of slab where we defeated the dragon king and first met, amid the ruins and the flowers. That moment was one of the most perfect moments of my life, a moment that erased what was once the most horrible moment of my life. And it kills me to know that it was for naught, that it haunts me now, that the magical feeling within my heart that shocked through my body I’ll always remember as a bittersweet memory. The dirty vengeance I assumed I was going to get is actually a bitter, resounding pain within my chest when I realize that the beautifully ugly ring I wore so eagerly is now so disgusting I threw it down the river.
I loved that man more than anything. I still do.
But he's dead now. The new Prince David is what lives now. He's why I'm leaving. Therefore it is true that you can love and hate a man at the same time. I want to keep something, to remember the dead man by, but I can't bring myself to.
Now, all the suitcase contains are some of the jewels that I was given or had obtained as part of my kingdom's wealth back when I actually owned my own damn kingdom. Now it's David that runs everything, and any efforts to regain control are about as successful as trying to bend metal with just my bare hands.
It’s... bloody nauseating, the absolute greed that seems to be colored within them. I start madly throwing the gems out of my hand like skipping stones that don’t really skip, one after another, until they're all gone, except one.
In the broach of my putrid dress is a light teal jewel, which I yank out with anger. I examine the jewel, seeing my own dolled-up reflection in it, and I spit on its surface. I get ready to throw the object when it hits me.
This jewel has nothing to do with anything that happened. I had this jewel before David ever was around. My mother gave it to me.
I need to give myself an ounce of caution. My mother had nothing to do with this. Because she's dead. Not like David, whose soul died in place of his present one. She's dead dead. She doesn't have a zombie's heart where her golden one was. And I prefer that, really. I want the memories of her combing my hair and actively participating in classic teenager mother-to-daughter talk with me to be without taint. As beautiful and free as she was. She always told me that I could screw the royal traditions and all that nonsense if it didn’t fit me, and that a powerful kingdom is rarely run by a miserable, powerless ruler. As long as I did my best for the kingdom, nothing else mattered.
Her exact words, too. I wish I had truly understood what she meant before she passed.
For just a few moments, I allow myself to cry. I hold the jewel, my mother’s memory, so close to my chest and utter a short apology to her, although I’m hardly sure whether or not it was for her jewel that I’m apologizing for. Soon enough, though, I pull myself together and hesitantly place the jewel in the black suitcase's front zipper pocket. This impractical dress hasn't any pockets so that's all I can do.
With a sigh, I run a hand through my elegant blonde locks and go back into my suitcase.
The rest is all uneventful jewelry- necklaces, bracelets, shiny silver and gold things that honestly didn't mean a whole lot to me before this but were simply a token of how much of a materialist I was. After a quick run-through to make sure there are no largely offending objects I need to send a special kiss-off to, I throw the whole damn suitcase in the river and hope the lucky ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ who finds it does something good with the money.
That reminds me...
I reach into my purse that I had set next to me. It's- guess what- pink. I get my wallet out and count the ungodly sum in it, a sum more than anyone would make in a year that was just some pocket change for me. I want to throw it in the river but that would be such a selfish waste.
Hmm... did I?
I dug in the black suitcase for a brief second until I found one. Ah, yes! A Ziploc bag! Perfect! My worry dissipates, because unlike it may seem, this is not a highly coordinated event. I throw the money inside and then, before I rid myself of it, I tear a piece of paper out of a notepad in my purse, find a pen, and write a short note on it.
Whoever finds this- please put this money to the best use that you can. If you don’t need it, give it to someone or something that does. I’m counting on you.
After I find my note to be persuasive enough, I throw it in the bag and the bag into the creek. Just as with the jewels, someone will hopefully find this.
I truly believe that David asked me to marry him because he loved me. And he went through with it because of the idea of that stack of money filling at least one whole room. Like I said, he changed. He became so serious, much too rehearsed, and not the wise, thoughtful soul he was. He became a lot like my annoying advisers I preferred to tune out- focusing on regulation, wealth, and affairs, leaving nothing for me to control. And I wanted to have my hand in ruling the kingdom- hell, I deserved to run the kingdom! With him supporting them, though, that hand was pried loose, leaving me no grasp on my own kingdom. It was really an entirely eventless coup d’état, so it’s not a huge surprise that I didn’t see it coming.
It was his own fault, his change I mean. I wish it hadn't happened, but this would have happened no matter what. Untold riches are one of the perks or one of the problems that comes with me- take your pick. It depends on the spirit and morals of the person, and I honestly expected so much better from my knight in shining, idealistic and loving armor.
As a last kiss-off to material value, I take the ring off of my finger (this one my wedding ring) and I look into it. Oh, how much of an insult it is to wear this. Not at all how a wedding ring should feel. I don't throw this away for fear that someone will recognize it from the worldwide broadcast of our wedding. Instead I put it in the glove box of the car as part of my grand finale later.
Consider this an annulment, you son of a ♥♥♥♥♥.
The second piece of luggage I open to find my dresses in. All so nice and frilly and colorful and ♥♥♥♥ them. How misleading, such happy colors. They were simply a shell for the shell of the woman I was. I end up sorting through them; there could be some very recognizable dresses, as apparently I'm a fashion icon.
But I'm not going to just throw them out.
On top of the black suitcase is a pocket knife. Greedily I snatch it off the top and take the first dress out. What a dress. A red ballroom gown from the ballroom social where I first came to the conclusion that things were going downhill. (I bet you already figured out where I was wearing the ballroom gown to.)
I remember that I was with David, under the ongoing feeling that something was feeling off lately. I think I had a drink or two and was somewhat of a frisky dancer. Without David, I went to the dance floor and danced alone to the music- mind you, I wasn't being slutty, hell I was never a slutty person even in courtship. I was simply dancing alone, and mind you I was and certainly still am not a good dancer, but I liked dancing alone. Preferred it, actually. It was relieving and rejuvenating. Normally I wouldn’t do it in public, but at the moment I was admittedly and shamelessly half-drunk, so I went ahead and did so. I got a few odd glances and I clearly remember a noblewoman saying “Oh my dearest Eunice, I was unaware that our princess was such a… spirited dancer…”, but deep down I didn't care. Let them laugh and gawk; for a short moment I was free.
David did care, however. He walked down to the floor, and grabbed me by the arm, easing into a dance with me which was really a facade to lecture me about my behavior. Great. Because that's all I need. Another person; my own husband, no less, telling me how to behave.
He leaned onto my shoulder and as we danced he hissed “You should not be dancing alone like that. Did you see the other men staring at you? What if one tried to make a move on you?”
“As if there's a damn soul in the world who doesn't know I married you?” was my retort, aided by liquid courage. Funny how it was only when I was drinking that I was brave enough to say something, until now at least. Part of me just wishes I had downed a forty and went on a belligerent rage and smashed his face in, but let’s be honest, I’m glad I didn’t go that far.
When he dug his nails into my arm, though, I wish I had just smashed a bottle over his head. I was in a well-attended ballroom of well-to-do nobles so I put all my energy into not yelping in pain and surprise. “You are mine. You belong to no one else. You will not make it seem any different.” I decided against replying and instead just let him dance with me. He held me much too close- not romantically, but defensively; protecting his prey from any fellow hunters. He almost suffocated me- physically in addition to mentally.
I knew from that day that the old, romantic David was gone and all I had in his wake was the insecure, uptight, unfamiliar man who would have killed me before I embarrassed him, intentionally or not. Where did he change? Why did he change? Part of me wonders, did he ever change? Was this all a façade? Was I being played this whole time?
I guess I’ll never know.
After I remember that scene, I take the pocket knife and tear through the center of the dress, the silk being rendered worthless as it is split in half from top to bottom. For good measure, I cut it horizontally as well. I scream with anger and pain with every cut because it resembles every time David cut into my heart, and as corny as it sounds, it’s nothing but the truth. Every time he did something that pushed me away from him like that, I felt a hole being cut in my chest and the dull, lonesome pain that came with it.
Angrily, I scream a last time before throwing the gown in the car.
The rest of the dresses I only cut vertically, if I cut them at all, because they do not mean anything to me. However, my wedding dress receives four haphazard cuts, if only because it turned out to be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. The event itself was a great one, but I still don’t think it could compare to his proposal to me.
I open the third suitcase, and in it is… well, everything else. Mementos I no longer wanted, papers, letters, pictures.
I take out one of the top pictures of an old friend, a Duchess named Christina. Another flash of memories, and the most painful shot forward first like a race towards hell.
“So, yeah, all the rich dudes are gonna be at the ball at Malina Hall in a couple days,” she was babbling on about something I didn’t bother to comprehend, and yes, this particular noble actually talked just like that- to me, at least. “I can’t wait to go! It’s so awesome!”
“That’s nice,” I told her, when I was actually thinking what’s the kindest, most professional way to tell her that there is no metric system in existence that could measure the damn that I do not give about scoring rich dudes at rich balls in rich places?
“And you know what?” Christina pushed a strand of brown hair out of her eye as she faced me. “You should go with me!”
I instantly thought of David and how he’d react. And then I thought it was pretty messed up how I felt I had to ask him for permission to do anything. After that I thought God, you can’t honestly tell me all men are this way. Why did you have to make him like this, of all the souls in the world?
So far, God has failed to send a reply.
Of course I didn’t tell her “Well I don’t know because my husband’s kind of a controlling prick and if he saw me dancing, gasp, alone, then all bets are off.” Instead I said “I don’t know… it’s… not really my type of thing, you see.”
She gave me that look that pretty much told me that we both knew I was full of it. I sighed as soon as I saw it. She knew me so well, whether I liked it or not. Honestly, I did appreciate it, and I appreciated her, even if she did ramble a bit too much.
“You know,” she replied, “you need a break. You’re a busy lady.”
I actually scoffed out loud but she didn’t say anything about it.
“I mean, this would be like old times. Remember when we used to go to events and galas like these?”
I had to laugh at the reminiscence. “We’d mess those things up!”
She laughed with me and I remembered them so well. When we were young, before I had even met David, we would go completely in disguise to these balls, crash them, and bring a whole lot of hell. We’d go all out, putting temporary dye in our hair, putting in colored contacts, dressing up in different styles and at the end of the day no one was the wiser. My mom never busted me, even when she was alive. I have a feeling that even if she caught and disciplined me she would have been amused and maybe just a bit proud of my all-too-human antics.
“Do you still have that black skirt and those leggings?” she asked me. “Cause you play a really good goth.”
“Ah, Alicia Meter?” I remembered my alias as the goth chick that would be one of those cursed party crashers. “I think I have her stuff downstairs. Even a bit of hair dye.”
“Yeah,” Christina sighed. “Alicia Meter was hot.”
I punched her in the arm before I could help myself. “Stop it!”
“I’m just kidding!” she laughed, then lowered to a whisper. “But I am serious. About the ball, I mean. We should totally go in cognito again, like old times.”
“Whoa there,” I put a hand up. “If you forgot, I am the ruler of this nation.” Ha, as if. “And the last one who should be caught crashing a party.” Lord only knows what David would do if he found me.
“We’ve never been caught before. What makes you think we’d get busted this time?” She leaned in towards me, excitement glowing in the whisper. “Come on, girl, we never get to mess around like this. Life’s too short, and now that the risk is higher than ever it’s just that much more awesome. You and I can do this. I’ll talk to David, too, if you want.”
I couldn’t turn her down after that, after she was going to do so much for me. I hugged her in agreement and secretly got my stuff together. She came through for me, too, and David told me I should go. I didn’t even care that he sounded like a parent or a master when he gave me his okay, I was too excited. My confidence and power returned and ran through my veins and to my heart, causing the cuts to heal just for a little while. I was going to get a bit of control on my life again.
I was given an official escort there, and when I got out, I ran behind the bushes and got the disguise out of my bag. I put on a very convincing curly black wig, put in contacts that tinted my irises green, got all dressed up and walked on in as Alicia Meter.
I wasn’t about to start the ruckus without my partner in crime, though, so I walked around for her. She said she was going to be in all white, like an angel punk or whatever she called it. White hair, light blue eyes (after all, white eyes would be somewhat unnatural), white clothes to accent her pale white skin. I made my way around the hall, ignoring the glares as I looked for her.
She wasn’t there.
I figured she was a bit late so I looked around again. Still wasn’t there. Naturally people were wondering who the hell the Goth chick was in this classy ball and why she wasn’t dancing. To placate them a bit, I started dancing alone, apparently forgetting that I still can’t dance. Instead of people bugging off, they started bugging out, laughing and pointing at my awkward movement with a lot less class than they would have done if it was, say, a princess dancing horrendously in front of them.
It was right about then my resurrected confidence was killed again and the embarrassment drove me out of the hall. I ran back outside and exchanged my disguise for my normal clothing before I called my escort to take me home. When they told me they were unable to make it for a couple of hours, I hung up and started the lonely, shameful walk home. When I got back to the castle, paying no mind to the bewildered gatekeeper, I walked into the nearest room with a comfortable enough surface (in this case a waiting room with comfy benches)and laid down, crying quietly so no one heard me until I fell asleep.
As I was putting my dress on the next morning and quietly dropping Alicia’s clothes by the wash, I heard the maids chattering on about something. Quietly, I listened in.
Long story short, and I’ll spare you the details, there was a good reason Christina wasn’t at the ball that night. And that was because she was in my bedroom with David getting it on with our rapscallion ball as a ploy to get me out of the castle. Which didn’t work out very well because in reality I lay on the floor directly below her and wept, humiliated and alone.
How lovely. How ♥♥♥♥ lovely. She was screwing David behind my back; the man who was defensive of letting me out of his sight in a social event. Why did I not see this hypocrisy coming?
Not only was I down a lover, but I had also lost a best friend. Seeing as my mother had already passed on peacefully, I realized that I was completely and utterly alone.
This happened today. This was also the final straw. I confronted him on the rumors a few hours ago after I left the washroom. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t flip out on him, toppling his desk and bashing his face in. It killed me that I’d want so badly to beat him senseless when at a brighter day and age I prayed for his safety.
I was trained better than that by all the people who loved to use me as their mask, as their marionette. The advisers and the officials who think they knew what a princess should act like when all they know is what they've seen in the annals of our history. Someday they’ll discover that they’re out of the 17th century.
I remember it well. I had simply addressed David by saying “I've heard absolutely foolish rumors about a sex scandal between you and Duchess Christina from the commoners. Surely it would be wise to debunk these fools before it gets out of hand?” You see, I was playing it up on the sly. Not declaring what he had did. There was still that sliver of me that wished, hoped that this was a lie.
He was furious that I had found out, and immediately proved the rumors true by slapping me in the face for the first and only time. He leaned into my tear-stricken face and growled “You will not speak a word about this. Is that clear?” Out of fear, I gulped and nodded.
He looked up at my eyes and said “…that’s funny. Last I remembered, those were blue.”
I gasped, and that gasp was a knife in my throat as I realized that I never took out those goddamn contacts, and I ran out of the room. David never followed me- something that shocked something in me because he stopped lashing out and completely shut me out.
As twisted as the revelation was, I’m glad he did what he did. It was what made me realize that although my captor was no longer the wicked king of Lafiria, it was now the man who had saved me from that villain by his own selfless will. The dead man. The zombie.
I had lost him, and I could not bear to even think about living with the traitorous whore who killed my spirited, youthful best friend.
I had my cry, cursed them to the depths of hell (while I was alone mind you), but then what was I supposed to do? Let the walls snuff my anger forevermore? Fake a smile and go on with life with a captor who I no longer loved and who no longer loved me except for the kingdom I had- one that he now ruled as well?
I was the princess locked away in the towers; the towers of her own castle. But I did not wait for a prince to come and save me; after all, I kind of had trust issues with princes now. I saved myself and made my silent escape during the night.
And here I am.
I take the pocket knife, and cut Christina out of the picture of the two of us. I look around and find a picture of David and myself and cut him out of it as well. I take the two pictures of myself and throw them into the suitcase, and after retrieving some clear duct tape out of the black suitcase, I take the pictures of Christina and David and tape them together. Now they can live happily ever after. Let’s see how long she lasts before she turns into what I used to be.
For good measure, and since I'm pissed as all hell, I'm not finished with the patchwork picture. I take the tape and attach it to the hood of the car, the top left corner. I take a second to work up an un-ladylike spit and hock it onto the happy couple.
Best wishes, you cheating, selfish prick and you lying slut. You two are so damn fit for each other.
I consider taping a picture of an advisor or two to the car, but none of the advisers are worth the hate. They're overly traditional, well-meaning idiots, nothing more. I throw the other pictures into the back of the car, scattering them all over the place like pellets for a hamster cage. Before I forget, I place my wallet in there and with it any official cards or papers that bear my name and identity.
I open it just to look at my ID, and the name of the nation that it represents. Farrahtilles. I loved that name and the not so subtle pun within it, the beautiful (albeit atrociously pink) flag, the natural, calm colors of the rolling hills and the whole nation of generally good hearted people. I felt at some level I was abandoning it. But perhaps I’m actually doing it a favor with my departure.
They never truly loved me ever since the royal wedding. I remember back when I was a free woman, and I could do what I wished as a princess. I socialized with the commoners as if I was one of them. I was one of them. I am one of them. I just had royal blood, and other than that we were humans.
And they loved me then.
Now, they only love the illusion of being a princess like me, ruling the kingdom with the love of my life. And I was going to shatter that illusion and let everything pour out of the patched up wound our royal life was. Maybe next time they'll do it right. Make sure the royals are being real with them. Hold us to a standard instead of assuming everything was Candy Landy Dandy in there.
And at the very least, David is a good ruler. Smart, precise, cerebral enough to measure out the best interests of his people without actually really caring. He's just a horrible person. He can rule the kingdom just fine, because that's what he wants. Maybe he'll have a change of heart, but even if he did, I could never love him again.
Shuddering, I lean back into the suitcase to see if there is anything else worth singling out, and I find one thing that nearly stops my heart. It’s the beginning… of everything.
It's a dried up rose, a rose David had picked before he had rescued and met me the first time. It was so sweet, how clumsily he had dug in his pocket for it after releasing me from the cage. I giggled and told him it was lovely because it was.
He shrugged, blushing, and said “Well, erm, Princess, I know that they don't last long. Perhaps there's something you can do to, erm... preserve it?”
How adorable he was, thinking that the idea of me holding onto something to remember him by was such a big ask. I giggled again, enjoying this shy, sweet man's company, and kissed him on the nose. “Of course!” I told him with a genuine smile. “I always like to keep flowers like this in books and such things for bookmarks. When this one loses its color, I'll be sure to press it in.”
“Thank you!” He grinned, blushed but his smile lighting up the room. It was so dark in there. I felt so dark in there. But he was the light. My own beautiful light of hope. Not unlike a lighthouse in the stormy seas.
That was where it all started. And even though it ends now, the time I had spent with that David, the romantic, the adorable, blushing knight with the brevity to rescue me when I had become just a piece in the war clutched between Lafiria’s fingers, never once complaining to me even if I felt like a burden to him... I can’t help but believe that somehow it was all worth it. It was worth everything, the way he treated me like a beautiful woman he loved, not a princess. How he taught me so much about life, and his idealism brightened even the darkest souls. How it lit my soul on fire.
How we grew together as people, how we laughed together as bright spirits, how we loved together as companions. And it was worth it. Every moment of that time shaped me as a person. It was worth the amount of mistreatment and suffocation that I went through before I finally woke up and smelled the dead roses. If I knew it was happening, I would have stopped it… but I still regret nothing that we had done before he became my prince. He was even better before then. He was my love, and I believe that he truly was and that there was no façade, only a fall.
I believe it with all of my being because I’ve studied fairytales in my time, and I’ve been a fairy tale once. In those tales, you can tell true love easily, as it’s the most honest thing a human being can do, and you can just tell, just by being near them. It’s a phenomena that I never will understand but it’s true. These fairy tales are true, even if for fleeting moments, but the memories last forever.
I guess it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.
I want to spit on this rose as it mocks me. I want to snap it in half as it tells me that everything is gone. I want it to burn in fire as it cackles at my miserable cries. But I can't. Because that rose isn't a sign of defeat.
It's a sign of hope. Hope only Knight David could ever hold.
I find myself fond of this object I had wanted to destroy. My last memento of the man I had loved so long ago. I put it in the black suitcase, because this rose has broken my will to abandon it all.
It’s right there that I stop. My adrenaline and willpower seem to just halt. They don’t even seem to drift away, they just disappear as if they never were. I’m leaning against the car in my putrid pink dress, bent over with my blonde hair covering my eyesight as I stare down the earth. I realize that through my layer of confidence and anger, I’m terrified… and I’m heartbroken. I’m simply crushed. Maybe I really can get by without David, in fact I’m certain I can. I just can’t believe that I have to.
I’ll never know why he changed, and I’ll never know why Christina let herself fall for him and why she would do that to me. And I’m going to have to be content with that, because I don’t think I want to find out. Maybe these two people… maybe they’ve just made incredible errors and they’re unaware of how grievant those errors are.
It’s with that thought that I feel the bitterness flow off of my body and while I don’t forgive them, whether now or ever, vengeance is not what motivates me.
However, it’s that thought that confirms that I won’t go back.
I stand up straight again and into a mind that is truly cleared and prepared. Quickly, I lift the pink suitcase and dump in all of the other items from it into the car, watching a newspaper article about the royal wedding fall on top of the pile. After that, I throw in the third suitcase. Every material object I have is, as far as I’m concerned, utterly gone.
But that’s not all I’m going to give up.
I grab my pocketknife before I continue.
I strip myself of my hideous pink dress and my kitschy heels and all my other clothes to take a minute and walk into the waist-deep part of the river, a section where the rapids are not going to take me away. It is cold, so very cold, but it will do.
I dip my hair in the water. Oh, Jesus, I feel as if my face is going to freeze off and I nearly yelp, but since I'm underwater I abstain from doing so. It'd be a shame to go through all of this just to drown like an idiot.
Placing the pocketknife against my wet, cold locks, no longer wavy but perfectly straight, I cut. I slice through it slowly, watching the locks drop into the pool of water limply. By the time I'm done, most of my hair is gone and it only goes up to just below my ears in a haphazard pixie cut.
I stand there in the chilling water, sinking into it. I take just a short moment to realize that everything as I know it is gone. And I was the one who threw it all away. It shakes me up for a moment as I realized that it was too late to go back. But would I? Would I even consider it? There’s a part of me that realizes the weight of what I have done, is frightened and wishes I hadn’t done any of this. But I can only take it as reassurance that I’m doing the right thing, and I settle down a bit, still neither frozen nor hypothermic, by some miracle.
Realizing I forgot something, I run back to the suitcase, still completely naked, and pull out a box of hair dye. No wigs will do this time- that’d imply that I’m pretending. This time the stuff is permanent.
It's not going to be salon quality or look very good at all, but it's a start. I'm already bleached blonde at the roots, so I needn't worry about that. Not to mention I still have some temporary dye in my hair from the night before…
…I can’t believe it was really only the night before. It seems like a dream I had a long time ago by now.
I take out a plastic glove from the box and place it over my hand. Then, I squirt out the dye on my hand and I rub it through my hair until most of it is covered in black dye. Hopefully I’ll have enough time to let it sit before I rinse my hair, so I step out of the water and back to the side of the car, my locks of hair in hand. Don’t want that identifiable piece of DNA anywhere near me, after all. I wrap them in the plastic glove and throw it all in the car.
My attention now lies with the fourth black suitcase. Plain, featureless, unidentifiable. I open it up and first pick up a set of new clothes, all black as well. I had gone with black because by this point nearly all color is unbearable to look at. I remember digging this stuff out of the old boxes in the attic from my rascally teen years. They still fit me, thankfully. I guess I had a good figure through it all.
No matter how good my figure is, or maybe because of it, I feel uncomfortable being naked in the middle of nowhere during the night. Therefore, I quickly slip on a black shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of black, torn up leggings and a short black skirt, clothes all so familiar. The only identifiable thing about me left is my blue eyes, and I still have the dull green contacts in that I wore before. That she wore before.
Alicia.
Hello again, old friend.
I take my previously worn clothes and throw them into the car, except for my other dress. I spread it against the hood of the car, and bind it down with the duct tape by its arms and by the waist, like the princess I was before, trapped in the clutches of darkness, always waiting for someone to save her.
Princess Ella. Like Cinderella. Everyone always thinks that Cinderella's trials are always within her life before marrying a prince. Sometimes it's after you do that the Cinderella story truly begins.
My mom told me she took inspiration from that fairy tale when she christened me Ella, but only because she told me that I had the power to transcend that. My father, whom I realize has eluded my thoughts this entire time, died when I was three, and my mom was left with the kingdom herself. And she became one of the best rulers Farrahtilles will ever have. History will practically worship her- if only I was as successful.
Because this time, I will not escape. The princess dies tonight.
Because the next thing I pull out is a lighter.
Before I get ahead of myself, though, I pull out a gas tank from the trunk- in case of emergencies, ironically- and I start to pour it over the inside of the car, over the luxurious seats and the papers and pictures, until it's covered enough to make a serious problem, or the perfect solution.
I dump the remainder on the newspaper article of our wedding, and my ID card next to it.
Goodbye, Princess Ella.
With that quiet farewell, I light the flame, and let these objects spark the fire.
I stick around only to see the face of the princess burn into an agonizing pile of nothingness, and then I run.
I run, and when my suitcase and I are twelve feet away, I stop and watch as it slowly grows. It's a thrilling rush to see everything about my life- my former life now- being destroyed, consumed by fire. There will be nothing left by the time it is done.
Right now, I’m in that limbo. I am nothing- alive, but dead. I have nothing- it will all be destroyed so quickly that you’d never know it even existed. During the darkness of night, and despite the blackness of the clothes and the glowing orange of the fire, I’m in that endless white, that space of limbo where nothing truly exists, where I’m not even so much as a shadow on the page of the history books.
And that limbo is the most defining moment I, in any form or incarnation, will ever have.
Out of the suitcase I take out my new phone, and before I can help it, I put on the music player, pre-stocked with some old favorites because, as crazy as it sounds, music's definitely one of my top priorities by now. It always has a way of saying exactly what you need to hear, even without saying anything at all.
The song I choose for this macabre funeral... it’s incredible. It’s powerful but it’s meek, it’s quiet but it’s loud, it’s beautiful but it’s ugly, it’s humbling but it brims with pride… it’s so many things and then so many things it’s not that it either eats itself alive or it all synergizes in such a way that it’s everything at once. It’s exactly the kind of music that I need.
I play the song, and then in an act of liberation, I dance.
It brings four minutes of not being on this earth. As the far continues to burn on behind me, I dance alone to the music. I dance without David, I dance without the fear of being unladylike, I dance without a billion peering eyes. I dance with no one around me, and I dance however I want. I dance because no one is around to watch me and I no longer cared even if they were, and I dance without the princess. I don’t dance for vengeance or out of spite. I dance for me. I dance because if I do I’ll find myself again.
I lose the spell the zombie put me under for good and I dance my way into Alicia Marren, the dark, recovering young woman who still has that spark in her soul, a smothered fire which someday will burn bright again. Her last name used to be Meter, but that was a long time ago, as she used to spend her time crashing parties and causing a ruckus. Those days are behind her, but they’re never forgotten.
It's a good start, I suppose. Like the woman singing the song, I dance without those who controlled me, and I lose myself. In a fitting sort of funeral, I lose Princess Ella.
After the song I stop to observe the car. I see the dress wildly flapping in the flames, and I realize that I’ve already taken down a zombie this very night. I’ve thought of David as a zombie by now, and even of Christina as someone taken under the zombie’s spell. But in reality, I’ve become no different. When David became what he is, I let whatever took him take me too. I let myself stand alone, utterly miserable and powerless to stop it.
But I was the first to find out what I was, even if I’m just realizing it now. Everything I did tonight was an exorcism of the empty soul that was once me. The princess’ death will be my rebellion, and my attempt at waking up the zombies, my attempt at killing them all and bringing purity back into our nation.
Call it martyrdom if you want, but I don’t. I’m free now. I can do whatever I want. I'm going to leave this limbo I’m in and go to a different kingdom, a different nation, even a different world. I'll leave it all behind, and I’ll create something great someday. I can’t impact history here, but the rest of the universe is open to me.
I know that I will have moments of regret for what I will have done, but that's the reason I destroyed everything, because I’m terrified that I would have stopped and given up; retreated back into the familiar, melancholic realm I was so used to. It’s a hard place to break out of, but I hope that someday David will, and maybe even find his way back to who he used to be. Maybe the same will happen to Christina, before she falls too far in.
It's too late for the princess, though.
It takes twenty minutes for the car to finish burning itself out until it is nothing but a near unrecognizable skeleton, everything ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Just like Princess Ella. Perfect.
I'm surprised at how well this worked; it's not like I've ever done it before. I take this as a time to gingerly dip my hair in the water, letting the dye wash out until all that's left is what sticks on my head. I look at my reflection in the water, and I look very much different. Perfect.
I reach into the suitcase and pull out my new, equipped wallet with my new ID in it. How easy it is to get things undiscovered when you once were a princess.
I take my suitcase and walk across the plains towards the city. Definitely don't want to be found, perchance, near the car. I know that no one ever uses this busted-up road but I still don't want to take any chances. I hope to find a motel tonight and then to be out of the kingdom by tomorrow due to the wonderful airline system. It should all go well. The first day is what I'm worried about, getting out unrecognized, but it should be little trouble since I look nearly completely different.
I wonder how everyone will react when they see my little murder scene. The idea makes me feel entirely bi-polar; I’m caught between an expectant glee to see the news as they find my charred remains and the reaction the kingdom will take, and a deep, unspeakable melancholy to know that the kingdom who once loved me will find me dead soon, their hearts broken. Somewhere in between is both disgust and understanding at both my reactions. It doesn’t really matter now. I’ve just got to gather myself up and deal with it… and well, watch out for the news, of course.
It's a hard road ahead of me, and a long trip alone. It will probably be painful, but it's oh so exciting, so much it makes me nauseous from giddiness. It's all such a tornado of emotions and my heart rate is all over the place. But I can't go back now. And I wouldn't anyways.
All I have are my clothes, some money, and my new identity. And that's all I need.
Princess Ella is dead, and there’s no changing that. But Alicia Marren is only just beginning to live.
