Even the Stars

finished excerpt

There are many scents and fragrances in the world, but the smell of death is always the strongest. A putrid scent wafts over to my nose and startles me. I am unsure why I am surprised, for deaths have been everywhere. The fragrance of lost lives is something I should have grown used to by now. This particular morning, a poor animal has most likely gotten run over by a cart. One small animal is gone, but an entire palace filled with the fumes of death.

I feel Carmine's fur and warmth huddled up in a little ball, brushing my arm. She lets out a low, irritated purr as I move to get up. The little impudent rascal never wants me to get up. Nor do I want to —but still. I sit up in my warm bed and the cold crisp air raises the hair on my arms. I take a long deep breath in and sigh. The same routine every day. Wake up, wash up, eat, train. Simple. Easy. Monotonous.

Some days I wish to just be alone. All I do is daydream, lost in my own mind, thinking of a life that I actually would like. I cannot live up to anyone's standards, but caring at this point is useless anyways. I'm trying my own thing. And I know I would be the talk of the kingdom if I change now.

I should be grateful that my life isn't in danger every day. I have clean water and food and a roof over my head. A feeling of guiltiness creeps over me as I think about how lucky I am. The rest of Maudlia lives in fear every day ever since the war broke out. Ganoia has had many successful attacks and us? We haven't won a single battle. My mother has continued to attack. None of them have been successful. We wouldn't be in this situation if she wasn't so greedy. The dragons of Ganoia can shift in the blink of an eye, set the world on fire without an ounce of hesitation, and yet my mother thinks she can win against them. Conquer them. How foolish of her.

I walk over to the bathroom in my vast bedroom. It's so spacious and large, but I cannot utilize the emptiness much. I look up at the mirror. The reflection catches me by surprise. How long has it been since I've looked at myself? My lifeless short red hair is now voluminous, wavy, and longer than it's ever been. I tug at the rough strands of hair, unsure if it's real. At least my eyes haven't changed. Large pools of brown with flecks of forest green. They've always been different.

I start to plait my hair. I decide to make two braids at the front of my scalp and then pin them both back to create something like a coronet. It takes longer than I expect and my arms hurt by the end of it. Even though I'm trained in swordsmanship, doing my hair will always prove to be a challenge. I finish, satisfied with what I see, and start to run through my schedule for the day in my head. I know I have a dreaded dinner with my mother tonight. I am confused as to whether I have a sparring session today. The thought of a sparring session reminds me of Aris. Sarcastic and charismatic Aris. Ever since the war started, my mother forbade me from talking to him. My head fills with rage and sadness. My mother tries so hard to take control of everything in my life. Seeing me with a smile pains her so much, she must do anything to wipe it off.

Ever since my father passed away, my mother has lost her mind. I was devastated by his unexpected death, but my mother was so much worse. They didn't weep or sob uncontrollably, her eyes were cold. Mother's eyes lost any sign of life. No warmth, no depth, just an unbreakable wall. The beautiful green eyes that were once full of love ran dry. I never heard their muffled sobs in the dead of night. She never looked disheveled or remotely broken, but they became so cold. There was no indication that she was sad, but I could tell she was overrun with grief. The grief of losing the man they loved, the man that supported her no matter what, and the father of her child. I miss my father every day, but I miss my mother too. I haven't seen them smile in years.

A thud from outside my bathroom snaps me out of my reminiscing. It must be Carmine. I rush to my bed and I see the little brown, black, and white kitty laying on the floor with her paws facing the domed ceiling. I glide to where she fell and pick her up. Carmine is light and soft in my rough calloused hands. I lower her to her thick cotton bed and plop her down. She purrs and lies down, not a care in the world. I forget what task I am supposed to be completing as I caress Carmine's belly. Her silky thick fur rubs against my hands and I let myself smile. A soft sorrowful smile.