ᴡᴍᴍᴀᴘ: ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

She was not a rose.

AU if LP! athy was able to use mana and took matters into her own hands. CW/TW: Death, blood, use of swords, death just death. 

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Athanasia de Alger Obelia, a name fit for an emperor, and yet the child rots away in the darkness of a palace meant for concubines. 

Once, it had been filled with the scent of iron, blood splattered upon its dingy walls, for the emperor who had usurped the tyrant Anastasius had made it so.

"It would have been better if you had never been born!"

Athanasia stumbled back, her gem eyes that she had always been so proud of gone wide and unseeing as her father glared at her while yelling for the guards to keep Jennette safe but to take her away- to get her ready for execution.

Athanasia's mouth opens, as if in awe, but a terribly distraught expression overtakes her face, her eyes alone portraying her feeling of deeply rooted anguish.

Why?

Why was it never her? Why would it never be her that father looked upon with fondness? Why was it never her that father gifted gardens to, just because she liked a certain flower?

Why was it that her father, the one who was the hero of the people, was the cruelest to her, his child?

Craving that single glance, a single word of affection, a small phrase that meant he cared about her- all of it- she slid to the ground. 

Her mana, the imperial mana that had never manifested in her even though she was an Obelia, didn't stir; even though her death was written down in stone.

She was never loved. She would never be loved.

How wretched she was, even though she was a princess, supposed to be miles above those less fortunate than her in name but at the cost of her misery?

Unworthy of everything that could have ever been hers and hers alone.

"I do hope you still think I should have never been born, father. Otherwise, I think my heart might hurt after your death."

Her tears shone as bright as the crystal heart that rattled within the blackened chains that grasped it tight, and it was as unfeeling as a fae's beatific laughter.

"I won't ever let you forget who your only child is, father. It has always, only ever been me." 

But something as hard-won as the throne should have been nothing but triumphant for the unloved princess, and Athanasia cannot speak any further.

Her throat all but closing up, her cheeks flushing with a faint red shade that some might interpret as sadness, but was anything but- it was fury.

"This was not my revenge, father." 

The sword struck down onto the once-mighty emperor, the one who had now fallen due to the false. Gold spurted into the air.

"It was nothing more than letting time run on, and it welcomed me into its hardwon embrace." Bright blue sparks lit up the darkness in the shadows of the throne.

And all went quiet, for even the weeping had been silenced in the great palaces of the Empire of Obelia.

Their fates were sealed, as was foretold by the prophecies of old, where one person would choose to end it all- for hope was abandoned by the Gods.

She who was the forgotten would never be again, written down for all generations after.