So You Might be Soulless

37|| The Truth

Once she was in the courtroom, Diya's confident vizard that she wore in front of Sebastian crumbled to dust. She trembled as she took a seat on the uncomfortable wooden bench.

Behind her, the reporters and higher-ranking Nobles chatted and whispered amongst themselves. There was a clear divide in the audience- those who supported the Elshers and those who wanted to watch them burn, for their own selfish reasons of course. They hid behind expensive frills and fans, watching the events unfold like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

"Is that the Reject?"

"She looks so pale!"

"It is possibly because she knows her lies are going to be exposed."

"Miss Diya! Miss Diya please look this way for a photo!"

"Who do you think will be the most powerful once the Duke and Duchess are removed?"

"Can you believe that child is repaying the kindness of her benefactors by dragging them to a trial? How shameless! My Lucinda would never do something like that."

"She's just a Reject."

Diya dug her nails into her arm and tried to control her breathing. Her entire life she had been subjected to cruel talks and suffocating prejudices. She had accepted her standing in this society, but the sting of a thousand remarks just never quite faded away.

Shadows slithered and twisted from underneath her into the shape of a middle finger and slowly started to rise. Diya beat them down with furious whispers, but had to bite her lip to hide the smile. That's right. Even if the world turns its back on me, I still have the dead and the lightless.

"Entering, His Highness Emperor Carlos Askanier of the Cerean Empire, Her Highness Empress Aurelia Askanier of the Cerean Empire, The Crown Prince Sebastian Askanier, Swordmaster, and the Second Prince Caspian Askanier, Master Mage." The poor announcer looked thoroughly out of breath by the end of the introduction.

Surrounded by glimmering flowers, or perhaps that was an illusion, the Imperial Family entered with heads held high and adorned in the latest fashions. Crushed jewels lined their hems and caught the light in every direction, drowning everyone in their brightness.

Everyone that is, but Diya, who remained in her pocket of darkness with her hands clasped in her lap. Just a single square inch of their clothes could feed a family for a year.

She stared at her palms and the scene blurred into an old memory.

Bodies all around her, glassy eyes staring wide and blank. A walking stick covered in blood lay in a dead, old man's grasp. A child's burned socks crumpled on the pavement, their owner nowhere in sight.

People screaming, crying and wailing for their loss. Begging for scraps, grovelling for the copper denari twisting in the rubble.

Diya stepped on a piece of paper and paused. With careful fingers, she pulled it out of the dirt and wiped it away. It was a photograph of a large family fighting to get in the frame, most of their faces faded but a few- an old woman smiling in the centre, two young boys squabbling, a girl grinning at something the photographer was saying. Diya smiled and let it slip from her fingers, giving the family the privacy they deserved in death.

"Hello, Lady Diya," Sebastian said, shaking his head as she stood to bow. "No need for such formalities. I came here to wish you the best of luck in the trial, and know that I will be right behind you the entire time." He winked and Diya knew he'd heard the whispers and made his stance clear to subdue them.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Diya inclined her head and crossed her arm over her chest. "I am very grateful to everything you and your family have done for me."