III

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Small disclaimer: I think I low key went into this with the intention of, eventually, turning this into an original story (i.e. with OCs based loosely off the characters you're reading about now) so if, in the future, they feel more ooc (as they do to me), that's probably why.

Also, most of this story is pretty self-indulgent at this point anyway (at least where I am with writing it, which is like... chapter 12 lmao) so while it still follows the plot I laid out for it, that's another reason it may feel off-kilter or ooc. Just. A head's up, my dudes. This is by no means my most serious work—especially for Kiribaku. That is something that'll come... pretty far down the line, but it is something I already have in the works and something I'm stupidly excited about, so ye. Just wanted to make that clear so y'all don't attack me or whatevs later. I mean, I don't think you would—y'all seem pretty damn nice—but I guess this is for my own peace of mind ^^

Anywhore, without further ado, here's chapter 3!

The whole time I'm being cuffed, gagged, and dragged back up to the throne room, my heart is pounding. Not because I'm afraid of the queen's judgment. Not because I'm afraid they're going to hurt me. Not even because I'm scared they're going to take my life. It's because I'm terrified that the piece of shit of a prince, who I realize I can barely recall the face of save for that scar, blabbered about the damn 'matching scars' or whatever.

For as long as I can remember, the whole goddamn world talked about scars and soulmates. Soulmates and scars. Matching scars, and how you and your soulmate are connected by them. If you get hurt and the wound will scar, that same scar will appear in the same spot on your soulmate's body and vice versa. That's how people find each other, I guess; they compare scars, once they're close enough (though some do it with complete strangers, just for kicks). I've heard stories of some even intentionally hurting themselves in unique ways just to find their soulmate out of some shitty desperation or whatever. My mom found my dad by matching scars, and I know several other people who live down in the slums with me that have matching scars and a bond that can only be explained by that bullshit soulmate stuff.

But the fucking prince can't be mine. No fucking way in hell. It doesn't make any goddamn sense. If the universe is so dead set on people finding their soulmates, and having soulmates be this person you have an unquestionable, unbreakable bond with whether it's that cheesy, mushy romantic crap or just friendship or a strong partnership, why in the hell would it pair me up with some asshole who gets everything handed to him? Especially when I've had to struggle my entire life because of the bullshit system in this country? How the everloving fuck am I supposed to relate to that?

That's why it's coincidence. I don't care how matching the scars are. I don't care. I don't. He's not my soulmate. And I'll be damned sure that if he blabbered to his parents about it, I'll do absolutely everything in my power to get the fuck out of there.

It's only when the elevator doors to the throne room are opening again that it occurs to me that unless he is the biggest dumbfuck on the face of the planet, he wouldn't have told them unless he wants to get in trouble for sneaking into the basement. The feeling of relief that floods through me is almost painful, it's so quick, but then it's replaced by a feeling of dread to see what the queen decided for my fate, seeing as, unfortunately, my life is quite literally in her hands.

The throne room is a lot more packed this morning than it was before. What looks like nearly the entire royal family has gathered on the steps just in front of her throne, and there are more guards. The place is lit by the golden rays of the morning sun filtering in through the glass wall behind her throne, so the chandeliers, catching it and casting pinpoints of yellow light across the room, have been turned off. It's eerily quiet, and every single set of eyes is on me.

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