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It feels unreal to stand on the quiet streets outside the palace, well regulated by palace guards so the nighttime hubbub can only be found a few blocks later. I walk slowly, my short legs barely covering any distance. I tape myself to the side of buildings and feel a distinct nervousness rise within me.

Was running away a good idea? I want to suddenly be indoors and far away from the night breeze ruffling my white hair and the occasional movements I spy within closing businesses. My hand tightens on my bag as I forge forward, my eyes wide open as if it will help me detect any further threats.

I’m out. I’m free, kind of. As long as I’m a citizen of this empire, I’ll never truly be free. Like a spider’s web, the connections between me and the palace are too numerous to count and I doubt I will ever truly be free of them. I pit opens in my stomach as the strict guard perimeter loosens and I enter the busy Winnifred Plaza. I trip over a loose stone, so busy am I in looking at my surroundings.

Bianca never took me out, except for the one, dizzying occasion I went to the doctor for a high fever. So although I have lived in Radovalsk my whole life, I am more of a tourist in the capital. Winnifred Plaza is as beautiful as I heard. A dazzling fountain several feet tall and carved from gold sits in the middle of a fountain, wielding a glimmering torch. I already know it’s Helio, the god that the Erudian royal family is supposedly blessed from. I don’t feel very blessed though, gold eyes or not.

The streets are smooth, the creamy stone pairing beautifully with the scenic restaurants and well-dressed patrons. It is a picture of a flourishing city, freshly ripped out of the paintings from my history textbooks. Skirts ensembles are full and flush with rich colors that are difficult to dye, the watches and monocles sported by men glint silver under the streetlights. There is an invisible wall between me and them, as if the fruits and bounty of this city are meant to be solely enjoyed by the wealthy and affluent.

It is under such a streetlight I am discreetly lurking, the fresh paint carrying a faint iron scent and the flickering flame within the lamp itself sending shimmering colors through my hair. My window at Bianca’s offered me a small peek at the outside world and I have seen the streetlights of this world before. However, the ones in the slums are decrepit things planted on unpaved streets. Most are covered in graffiti and more of a decoration as the night’s watch never lit the lamps the way they do the others.

Large carriages belonging to well-to-do families cross the road, their sumptuous colors present from the reins on the horse to small detailing on the carriage door. A distant clocktower tolls, it’s 9 o’clock in the evening. For someone who has spent years trapped indoors and then another few months stuck in the palace, I drink down the sight like a starving man although I’m filled with slight discomfort as well as awe.

.....

It seems that no matter which world I’m in, the chips will always be down for me. The circles of the wealthy and powerful will never let me in, so why should I bother trying?

I don’t cross further into Winnifred Plaza, leaving the beautiful place and its people alone as I venture into a dark alley. I’ll just camp out somewhere quiet for a few days before I seek out work as a child laborer at one of the factories on the outskirts of the city. I’m certain I’ll be able to transform my luck with my current smarts and become a successful businesswoman before long.

“Well, that’s the end of that,” I say decisively, ignoring the feeling of a lump sitting in my throat and the prick of tears in my eyes. Will an alarm be raised if it is discovered I’ve gone missing tomorrow? Or, more likely, will my disappearance be swept under a rug until the public entirely forgets an illegitimate princess once existed?

The echoing footfalls of my practical lace-up boots multiply, but I’m too lost in my thoughts and don’t hear it. But I certainly feel it when a moment later a stinging blow lands on the back of my head and sends me to my knees. The hit is like a wake-up call. I’m shaking my head and scrambling backward, the sound of laughing dinner guests dining outside and evening chatter drilling into my head. I curse myself for losing my impeccable street sense that kept me safe when I was Maria.

As I’m scooting back frantically, my back hits something sturdy that definitely isn’t a wall. I can smell coal and soot, along with a faint undercurrent of sweat.

“Hey boys, what ‘ave we here?” someone drawls slowly, their voice caught in the early phases of manhood.

“Blimey, it’s a girl! Strange looking one too.” My blurry vision starts to adjust and I can see a figure in front of me, their face still smooth with youth. There are 2 hazy figures before me, along with the person blocking my exit. My attackers can’t be any older than a typical middle schooler.

One of them saunters up and kicks me in the chest hard with his boot, the person behind me conveniently moving so I roll over the cobblestones. A shattered piece of glass sticks my right arm and I feel it seep blood as the glass buries itself in my flesh.

“Ah!” I involuntarily cry from the acute pain of broken glass.

“Oh look! She’s scared. Are ya scared, lil’ girl? Want your mama?” someone whines in a babyish voice. Deep down I know these are practically kids, but the alley obscures their faces so I can only see shadows and their rough clothing. Their breeches are torn and gazes are vicious, I can already tell that no mercy will be extended to me.

“L-leave me alone,” I cry pathetically. I would ordinarily be braver, but at my current size, I am not an opponent for these older children. My head is still ringing from the blow and my arm is sending tears running down my face. It almost seems like every time I want to take charge of my fate, something unforeseen will hinder me.

“Not a chance on that? Now, what ‘ave you got there, eh? Money? Food?” Quick hands reach for my provisions and pouch and I’m too weak to stop them. The clank of the coins is a drug to these boys. I can see the gleam of white as their eyes widen from the sound and they surround the bag.

“Oy! That’s real, mate!” the one who had been behind me says.

Another bites down hard. “Ow! Yeh, you’re bloody right, Cobb.”

“Enough, enough.” says the ringleader, the only kid who hasn’t taken a swing at me. “Why would a little girl be running around with enough coin to buy herself a whole week at the top Red House?”

The less quickwitted minion who had taken a swing at me, his meaty fists hanging menacingly replies, “A lil’ girl wouldn’t be goin’ to a Red House.”

His friend cuffs him on the ear. “Stupid. He’s talking about the amount of coin she be carryin’. This little girl is probably rich. Maybe she got lost or something.”

The ringleader chuckles. “Lost? I’d wager the story’s a little different, eh?” he says to me. They all turn their attention to me and I wish I could bury myself under the earth.

“You probably ran away didn’t you. Tired of your rich mommy and daddy telling you what to do, huh? Well, welcome to the real world sweetheart! Hope you like it!” they all loudly guffaw with each other. The laugh dies down too soon.

“Now what should we do with her?” the hitter asks, looking awfully eager to hurt me again. “If she runs and tells the authorities, we’re dead.”

“I don’t know, maybe dump her in the river and make a bloody run for it.”

“Wait!” I shout desperately, wobbling to my feet. I feel sturdier than I look, but I want to maintain my weak appearance so I can make a run from these would-be murderers. “I-I’m actually an important person. A princess! So... if you kill me the imperial palace would enlist the Holy Church to find the murderer and no place in this empire can hide you from their magic!”

The two cronies pale instantly, one dropping the bread he was knawing on. Like any other child, the threat of authority can whip them into shape. But unfortunately, the ringleader, who is a little taller and older, does not fall as quickly.

“Oh, really?” he asks, his voice laden with skepticism. “Alright, princess, riddle me this. If they cared about you so much, why did you run away?”

His question hits my bluff right on the head and I make a show of grabbing my aching head as I begin to discreetly prepare for a full-out sprint.

“I know why.” All of sudden, the ringleader has stepped in close, his eyes piercing mine as he bends down to match my stature. “It’s because you’re like us. Unwanted. Unloved. Maybe even a bastard? Ha, those nobles make large blunders and then pretend they don’t exist. Who’s to say we won’t get a pat on the back for helping your parents dispose of you?”

His speech is more proper than the other two cronies and the corner of his mouth folds into a sadistic smile. From the wan light from the streets, I can see his green eyes, one of them slightly milky from blindness. It only makes this kid more frightening.

I bolt out of the blue, putting right foot over left as I veer down the back end of the alley and into a dizzying array of dark streets.

“Shit, she’s running!”

“Do you always have to state the obvious, Cobb?”

I can hear them trail after me, but I just run in any which direction switching at random before I hide behind a parked cart without a steed. Three sets of footsteps thunder past then disappear, but I still wait as the nighttime chill begins to peck the thin fabric of my dress.

A shiver runs through my six-year-old body, the adrenaline is wearing off. Like an unwelcome companion, my head starts throbbing again and I wince as my hand brushes against a forming knot. My feet ache from running and the sleeve of my dress is matted with blood. I have no food, no money, and I’m completely and utterly lost. I rummage through my pockets in search of a stray coin that could’ve fallen in and my hand touches something.

It is small and round, and I pull it out with excitement at the thought of finding a gold coin. Just one, is all I need. Just one.

I pull it out and flip it through my fingers my heart freezing as a familiar red and white pattern fills my eyes. Those spiderwebs tying me to the imperial palace suddenly tighten into a noose around my neck. Peppermint. My fingers are still slick with the blood leaking out of my arm and the candy slips from my fingers to the ground below me.

I don’t know whether to curse the sky or the candy on the ground. I don’t know if Peppermint is an omnipotent being or someone who the Fates gave special discretion to mess with me. My body feels so tired and worn, carrying a burden no other 6-year old kid should worry about. It is inhumane, the levels of torture Peppermint has put me through so I can play the role of a meek Winter who will eventually get falsely accused and murdered when I become 16.

My hands shake, my chest quivers. I can’t make sense of anything except for the peppermint on the ground, mocking me in all my pain and aloneness. I feel a thick, black hatred well up within me at the unfairness of it all. My entire life I have fought an uphill battle and I just keep getting pushed back down. Peppermint, society, my father, all of them have played their part. And I’m sick and tired of it all, so much so I wrench the glass from my arm in one motion and bring it to my neck.

My breath rushes in and out as if I’ve run a marathon. I am alone in the street, not another soul in sight.

No one would see. No one would care. And maybe it’s better that way. The bloody piece of glass drips all over my hand and the ground below. The tip is held close to my neck, if I pushed my hand closer by a hair’s width, I would nick my youthful flesh.

The ringleader was right. I can’t escape from the castle, not as long as Peppermint keeps manipulating the world around me. I barely know how to survive in a world set in the past without a single lightbulb and skirts I keep tripping over. My mom is assumed dead and my dad wants no part of me. My hand clenches tighter around the glass. There is no point in me lingering and extending my suffering. I know I’ve lost this game I never asked to be a part of.

I close my eyes, my breath calming and my mind emptying. I send out a fervent prayer that I will magically wind up in my world again, that my original death was a fluke, and I’ll finally be able to see my mother again after six long years. Fat tears fall down my face as I prepare for the final strike.

My hand is in a downward motion when a sharp pain flares across the back of my hand as if something small and structured just struck it. The blow is hard enough and strategic placed, my grip immediately weakening and the glass tumbling from my palm and snapping into a thousand pieces. The weak moonlight allows me to see my reflection in the shattered glass – tear covered, splotchy, weak. I fall to my knees, the skirt doing little to pad my fall as I haplessly look for another piece large enough for me to complete the deed with. There is none.

I’m sure it’s some good samaritan who thought they were doing me a favor and my endless sorrow slowly starts to shift to anger, then fury. All they’ve done is waste my time. Unless they can stop an author with godlike powers or have enough power to protect me from the imperial family, they could take their good will and shove it. Slowly, as if my head is being lifted by a puppet string, I cast a dead look at the culprit that had foiled my escape plan, as I was certain I had been alone on this abandoned street before I acted.

The empty brick and mortar buildings cast heavy shadow on the cobblestone street, but they don’t obscure the curious sight before, one that clears away my rage with haste. For it was not an adult full of false sentiments, but another child like me. It’s a boy, seated in a wheelchair.

A butler stands behind him, his face obscured in the shadows and his black suit appearing especially menacing at night. But I don’t take notice of that. I don’t notice how the shadows twist and contort around the butler and child duo, the way a lone raven let out a long caw before it dropped from a nearby roof, dead.

It could be best described as a fixation. The butler is actively pushing the boy closer and I can see he is rather well to do. He wears a smart waistcoat, the grey color matching his slacks perfectly. Pale brown hair curls tantalizingly around his eyes and ears, so faint in color it looks like it has been washed out. But most alluring of all are his dazzling amethyst eyes that regard mine, nothing but the warmth and friendliness I’ve been starved of sitting in them.

He’s close enough for me to touch, I almost want to for a second. He looks right around my age, although his brilliant smile reveals that he has already lost his front teeth and had them replaced.

The boy reaches out for me, his little palm open towards me, unphased by my sudden recoil. I don’t understand. I look like a wreck and I nearly slit my throat in the middle of the street. Any sane person would not be looking at me like I’m special... like I matter to them.

“Are you alright?” he asks sweetly, his hand still extended towards mine.

No, I want to answer. My dry lips don’t move and I know I’m still staring foolishly at this boy. But I can’t and don’t say anything, my hand just falling onto his as if it were meant to be. The cold and the pain instantly take a backseat as I feel the warmth from the boy’s hand. He squeezes it reassuringly and all the weight I have been carrying seems to fall from my shoulders.

And in that beautiful moment, the world shrinks to a population of three: just me, him, and his vibrant purple gaze that swallows me whole.