They say I am insane, but really I’m a free bird. When I climb trees, trying to get close to the sky, my father’s guards pull me down with rough, calloused hands and drag me back to my barred chambers.

I counted the days by unraveling the stitches of my wedding shroud. Each thread I cut is a reminder of how short our time was. There would be no beau for me. No extravagant feast of honeyed figs and salted lamb legs. I would not dance with the fires of desire.

When my father approached me, it felt as if I had been staring at nothing for days. I blinked, raised my gaze to him. My father, the king, shook before me and it weighed on my heart.

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“Cassandra,” he said voice firm despite his unease. “You know you can’t leave your rooms. You’re unwell.”

I tipped my head to the side, locks of raven hair falling over one eye, and it fascinates me how his image was split in two. So appropriate.

“I’m well enough.”

“You’re not.” He slashed an arm out to the window. “You scream through the night! Treasonous things that I may not be able to protect you from! You must stop telling these lies!”

“They’re not lies.” I snapped another thread from my shroud. The pretty blue strand fluttered to the stone floor. I picked it up and marveled at the vibrant color. “Troy will fall in a week. Your sons will die.”

“Hush, child! We will be victorious in our war. You simply don’t understand the mechanisms of battle. I am only lenient because I know you’re afraid. But our warriors are strong. Your brothers will win.” He strokes my hair and leans in to kiss my forehead, beard pricking harshly against my skin.

“Troy will fall,” I said. “Beware your victories, father.”