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Igris Albaraolune

A light shines through the barely open window. Clearly someone forgot to close it again, refusing to listen to whoever’s responsible for them for the billionth time. It’s morning, undoubtedly, and to the joy of the little girl habitating this building – a royal mansion, home to the highest echelon in anima society and, soon to be, a rotting vessel for any stray anima desperate enough to call it their home.

“Moon 15 of… the cycle… what cycle was it?”

Sitting on the main couch of the living room, lies a young girl, curiously inspecting her very own diary while impatiently tapping an expensive-looking fountain pen against her puffy right cheek. She can’t be older than 12.

“Ah!” The little girl exclaims, “that’s it,” before going on to crudely write the rest of today’s date, right under her – comparatively well-written – full name. The whole thing brings a large, goofy smile to her face, her sharp teeth being only partly obscured by a large strand of hair. Are you sure you’re not forgetting something, Igris?

What used to be the soothing sound of silence, is then broken by the light creaking of the main door. Taking the time of day in consideration, it must be the housekeeper, coming for the daily cleaning of the mansion. Igris loves the housekeeper! Especially for the treats she always brings the little girl. Soon enough however, an imposing presence joins the room, inspecting its surroundings. Oh no.

Without a second thought, Igris gets up from her seat – but not before hiding her little diary in the tiny gap between the cushions – and stands uncomfortably upright, with both hands behind her back as the arriving presence steps forward. Closer and closer, steadily towards Igris.

“Explain yourself.”

“I, uh… I’m sorry…” Igris replies, trying her absolute hardest not to fidget. Or move. Or breathe too much. She even avoids looking up at the unusually tall figure standing right in front of her. Though she can’t see her face, Igris could recognize that royal ornate dress from a mile away.

It takes less than a second after bringing herself to speak, that Igris gets it right across her right cheek. A slap, mighty enough to leave a bright red mark. And so, there she stays; on the floor, clasping her now red face. She has no willpower to get up herself.

“Look at me. What did I tell you?”

“Uh, my, uh… hair… You told me to keep it tied…” Stumbling through her words, she complies, slowly moving her gaze upwards; though she always ends up having to do this, it never gets any easier. Up her eyes go, slowly, in the span of what feels like an eternity crammed within but a few seconds, stopping at the peak of the towering presence. She’s still wearing that uncanny mask of hers, even in the presence of her own child. Igris can still feel the disgust coming from her glance, even behind that mask.

What happened to the housekeeper? Did she get rid of her, too? Igris should’ve known not to accept courtesy from anyone, but yet she still couldn’t help but hope the queen wouldn’t find out. Don’t worry, Igris, she always finds out.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Get up.”

Igris complies once more, not knowing where to keep her gaze. It’s not exactly comfortable, but at this point she’s gotten used to being able to hear her heartbeat reverberating through her skull, as she struggles to feel the air entering her lungs while attempting to breathe.

As if being unable to handle such a pathetic sight, the queen leaves the scene, heading upstairs to where her bedroom is located, eventually indicating the end of the interaction with the loud - but not aggressive - shutting of the door. It’s over, for now. Igris can finally catch her breath.

Catch her breath…

Until a new day rises.

“...”

“I don’t like tying my hair.”

Igris looks at the mirror in her bedroom with a displeasured expression. She messes with her hair a few times, trying in vain to make it look a bit more to her liking; her large, thick twintails flow down her shoulders, like two extensions of her head that she wishes she could rip away from herself. Why can the other children choose how they look, but not her? You know the answer, Igris. You’re the queen’s child. You’re not even supposed to have a name of your own.

Regardless… that’s the least of her worries, considering she has to wear that stupid jester outfit today. Calling it cute would be far too generous, but it’s not exactly ugly, either; it just makes Igris uncomfortable.

The bedroom door creaks open unannounced. Judging by the rhythm of the footsteps it’s probably the queen, Igris thinks to herself – it’s like she’s been subconsciously trained into pinpointing exactly where her mother is in a twenty-something meter radius, even if it’s a bit hard to tell sometimes.

“Are you ready to go?” The queen’s voice sounds far less foreboding than yesterday, perhaps even trying a bit too hard to sound comforting. She’s not wearing the mask right now.

“Yes, ma’am.” Igris replies, messing with her hair one last time.

With the queen taking her daughter’s hand, both of them walk out of the bedroom. Through the corridor, down the flight of stairs, walking towards the main door. The queen lets go of Igris’ hand for a bit to fiddle with her dress before going out the door, holding her child’s hand with her own right hand, and an ornate silver dagger in her left hand.

The weather is quite nice, being kind enough to bestow a light breeze upon the queen and her child as they head deeper into the woods. Igris can’t help but be a little nervous, but she knows it’ll be over quickly. Soon enough, they approach their destination – a woman, tied to a tree with both hands behind her back. She has a blindfold on and a cloth tied around her mouth, impeding her speech. “It’s the housekeeper,” Igris thinks, as the silver dagger is handed to her by the queen, who crouches to her level.

“Have no fear, child,” the queen calmly whispers into her ear, gently placing both hands on said child’s shoulders. “It will be over soon”.

Being only as tall as to reach the housekeeper’s stomach, she walks forth, holding up the dagger with both hands, aiming the pointy end at the woman in front of her, before lightly pressing it into her stomach. Igris’ deadpan look doesn’t seem to faze as the light pushing turns into her fully thrusting the blade into the woman's gut, inciting a blood-curdling scream – a scream that only gets louder and more visceral as the blade is pulled to the side, tearing through flesh like cutting through a piece of raw buck meat. Though the muscles and internal organs make it hard to flawlessly cut, she finally manages to go all the way through and pull the blade out from the woman’s side. Soon enough, guts start falling out of her body as her guttural screams go on to sound more and more muffled, along with every other sound in the vicinity, until eventually, the only sound Igris can hear is a loud, high-pitched ringing deep inside her ears. She looks at her own two hands, both completely covered in blood. She almost wants to throw up. Almost.