[Era of the Goddess, Year 290]
The princess was perfect — everyone said so. And perfect things do not need to improve themselves.
“People are not born equal. That’s why suffering exists.”
These were the words her parents told the princess whenever she asked why some citizens of Luvinia starved to death in the street with no money to buy bread. It was a phrase so often repeated to the princess that the words became a sort of mantra in her head: the solution to every question that she felt needed to be answered.
Yes, people were not born equal. That was why some people served others, and deserved to be whipped or tortured when they disobeyed the orders of their superiors. It was why disease ravaged the common folk while the royal family remained untouched. It was why the princess slept in a warm bed with a roaring fire in the hearth, while almost everyone else in the world slept in cold rooms through which wind blew between the haphazardly built walls of wood.
People were not born equal, the princess told herself. That’s what daddy said. And auntie. And Bridget, though her eyes were sad when she said it. So there’s no point in me feeling guilty.
When she was twelve years old, the princess made a friend. Despite being perfect, up until that point the princess had had trouble connecting with girls her age, because girls her age were not princesses. They were the daughters of dukes, viscounts, noble men and wealthy merchants, sometimes friends of her father or grandfather — so there was always a certain distance that seemed to exist between the princess and others. Nobody wanted to get to know her. Nobody cared to — or perhaps they were just scared to try.
That was before the princess met Didi. Didi was the second-eldest daughter of a minor noble house (the Ughladi family), one completely inconsequential within greater Luvinian society. However, Didi’s father happened to be invited to the ball that the princess attended, and Didi came along with her parents. The two girls fell easily into conversation, huddled together in the corner of the hall. Didi was like nobody else the princess had ever met. The other girl was a year older than the princess, tall and lean like a bending oak branch, with pale thin fingers and a perpetually wily expression on her face. Didi’s hair was dark and short, like a boy, which the princess didn’t even know was an option for girls. Throughout her entire life, the parents of the princess — the king and queen — always insisted the princess keep her bright red hair long and silky, as was traditional for both male and female members of House Cormac.
“I made a friend today,” the princess told Bridget that night, as they prepared for sleep. “At the ball. She is very strange.”
Bridget looked up. She had been brushing her long brown hair, which fell like a wave over the shoulder of her white nightgown. “Really, my lady?” She seemed to consider this and then smiled. “I’m happy for you. Truly. What’s her name?”
Didi’s eyes were dark blue, like water at dusk. When she laughed, she laughed with her nose, so it always sounded like the snort of some barnyard animal. She was pretty in a way that the princess, who had had to wear copious amounts of make-up at her parents’ insistence since she was a very young girl, had never realized existed before. Didi was pretty, but not because she had symmetric features or glossy hair or straight white teeth or because she was a perfect princess who was simply not allowed to be ugly. She was pretty because she looked a little funny, and said strange things, and had a habit where she bit her thumb while thinking — something the princess thought was very charming to look upon. Didi’s beauty was natural and effortless. It wouldn’t disappear no matter how she dressed, or if she got older. It simply was. On her face, behind her face. Imprinted on her smiling soul.
The princess, perfect in every way except those that mattered, felt jealousy for the first time in her life. She was jealous of that kind of beauty.
The two girls enjoyed each other’s company in a way that did not demand anything of the other. When they strolled through the royal gardens or traversed the battlements of the castle — Bridget following at a respectful distance behind — they did mostly in silence, only speaking to comment on incidental things or to express random thoughts that came into their heads. They spoke of the color of the sky, if it was pink like cherry blossoms or purple like pressed grapes. They spoke of the things they had seen in their daily life: a dog with one eye, a brightly-dressed juggler, the princess’ golden sheep. They never seem to speak of their families.
The princess was happy. Happy, how strange was that to admit to herself? She always managed to keep her expression dignified as suited her station, but there seemed to be such a lightness in her chest. She felt that unless she kept her feet planted firmly on the ground she would float away like a balloon.
“You’re a different person than you seem,” Didi said unexpectedly one day.
They had been sitting in silence for some time, watching the ducks waddle along the pond from their oak chairs placed underneath the gazebo. They were drinking green tea from a pot placed between them. Didi had introduced the princess to the drink.
“What?” The princess couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s strange comment. “What does that even mean?”
“You seem one way, but you’re another way,” Did added, unhelpfully.
The breeze skating over the pond stirred her boyish hair. “It took me a while, but now I’m sure. You're not a princess, not really. Your eyes are too open. You notice things that you shouldn’t — that you’re not designed to — even if you pretend you can’t. That’s why they don’t like you, you know. Because they’ve closed their eyes and bound the lids with iron wire.”
The princess didn’t say anything for a time. She didn’t know if she was being criticized or not, which made her feel apprehensive. “Is that a bad thing or a good thing?” she said, almost in a whisper.
Didi's dark blue eyes reflected the sunlight bouncing lightly off the pond. “Neither. It just means we’re the same.” She grinned widely. Her teeth had slight accents of yellow. “That’s why you’re special to me.”
This must be a sort of miracle, thought the princess at that moment, unable to take her gaze off Didi's face. The pond and the world were forgotten. A person appearing from the blue that accepts you as you are, without judgment or motive. This is a sort of miracle. A special kind of gift.
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Like many miracles, it vanished as suddenly as it had manifested.
The king came to see the princess one night, in her bedroom, which he entered without knocking. It was the first time the princess had seen him in three months. His full and red beard had grown longer. When he entered, she stood awkwardly, hands behind her back, unsure if stepping forward for a hug would displease the king.
The king did not greet his daughter and did not smile when he saw her. Instead, he spoke plainly. “Your brother has brought to my attention the amount of time you have been spending with the Ughladi girl. You will need to cease contact with her.”
The world spun around the princess. “What?” she said softly. “Why?”
The king was already turning away as he replied, preparing to head out of the room. “Many reasons, the primary being that Lord Ughladi himself has made several poor monetary decisions that reflect poorly on the status of his house. In turn, allowing his daughter free reign to visit the castle and attend to a princess of Luvinia reflects poorly on me, the patriarch of House Cormac. You will not see her again.”
“Wait, I-”
The princess couldn’t help her involuntary protests. Until that moment, she had never spoken a word against her father. At the unexpected words, the king turned his head to look at her. It was dark in the room. Dusk had fallen and the princess had not yet lit a candle. The shadows passed over her father’s face, obscuring it and making it even more terrifying than usual.
“I only mean-” The princess tried to keep her voice from wavering. “Is that absolutely necessary, if it makes little difference to you? Because Didi and me, we’ve gotten quite close in recent-”
She flinched. The king had taken a step back into the room, with a sharp movement that almost made her gasp aloud. Her father had never struck her, though she had seen him hit her older brothers across the face before for not following or contradicting commands.
“Aina,” the king said, with a dangerously emotionless voice. “Are you disobeying an order from your king?”
The princess bit her lip, trying not to burst into tears, which she knew would only make him angrier. “No, Your Highness. I just wondered-”
“You will never see this girl again,” the king said, his voice raising slightly in volume. “She is not of a rank high enough to be seen with a royal princess. From what I’ve been told, her looks and manners are utterly repugnant to well-mannered society. Her continued presence cannot be accepted by the royal house. Now, you will drop this matter, unless you want me to handle this problem personally.”
And then he was gone. The room seemed to be still spinning. It had taken a little over two minutes for the world to break apart.
People are not born equal. That was a fact of life.
I know that, thought the princess, I really know that, I don’t need to be reminded. Please, father, don’t-
The sound of the king’s footsteps had faded. The princess took a step to the left. Then she took a step to the right. She couldn’t seem to think properly. The dark room seemed to be pressing in on her from all sides. Already it seemed like the image of Didi’s smile that she held within her own mind was fading, abstracting, becoming the distant past — all at once.
I need to tell someone, the princess thought, someone can help me.
But who? Her mother would not care. Her siblings would ultimately listen to her, but would be equally powerless in the face of their father’s will. Grandfather could do something, but he wasn’t in the capital right now.
Bridget, the princess realized, her mind spinning around this realization. I need Bridget. She will fix this, somehow, because she’s smarter than me and will think of a solution. I need her, where is she, because it cannot end like this, so suddenly, so horribly, without a goodbye or any sort of words. This is precious to me, she is precious to me, and maybe everybody is precious and nothing is better or worse but I won’t ever learn that if this happens. Bridget, where are you, please-
[September 27, 2042]
“My lady? Aina?”
Someone was calling Aina’s name. She opened her eyes, and somehow wasn’t surprised to see Bridget staring at her. One of her attendant’s hands was lying gently on Aina’s shoulder. Aina’s back ached. She must have fallen asleep in the entry hall.
Bridget’s eyes brightened when she saw Aina open her eyes. “Sorry for disturbing your rest, my lady. Mr. Cal had finished preparing dinner.”
“Ah,” said Aina, brushing her red hair into place with her hand. “Oh. Yes, of course. The peasant mentioned that earlier. Yes.”
Bridget leaned back, intuition shining in her eyes. “Are you alright, my lady?”
“Yes, of course,” Aina replied brusquely, still blinking the sleep from her eyes and adjusting her back in the leather chair. “Only, I need to apologize to Ms. Ram. I ignored her quite rudely earlier…”
Aina trailed off. There was no point in lying to Bridget, who knew her as well as she knew herself. “No, that was a lie. I am not alright. I had another dream about Didi, Bridget. Even after seven years… I just never seem to learn my lesson…”
Aina rose to her feet, looking aimlessly around the room. “That’s why we’ve been sent here, isn’t it? To this place — this world. Because I’m just-”
“My lady,” Bridget interrupted, simultaneously forcefully and apologetically. “It’s just- if I may say something.”
Aina fixed her dress, which had creased in her sleep. “Yes?” she responded, trying to keep her voice unemotional.
Bridget straightened to her full height, which was at least a head-and-a-half taller than Aina herself. Her kind face and brown eyes seemed to shine with determination. “It’s a good thing, I think, to not forget, my lady. That means Lady Ughladi is still part of you, her influence still in you. I remember those days, my lady. I’m glad you can recall the happiness they brought you. …I'd never seen you like that, up until that point. Maybe that’s because I didn’t know you fully yet, and what kind of person you were.”
A sudden burst of emotion went through Aina. She almost felt like crying, but she managed to straighten her posture and keep her voice dignified. “Bridget.”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I haven’t said it yet. I’m very grateful that you are with me, in this place.”
“Thank you, my lady. I knew it already. You always tell me, every day, in your own way.”
Aina reached forward and squeezed Bridget’s hand. “Okay…” She said shakily, gulping down air.
Then Aina smiled. “You said supper is ready? Let’s see what that cheeky peasant cooked this time.”
“I knew you secretly looked forward to Mr. Cal’s meals, my lady.”
“Of course, Bridget. I take it you know that I expect you not to mention this fact aloud. I have suffered enough humiliation at the hands of that boy for one day.”
There was a smile. “Understood, my lady. Understood.”