The wind today is especially culling as it whips her pale skin, opens her wounds. As for rain, just as much cutting, falling at irregular angles and intervals, and icy.
The grasslands shake and the darkest clouds race.
The mellow moonlight lightens the valley lightly.
Ksyusha resists nature's forces, her posture tall, ungiving. Grips her sword with one calloused hand then the other, and swings with a heavy huff.
Her blonde, honey hair, despite being knotted extremely tightly behind her heart-shaped face, falters. The strands dance so much so they cover her sight.
Yet her skyly eyes remain ice-cold, unwavering, staring nowhere.
Exhausted, she pushes through the wall of pain, her muscles flaming. Brings the sword down while lowering her hind leg, then immediately, with the force of her front leg, pinpoints the tip of her blade straight ahead, killing an imaginary enemy with unimaginable bloodlust.
Then again and again.
Again.
She switches her form, swinging her weapon in various trajectories.
Her mind races as much as her feet do. Where?
Where to strike? Where to move?
"Lady Romanova!" A voice avalanches from behind. "Young Lady-!" Once more, but this time breaking halfway through. "Lady-" a cough follows.
Ksyusha stops, her breaths heavy. Turns her head back and glances at the maid and her worried, almost crysome expression.
"Why are you not sleeping, Sveta?" Ksyusha asks. "It's the middle of the night."
"Exactly! Are you really asking me that?!" Sveta shouts at the lady annoyedly, pointing a finger. "What in the world are you doing here, naked at that?!"
Her brows of a darker color knit as her face scrunches. Her modest sleepwear almost carries her away as she barely manages to remain on the ground with the way the wind forces her up.
She presses her nightcap tight against her hair.
"I don't feel like it," Ksyusha says.
Her maid, who stands a foot taller than her, tilts her round head in confusion, at a loss for any more formalities.
The princess sighs as she lowers her sword. Steps toward her and grabs the light night robe the maid holds with a hand.
She hands her weapon, slips her hands inside the cloth, then walks toward a gray castle up in the horizon. The maid follows from behind.
"Are you still thinking about dueling the prince tomorrow?" Sveta asks with worry. "You are mad for that! You will be offering your life for nothing!"
Ksyusha ignores her nagging, stretching her hands with a yawn.
"Sir Romanov was born a genius never seen before! He learned to talk before walking, mastered aura swordsmanship at seven, and came up with such an ingenious invention as 'soap' when he was just eleven! He even invented a unique language!" Sveta does her best to discourage her lady. "Why don't you give up your rights to the throne? That's the only way!"
"Losing to that guy or worse… surrendering…" Ksyusha can't hide the tinge of disgust coming off her voice. "How is that any different from dying?"
She laughs as she slows, patting Sveta's shoulder with closed eyes and a light smile. "I will win."
Sveta bites her lips, at a loss for words. Lowers her gaze, her brown eyes shaky and glassy, reluctant. The rain washes it all away.
"If so is your wish…" she whispers with a somber voice.
Ksyusha nods as she wonders why the maid is so attached to her. Her thoughts wander.
Why does Sveta serve her? No more than because she was born a princess. Just the same way most people are born as slaves. If enough people were given a chance, would there be more people like her brother?
If enough people are given a chance…
As the two approach the castle gate, Ksyusha blinks seductively at the guard while Sveta flames.
"Just where were you looking?!" She strides toward the guard, standing by his shoulder. "If the princess can so easily escape, then won't the enemies easily infiltrate the castle? What is the point of you standing here, then?!"
"Huh?" the guard mumbles, dazed. "Princess?!"
"My ass!" Sveta shouts. Taps his armor. "Are you deaf on top of being blind?"
Ksyusha ignores the two after stealthily taking her sword from the maid's hand while she's distracted and passes beside the second guard, glancing at the imperial emblem of a blue dragon on his chest.
She makes her way up. Moves as the few maids look down on her, baffled at her state.
The very moment she enters her room, her body drops to the floor. It aches.
It hurts so much.
Silence, beside the occasional pops of candles and the rain drumming the windows.
Silence permeates.
Why does it hurt so much? Why is she so weak? Why is she so dumb? Why is nothing going her way although she gives her all away?
All the time, she had but a single excuse. That she can always try harder.
But for how long?
The reality is and always has been the same.
She's trash. Someone unworthy to be called a princess, much less an empress. Of course her monstrous brother deserves the title of a ruler more.
As for her?
She smiles, scraping the floor with her nails. "I need to work harder…"
"I will escape the castle into the forest…" she tells herself. "I will come back stronger, and smarter, and fiercer, and take the throne."
Tomorrow at the succession ceremony, she stands no chance to win against her brother. After all, she's nineteen and she hasn't even awakened her aura yet.
She stands, wobbling. Hunched, she approaches a shelf beside her grand bed.
Ksyusha opens it, pressing her hand against her secret compartment and pushing it. A slight crack opens, and there, a mirror lies. At first sight, primitive.
Yet the mirror is not simple at all. She won it in the underground city at a gambling den, and later got it appraised by a craftsman.
It appears, the ruby-framed mirror is in truth a cursed artifact. It has an ability to teleport the wielder anywhere random in the world.
At first glance, it may seem perfect for any escape. Yet the randomized outcome can easily kill whoever activates it. From a jungle in the middle of nowhere to the netherworld, the artifact will send one wherever.
It can also only be used once every moon cycle. At full moon. Basically, every month. Any more than that, and it'll simply break.
Ksyusha's hands shake as she holds it. Stares back at her crazed expression, barely refraining from injecting her mana to the mirror.
She sighs deeply, the mirror slipping in between her fingers and falling, almost splitting in two.
She turns her head left. Stares at her sword lying on the floor. With slow, haggard steps, she falls beside it.
Ksyusha leans back against the door, watching the clouds move. Her head empties.
Maybe she should just give up the rights to the throne? She will still live her life in luxury and will have enough money to sustain herself to the end.
True, she might get engaged to some noble, but what's the bad in that? It just means she won't even have to take care of herself. Eat grapes in silk robes, all pampered. It sounds… easy.
Ksyusha closes her eyes, repeatedly hitting her head against the door, knocking. Begging for help from somewhere above.
She cannot keep looking within. It disgusts her. She disgusts her so much.
Her hand crawls toward the hilt of her sword. Instinctively, she grips it. Tight.
Bringing it up to her eyes, she inspects the blade.
She brushes her finger against the sharp edge of the sword as it bleeds.
She does it repeatedly.
Then, Ksyusha licks the blood off the blade, her tongue blazing in pain.
She presses the groove against the inner side of her leg. Then brings it closer to herself before the blunt edge of the sword touches her.
She moves it. She moves it up. She moves it down. The sword wets her vagina with blood.
She screams, not from enjoyment and not from pain. Just screams, her hair standing on end.
The tip of the sword closes in on her eye, always almost blinding her for good. She wishes it hits.
"Lady…" Suddenly, a voice whispers from the other side of the door. "Are you… alright?"
The princess halts, her pupils shaking, hazy, crazy. She smiles as she hurriedly stands, her cheeks reddening further.
Ksyusha takes her robe off, letting the sword off her hand.
Her mouth drooling, she presses her bloody hand against the doorknob, about to open and greet Sveta.
Just as she is to proceed, bright red light streams from the back.
She absentmindedly turns her head and witnesses the mirror on the ground quake with an intensifying light.
On its surface, she sees a drop of her blood dirtying it.
Before she can come to reason, darkness enshrouds everything.