Eyes. There’s nobody here, and yet I feel the eyes of the world, rubbing against me like thick honey I can’t wash off. Such an odd sensation, feeling as though me and my tied up ginger hair and bandaged arms, me and my miss-matched socks and flower dress, me and my confusion are out on display.

to my forever day one

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And so, like every other night, I will go out onto my balcony at dusk and play pretend. I will smile, because people don’t like when the sun is angry, and I will let this kingdom be deceived by a facade for a little longer. I will be their illusion, the royal family’s lie. And I will do it again. Over and over again. 

A sixteen-year-old me had run into the garden just as wild as her surroundings, with messy tears running down her cheeks and found the best thing in her life.

The crowd starts to quiet down and warm up for a fantastic night. My cue is seconds away, feet aching and stomach tied in knots. But there’s no time to think about pain. As I run into the blinding lights, you see grace and beauty. I feel fire.

The blood is everywhere, reeking of death. It trails to that door one drop, one drag at time.