Chapter Text
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"What will it take for you to love me?" Athanasia asked.
With tears streaming down her face, she looked up at the person before her. Her father, Emperor Claude, stared down at her as she knelt at his feet.
“Should i become like Jennette? If i do, then will you call my name dearly like you do hers, and watch me with warmth in your eyes?”
The lovely Jennette was her beautiful half-sister. As if taking away Athanasia’s pitiful speck of honor wasn’t enough, she had stolen her father away as well. Athanasia was so far at her wit's end that she had to bring that name to her lips and beg.
"Would you hold me in your arms... rather than casting me away?”
“Such a thing won't happen until the day I die.”
"But why is that?"
Emperor Claude didn’t hesitate for a moment. He showed no hint of emotion at the fact that his extremely obedient daughter was expressing such desperation.
“I’m your daughter too, father. I was by your side far longer than Jennette.”
Athanasia had mustered all of the courage she possibly could to present this first and last plea. And still her emperor, her father, was heartless to the very end.
"You fool."
Her hand, which been clinging to Claude’s leg, fell weakly to the floor. His fierce contempt crashed over her as an eternally cruel voice penetrated her ears.
"There was never a day i considered you my daughter."
Claude was heartless until the very end, and Athanasia’s jeweled eyes glistened with a despair deeper than ever seen before.
"The Lovely Princess" Chapter 8: Twisted Faith
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"...No."
The only thing that came out of the little girl's mouth was a silent whisper, a prayer to no one, as she woke from that dreaded dream.
The bed tried to hold her. Warm. Forgiving. Everything she would not allow herself to be. She tore herself free anyway—feet on cold boards, hands shaking as she gripped the bedpost. She stood as if learning to walk for the first time.
The window was dark. Her reflection floated up to meet her as she crossed the room, feeling as though the life in her body had been sucked out. A ghost of a reader who had once done nothing.
Not anymore.
"Wretched Claude," she said quietly. Not a shout, shouts were for people who still hoped to be heard. "Not a single day do you deserve the devotion and respect Princess Athanasia had given you."
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass. "You never earned it. She can practically polish your floors and lie about her own hunger and take blows meant for your worthless hide. And you killed her anyway. Because you never once looked at her face.”
Silence. The window held nothing but the dark. She stayed there until her heartbeat slowed and until the cold glass no longer felt like a punishment.
Then she turned.
She stepped closer until her breath fogged the silver. Doll-like jeweled eyes stared back. A cherubic face. A body no more than four years old.
"And you," she whispered to her own reflection. "You lived happily. In the novel, you were comforted and loved by all those around you. But the moment someone else suffered from the wrongdoings of your loved ones, you turned a blind eye."
She pressed her palm flat against the mirror, hard enough to make the wood frame creak.
"She lives."
That is the declaration of her oath—a silent duty she alone will bare.
"Athanasia must become the empress of Obelia, and for that she will live." She repeats again as if uttering a mantra.
Her reflection only stared back. Scared. But not looking away.
“Hello, Jennette,” she said. “We're going to save Athanasia.”