- K A L I - A L I -

The wind slides across my face as I stand next to my father. My mother, after a long time of not seeing her, managed to show up for the announcement of Klen's passing. A horde of hungry reporters sits before us, eager to hear the first official statement since I passed out on the day of the ritual.

Notably, Shuma has the Kamar right there on his wrist. A subtle orange glow emanates from the veins in his forearm, and a slight orange tinge sits behind his eyes. It's not normal for him to wear the Kamar during a press conference, but strength is in short supply right now, and people need to see that some is left, I guess.

My own strength, though, is faltering. I don't remember much of what happened when the guards took me away from Klen's corpse and to safety. The night blurred as my emotions threw me around the room like a trapped bird. I didn't get an ounce of sleep last night - every time my eyes closed, all I could see was the life leaving Klen's body.

"As you may have seen, there was an explosion at the palace last night," my father's voice booms, as a single tear drops down my cheek. I had cried so much I thought I couldn't cry anymore... that was a lie.

I steal a glance at my mother. Alebi had tried her best to look good for the inevitable spotlight, but I can tell she is still distraught. Dark bags hang under her eyes, and a stray hair or two exposes the frayed ends. The apparent weight of my failure, combined with the attack last night, had seemingly broken her and me.

"Klen Jurgens was a friend of this family for a very long time," Shuma continues, doing the best of the three of us to hide his devastation. "There's a lot I want to say, but I will miss him dearly."

Words blend as I look at the sea of reporters. Something cynical inside me looks at them with disgust. People are dying at this palace because the world has decided they need an immediate answer. Greedy terrorists, eager for the spotlight, have decided to kick me while I'm down. Have they ever considered that Klen was a human? A man with goals and dreams?

In this world, maybe patience isn't a virtue anymore.

My focus snaps back from my mind as I see Shuma switch the microphone off. He steps away from the podium, leading the two of us back inside the palace before shutting the double doors. The voices of reporters, trying to ask a million questions, fade away as the balcony disappears from view. I breathe out, trying to purge the anxiety from my system.

"I must address the royal court," my father sighs, clearly done with this as well. "Don't worry, you won't need to join this one."

My mother quietly nods as Shuma walks away, his normally upright head slumped. The weight of a country on his shoulders is taking a toll on his posture. I want to cry seeing him like this, but he wouldn't want that. I know my father, though - he doesn't break. He won't cave to anyone, and I'm proud of it.

"I'm sorry," my mother squeaks, her voice hoarse. Her body, normally relaxed, is stiff as a board. She looks at me with sorrow, her hands seemingly torn between wanting to embrace me and wrapping her robe around her like armor. Her indecision lands her in the middle, her arms awkwardly placed at her sides as if begging for orders. "I should've seen you earlier."

"Don't worry about it," I mutter, trying to seem apathetic but failing miserably. The words hit her like a brick, and she recoils slightly. "We've all been having a hard time."

"Why were you even with him?" She snaps quietly. "Alone? In the courtyard?"

I tilt my head, confused. "I needed someone to talk to." She recoils again as I realize the cruelness of my words. I didn't mean it like that, did I? Is this really getting to me like this?

Alebi looks like she wants to lash out, gripping her robe with fury. "Maybe if you had been stronger, things wouldn't be falling apart!" 

The words launch from her mouth like javelins as she immediately tenses up. Her lips part, desperately trying to reel them back in.

My throat tightens as I watch her realize what she said. "I didn't-" I start, anger crackling in my mind like a torch. Even my own mother thinks this is my fault. She's normally supportive, and now I'm the enemy in her story. "You're ashamed of me."

Her hands shake as she clutches her robe. "I didn't mean that, Kali. I'm sorry. I... It's just everything feels like it's unravelling, and then Klen..." she trails off, the emotional whiplash bouncing through our minds through the palace. Her long hair partially covers her face as she hangs her head. She looks like she wants to say more, but any chance of that fades as she swallows her upcoming words.

Even after the strike, I want to rush to her and comfort her, to save her from the dark place she's being pulled towards in this drama... but I don't. A silent rage engulfs my body as I feel the weight of the past days creep up on me. Nothing will ever be the same. Even if I wear the Kamar, even if I fix this, I'll remember what happened. The isolation closes in on me as my face tightens and my temples feel the weight of a hydraulic press.

"Dad needs you," I mutter through gritted teeth, the image of him desperately searching the archives flashing through my mind. Without another word, I turn around and walk away. The palace hall seems to narrow as the rage multiplies. Maybe I shouldn't have the Kamar - something would be burning right now.

The urge to scream presses at my brain as I rush through the halls, running to my room. I fling the door open, closing it as my breathing quickens. Is this what a panic attack feels like? No, it can't be. My thoughts are too slow, too methodical. I look around my room, reliving hundreds of memories as I look at each piece of furniture. I grit my teeth again, glancing around-

I freeze when I look at myself in the mirror. My long black hair rests on my shoulders, right on top of my regal dress. I notice a hint of red in my eyes, bloodshot from a lack of rest and an avalanche of tears. The burns, while healing well, plaster my skin like wallpaper. My hands tremble, seeing the spitting image of my mother looking right back at me. My breath stops for a moment, catching me by surprise.

The world sees me as a failure. Not even my mother truly gives me the benefit of the doubt. My father is quietly broken. Klen is dead. The news wants to watch me fall apart for clicks on their stupid fucking websites. I watch my hand ball into a fist, turning my knuckles white.

When the world looks at me, they want a princess. Fuck them.

I grab a pair of scissors from my crafts table, raising them to my head. I don't think as I feel the blades collide with my hair, dropping a lock off my shoulder like a waterfall. I continue hacking it off, my mind seemingly on autopilot as more and more hair tumbles to the floor. My eyes seem to narrow as I revel in the feeling.

I face myself again in the mirror, startled by the change. Loose strands catch on my dress as the remaining hair doesn't even reach my shoulders. This is a far cry from what I've looked like my entire life. The jagged ends resemble the mountains outside as they wrap around my head.

A flash of regret immediately shoots through my mind, but I quickly push it aside as I notice the key that Klen gave me. I told nobody about this, not because I thought it was a secret, but because of the gravity of Klen's death. It hits me that this is all I have of him now, other than the memories. The thought of a deranged person celebrating their political terrorism refreshes my anger.

I'm not going to get any answers in this palace. It's time I figure some shit out myself.