𝕴 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖞 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘. 𝕴 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖆 𝖛𝖚𝖑𝖌𝖆𝖗 𝖌𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒. 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖉𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖑, 𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝕴 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖐 𝕴 𝖉𝖔. 𝕴𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖗𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖊𝖉, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖞 𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖑 𝖓𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖘.
I go over to my desk, my legs waking up from their slumber a bit too slowly. Writing what I think is a good start to an apology letter for being late, I fold up the dyed paper I dyed recently using coffee beans and the sun. My backpack is heavy as I sling it onto my back, my shoes uncomfortably tight. But I don't have the money to go out and buy new ones, I usually spend it all on novels and Television Shows.
Before I walk out the door, I quickly grab the newest novel from my bed 'Wuthering Heights" by Emily Bronte.
"'Take a good book to bed with you,'" I quote. "'Books do not snore.'"
When I arrive at my class, every student's face blank and tired, I give the letter to Mr. Nelson. Mr. Nelson teaches English Literature, and I am his best student.
I am not too late today, only by a few minutes.
"Take a seat, Thanatos." Mr. Nelson tells me after he reads my letter. "Class, please stand," We all shuffle up into an awkward standing position. The Class Pledge, one that must be repeated every day in case we unexpectedly forget.
Mr. Nelson starts the pledge, his voice echoing off the walls.
"May we be cruel,
May we lie,
May veins of dark blood show stark,
May our eyes be concealed in darkness,
With our tears baked with deception, devoid us of our pain.
May our evil blood turn to ice."
Every boy in the class shouts out, "We are the Class of Deception, Cruelty, and Sarcasm." Our chant.
Mr. Nelson continues, his eyes scanning the room.
"May we hate everybody we pass,
And may we be crueler than the rest, because we are all that."
We repeat our chant.
"May our Queen made of webs cocoon all of our pain,
so we have no worries.
May Jorogumo use her eight legs to shield us from the horrors of the other peaceful classes.
May we avenge our class using sarcasm and deception,
May cruelty be our best vice." He finishes the pledge, and we repeat the chant one last time. We all sit down, bowing our heads in silent prayer to our gods Saeva, Cozbi, and Momus .
I never really pray, I know it is important to pray to our gods, but they cursed me with the most powerful gift in this stupid school. According to my teachers, I will probably be the first Prince picked for an heir. Most people would consider it an honor to be allowed to work by a Queen's side, but it is more a curse than anything. I have seen the other princes who are now consorts to the Queens, their life is gone. Their joy. Their essence deprived of their soul.
No one knows what happens when Princes die, nobody wants to know. The usual ritual when a Fae dies is to gather the remnants of their ashes that mother nature did not carry away, and blow them across the flower that we keep beside us before it completely withers and reforms in our chests. It is common, and it is rumored that your mate would have the same flower, we all are given one. Even us Princes, but we don't know if we ever return. Mine is a lilly, and it always sits in a sculpture of a forgotten god from human times. I think Greek. It is a face, with the top of the sculpture open to hold pens or pencils, but I use it as a flowerpot.
A few years ago we figured out that all Greek and Roman statues are criminals covered in plaster. It was a pretty shocking find, that is for sure. We actually figured it out by accident, another student who belongs to the Class of Wilderness and Death got mad and threw a statue. They were Bwardipuginin so they didn't get in trouble for their temper.
So I made sure my statue was a replica, not the real thing.
"Class," Mr. Nelson interrupts my thoughts, and I glance back up from my desk. All prayers are forgotten. Our lesson is about to start and I rarely stay for all the talk about books I have already deciphered and read. It is boring.
I raise my hand, "Can I please be excused," I ask.
He raises his eyebrows, "Well, you certainly can, but may you, yes. Yes, you may." I roll my eyes.
Packing my bags and stuffing all of my books under my arm, I shuffle out of the room. Walking back to my own dorm. My next class is Magic, although I already have that mastered. As I walk, I walk past a room full of Laritiones, their pledge still being said. Us Tomairsitkiz's don't have a long pledge, just a small one.
"With our wings made of shadows;
We reek of disaster.
With our faces so pretty;
We reek of desire.
With our sword pommels shining woefully,
Over our shoulders,
We reap war. " The teacher continues, her voice melodic and low.
The class uses their own chant, "We are the Class of Peace, War, Disaster, and Desire."
I walk swiftly away from the class, not wanting to be drawn into the room.
When I am back safely in my dorm, I open up Wuthering Heights. The book is good so far, not the best book I have read, but still good. It is full of raw emotion and pain, as the characters experience a life I wish was real, yet I don't.
My eyes droop farther down every second I squint at the small print. And when I fall asleep, I have dreams of a large white house in the middle of the forest.
A three-story white house, to be exact. The whole first floor is the living area, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a kids' room. The second floor has no separating walls, as it is all a library. The third floor has two closets and a bedroom, me and my mate -who is not a queen- and two offices.
Our house is also a bookstore for any of the elves who live in the trees surrounding us, but they rarely disturb us. We have a child, and she is just the sweetest little girl ever. We have a Faerie Hound, and we love him to Tech Duinn- The Land of the Dead- and beyond.
We have a life and one that does not include me giving away my essence. In the living room, we watch a cartoon, one about elves making cookies that grow underwater with Narwhals. Our daughter is in love with the show. While my mate and I just sit on the couch, her head in my lap as she reads 'Pride and Prejudice', and I have my nose stuck in a current adaptation of Peter Pan. I hate it.
Then the dream ends as a loud bell sounds through the walls, and I am aware once again that I have to go to my dreaded Magic class. And so I re-begin my day, the same way I do every day of my existence.
By putting my book down, and that is the worst part of the morning.
YOU ARE READING
Morons and Monarchs
Fantasy"You wish, Ea. I surmount you in all things," I wink, then whisper. "Bottom." Ea chuckles dryly. "We'll see, Viviendel, what you call me later." -*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* In a world where immortal feuds hold more power than a ruling monarch, a Queen dies w...
