The Stars Of Despair (SDR2 OC x Canon)

Prologue II : How to Hopes Peak

Today would mark the three-year anniversary of my parents deaths.

Three fateful years, going through the 7 stages of grief.
Marking the day in Deveirian history where, for the first time ever, 2 leaders died at the same time, leaving their fourteen-year-old daughter to take charge of their role in the nobility.

My name is Masumi Lynn Michiyo. I am the High Priestess of the Nobility, and faithful right wing to the royal family.

Living without parents is rough for any orphan. Most get sent to orphanages, get put up for foster care, and the lucky (or not so lucky) ones get adopted by a family member.

But.. being noble, you have maids and servants to do all your parenting for you, so there isn't much of a difference, or even need for an actual set of parents. Which is how Ive been living for the past 3 years. But even when they were never there for you, it doesn't stop you from missing them. Well, missing them, resenting them, even hating them.

I, however, have no idea how to feel. Even after 3 years of constant stress, hatred, pressure, resentment, and grief, I still couldn't tell you how I felt. But, it wouldn't matter at the annual tribute.

Every year since the war that sparked the deaths to millions, (including my parents), the people of Deveiria have gathered to the cemetary and relished in their grief. It is initiated by the Anthem Of the Eagles, the anthem of our kingdom. Every year, it can barely be heard under the sobbing.

And every year since that day, Ive visited their graves.

My parents graves.

I stood at the gates to the Deveirian cemetary. A cold, whispery breeze blew by, blowing petals off the flowers i held at my side.

I took a deep breath in.

I was going to be fine. I wouldn't break down. Not this year.

And I walked into the cemetary.

The lingering scent of sadness and greif immediatly entered my senses. I had gotten there before the annual tribute started naturally, by duty, but arill quite a few widows and incomplete families missing mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters stood at their deceased loved ones' graves.

Greif stung like a bitch.

Walking down the gravel path, I took in the lack of color. All monotone shades of gray, black, and white. Which, I was not an exclusion to.

I, myself was clad in my best greiving garb, a plain black dress with nothing to call attention to. After all this was a graveyard, not a fashion show..

There it was.

I let out the breath I had been holding onto. It didnt feel like a breath of fresh air, but rather as if the air was being squeezed out of my lungs as I was drowned in a deep dark sea of sadness and hatred.

My parents graves looked proud, standing a bit taller than all the other ones, a bit cleaner, a bit more care taken in. They were the heads of the left and right wing, but even in death did they really deserve to be held higher to account than everyone else?