Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

The Sky is Our Home

Emira doesn't have a lot of things.

That was a ridiculous statement to the ears of anyone. Emira Blight? Now under guardianship of the empress? Not having many things? That was ridiculous.

Emira certainly thinks so. She doesn't even really think about it until she looks around her room and realizes how barren and... depressing it looks.

There's always been noise. As much as the Blight family prided itself in being sophisticated, dignified nobles in pursuit of serving their emperor, the household was awfully noisy. There were always people working. Or Amity's training, her mother's ranting, her father's tinkering (it took place in his silence) or her brother's mischief.

The castle was wider. The walls are thicker and distance longer. The silence and solitude Emira had always longed for did not taste as sweet. Despite the wider influx of people, Emira felt more alone than ever.

She doesn't like how awfully cold her room is either. Or how big it is with absolutely no things to fill that sort of space.

It also allows for her thoughts to talk. So much so that they cause her skin to crawl and her bones to tear. Anyone who knew Emira well enough knew that Emira's thoughts were not something that needed to be dwelled on.

She supposes that explains why she's lying in her...mother's? Bedroom floor, curled on a ridiculously soft rug.

Inhaling deeply, she lets the fumes comfort her cheeks. Closing her eyes to silence her thoughts. Her hands lay comfortably on the fluffy surface, soothing the aching of her fingers.

For the slightest moment, Emira almost wishes Lilith and Amity were there.

Like the rest of her thoughts, she builds it a soft grave. Laying little flowers atop so she doesn't think about it again.

There was no need to mourn the wicked, and her thoughts were a vile thing.

Huffing, Emira shoved her face further towards the ground. Hoping that maybe if she pressed hard enough, she'd bend the natural laws of physics. And that the wooly fabric would somehow devour her alive.

Well, it was the Boiling Isles. Anything could happen.

She feels a great deal of discomfort and pain rising to her cheeks. Leveling like currents, they tasted just as bitter. Probably from the salt of her crimes.

The discomfort grows at the sudden pressure that pressed to her hand-

A sheer scream makes her jump up.

Head shooting up, she scrambles away from the carpet. Only to catch Lilith trapped in terror above her.

Her hair was... different.

"TITAN, EMIRA," she scolded. "You frightened me! Why in Titan's grave are you just lying there?"

It was... red.

Her hair was really red. And... kinda huge. Unusually fluffy. Almost as if it grew twice its size, was that even possible? Emira was sure that wasn't possible.

Her attention wanders, scattering like beads of wine and mead. They stretch towards the twists of her hair, knotted like her stomach.

"Emira," her voice whispers this time.

It is enough to draw her attention back to her.

There's a gentleness when she calls her name, unlike the usual shrill use of it. A quick babble. Spit with venom like they were eager to rid of its sound.

Instead, Lilith strings each syllable together with twine and ribbon. Careful, like she's always known who she was. Like she had made her soul like she made her sister's.