The Abandoned Princess [WMMAP x TAE Crossover]

Chapter One | And so, the world crumbles apart.

The first thing Jennette felt was warmth. Not the warmth she longed for—that fuzzy feeling that bloomed in her chest like the first flower of spring, or the delicate touch of a hug—but warmth. A scalding heat, like boiling water left on an ignited stove, splattered onto her cheeks and all she could make sense of was the sight of red. Fingers fitted too tightly between flesh, right between the ribs, and the brunette can only see the god forsaken crimson of those fingers coated in blood. Had she not collapsed already, her knees would have given in. It soaks quickly, seeping into the finely sewn fabric of the embroidered velvet lined with gold thread—but it's not nearly as gilded as the two royals' hair, blessed like the sun. No, it is a dull oxidized and tarnished gold, more so resembling the hair of the man in front of her. Yes, the man who she thought she knew well, yet never at all. A man who's eyes, dimming by the second, mirror a similar diamond shine to the two royals behind him.

Perhaps the man's golden strands of hair and jeweled eyes were not as pretty as the Emperor and Princess', murky and clouded, like a gemstone that failed to be polished properly. But why—why is it only now that she sees how clear they are when they reflect her?

Jennette's lips tremble as they freeze like the first snow, face paling while unconsciously shaking her head softly. And so her words come out, cracked, and fragile.

"Wh... why?"

The Emperor's curled fist forced between the man's ribs, pulsing with a flickering aquamarine blue veil that scorched away the flesh and bone around it, twisted out roughly. With such intensity, it's no wonder the man's body falls, dark red spilling from his lips down to his chin. He falls against her, strands of his golden flax hair tickling her neck as the nauseating scent of metal stings her nose. Jennette can't help but raise her trembling fingers against his chest as he weakly heaves into her shoulder, her blue zirconia eyes slowly rising to meet the Emperor's.

The blood of Viscount Patterson drips onto the disgustingly pristine ballroom floor from his gloved fingertips. They're mocking her—Jennette. Silk white gloves, dirty, yet the hands inside remain clean even when blood is spilled so cruelly. And those jeweled eyes—a diamond dust storm, with a frostbitten sharpness, as if submerged in venom—stare back apathetically.

"You dared to call me your father with that uncouth mouth of yours? Well. Here's your real father—a traitorous reprobate, doomed to damnation...!"

Jennette's eyes began to sting, her vision glossing over as her fingers trembled, clinging on to the Viscount—no. Clinging on to her father. Her father, who the Emperor had just stabbed a hole into. Her father, who was now bleeding out against her shoulder. Her father, who's breath was getting weaker by the second, his body, cold.

As she felt her dress grow heavy, soaking in her father's spilled blood, Jennette couldn't understand. She just couldn't understand it. All her life, it was all she ever wanted—this simplest, little thing. Ever since her first breath, she longed for a family. A father who'd smile at her warmly, a bright little sister who she could spoil rotten and adore—even if it took an eternity, it was an eternity she'd wait for. But this—the girl she thought of as such, avoiding her gaze with a knowing guilt, and the man she thought of as her father, hands dirtied with her actual father's blood—just what did she do to deserve this, this cruelty? From the moment she was born, she wasn't even allowed her mother's warmth—and now her father will perish, coddling her with all the warmth he has left.

The eyes of the princess she thought she knew are avoidant. It was just the other day when those jeweled eyes twinkled in excitement at the chocolates and milk tea she had made for her. Ah. Jennette sees the truth now—she was being deceived from the very beginning. There was never a chance of them becoming family from the start. As a bitter darkness creeps into her throbbing heart, Jennette wonders if their friendship was also a lie. Did the princess have fun telling Jennette those "I love you"s and "I miss you"s halfheartedly? Did the princess enjoy taking advantage of her naivety, placating her love-starved self with festival whims? Did Athanasia enjoy watching her cheeks warm at the slightest affirmation, stringing her along while fully intending for that affection to remain unrequited?