The four remains

Prologue

Dear Mother,

I feel as if this is completely useless. There is a price on my head, and yet gathering food has become more difficult and exceedingly dangerous. Though it is necessary for us to communicate, it is also a great risk. If someone discovers us, we are doomed. I've put too much dangerous information on this sheet. Once you receive this, burn it.

— Dearest

I looked back at my letter. It was risky to send it, but I had no choice. I didn't sign it, and I didn't give it to the mailman. Here in the kingdom, things operate differently than I expected. I have no interest in staying hidden; I want to roam free again, but I mustn't—for my mother's sake. For her, I will do whatever it takes.

These walls cave in on me. If I stare too long at my surroundings, I feel dizzy and nauseous. It feels as if the darkness has swallowed me whole, and the walls of this cave close in the longer I stay, trying to suffocate me.

The tears I cried when I first entered this dreadful place are now gone, dried up. I feel hollow, incomplete, as if a part of me is missing.

I looked to my right and held my only weapon: a rusty sword. Its touch felt odd. I can wield a sword well. After everything I've been through, the act of swinging a sword, slaying the wind, is what calms me. But now, with the bounty hunters after me, leaving my cave is rare.

Scavenging for food has become harder than ever. It's like trying to find a sapphire in a bag of rice. These days, the only way I get food is from outside sources. They pretend to be clumsy merchants, 'accidentally' dropping rice and curry near my cave while I reach out from the shadows to retrieve it. Now, food is like gold to me. I limit myself every day, eating what feels like a single grain of rice.

I look into the rusty mirror I fetched a few weeks ago. I've become so thin that my bones show. My skin is paler than paper; I feel sick living under the dirt.

I want to go up. I want to go back to the surface. I look up in desperation, begging my legs to move, to escape through the tiny hole, but I remain where I am. I glance back at the mirror. I once was a pretty, optimistic child who ran through the plowing fields helping her now-dead father. He's gone, all because of Sire. The king. It's his fault, and it's mine. All I want is my father back, to see his smiling face and the warm glint of hope in his eyes.

His eyes sparkled every time I saw them. My mom told me my eyes looked the same. I look back at the mirror, staring into my dull, lifeless eyes. Where have they gone? I ask myself. They must have died with my father.

This is all I have now—a dirty cave to live in, a meager amount of food that isn't enough to last a week, and a mirror. A mirror to remind me of what I've become. A dirty mirror for a dirty, not-so-little girl. The mirror reflects the cowardly daughter who ran when her father died, ran when her mother screamed and pleaded for his life, ran into hiding when she was the kingdom's only hope for freedom. I clenched my fists and looked back into the mirror. All I saw was a cowardly little girl, a pathetic excuse for the kingdom's hope.