THE SICKNESS.

The Princess

The capitol was the true heart of the new world. It was the pulsating center of modern civilization as the people knew it and had risen out of the ashes of the old world and the cyclones of fire that had burned it into the infinite consciousness of history. It is important to note that the capitol was also the new centre of political power in the northern hemisphere of the new world. It had been so for the one hundred years of it's existence since the great fires of the old countries had faded into clouds of black ash. Six great houses formed the council that was the ruling class of the capitol and of these houses,  was the grand and noble house of D'avencourt.

Lord Akali D'avencourt had been one of the great thinkers whose minds had given birth to the new civilization and the creature comforts of its people. He had invented the systems and laid plans for the creation of the maze of pipes and passageways that moved all the new worlds water deep beneath the earth so it would escape the contamination of the ruined planet after the fire. It had been painstaking and difficult work that spanned nearly forty years before it became the blood of the capitol and at the end of those years, the name D'avencourt rang through the new world as a synonym for rebirth and renewal.
Naturally, his house and all who belonged to it enjoyed the status of Nobilis. The high born, the upper class elite. The one percent who enjoyed the fruits of the new utopia without having to witness any of the ugliness of change and transition. Naturally the great granddaughter of such a noble house was to lead the same patterned life the princesses of the six houses had enjoyed since the formation of the council. Part of this pattern was the requirement of a first class education in all the things thought necessary for one who would only know comfort and accommodation all her life.
Thus the princess Lucille D'avencourt had naturally attended an institution known only amongst the elite as the academy. At the academy, she had been taught to speak the six languages of the new world including the ancient language, English, that had become unpopular among the masses as a remnant of the old people and their savage ways. She had learned to play all manner of instruments, she had learned to paint and to sing. She had learned to dance and to dress impeccably. After all, for a princess every waking moment was an event not to be trivialized and one had to dress accordingly. She learned what colours best complemented the jade green diamonds of the south sea and which pearls clashed with the fine lace parasols imported into the capitol from  the western countries.

Most important of all the lessons learned at the academy however, was the one Lucille had faced the greatest difficulty in comprehending.
A princess of the capitol must obey.
Who or what they must obey was never made clear atleast not to Lucille who had gone to great lengths to subtly figure it out. Her peers on the other hand seemed to have no trouble accepting that yes, obedience was necessary for a daughter of the great capitol in whatever form and at whatever time it was demanded. Lucille however had only nodded along at the time to please her instructor who had been a lovely and kindly lady. A lesser noble from the twelve houses beneath the council.
Even after her time at the academy had come to an end and she had begun to live her sheltered and privileged life, she lived in constant anxiety. She worried about the obedience she had so casually sworn her allegiance to at graduation in front of all the upper crust of the capitol and the other members of house D'avencourt. If and when the time came to stand on her oath, would she be able to honor it?
The biggest part of this problem was the one she had always been privy to. At some point, a daughter of one of the capitol's six houses would have to marry into another of the great families and sire an heir. She had never spent more than a few minutes in the company of anyone who wasn't a woman and had only glanced at the princes of the capitol yearly at the winter solstice reapings.
There was also her preference for staring at faces that were smoother, gentler, more delicate than a man's had been said to be. Hands that were similar in shape and size to her own and voices that did not break into cavernous echoes when the owner spoke. Really, she should have been more careful about who and to what she pledged her obedience and all the underlying consequences she suspected that oath implied for her future freedoms.