Maharlika Mahika // undergoing editing

Act II

As cliché as it was, I wished that it was all a dream. That everything will fade away once I open my eyes. That I would hear my mother calling me for breakfast. Or my sister shouting in my ear to wake up from my peaceful slumber. I wanted to wake up smelling the aroma of pandesal(1). But, I'm scared.

I'm scared to open my eyes to see myself lying on the streets. I'm scared to see myself behind bars in a dungeon.
Or worse.

But, I gathered all those fears and threw them away.

Please be a dream.
Please be a dream.
Please be a dream.

I opened my eyes.

Is this a dream?

Where am I?

This wasn't home. No scent of pandesal permeated the atmosphere, nor the shouts of my older sister that jerk me to wake up.

This certainly wasn't the street where I laid half-dead either. This wasn't the cold concrete where I was left. This wasn't the atmosphere that hung when I was beaten up mercilessly.

No, this was different. Different that what I have expected.

Heavy, blue curtains adorned the gleaming windows that show a golden radiance and a vast ceiling splashed with the hues of the ocean and splattered with ivory puffs decorated the outside. Emerald foliage added to its stunning beauty, a wonderful view the glass pane gave me.

Fluffy amber pillows cushioned my sore head, a cloth of ebony and tangerine fastened to the mahogany bedposts served as a canopy above me, a soft mattress under my small, aching frame, and warm blankets gave me a small sense of protection and care.

I smiled as I looked around the spotless room, walls covered with artistic monochrome wallpaper and decorated with intricately created paintings made by well-known artists around the country.

What is this place? Why does it give me a welcoming atmosphere? Why does it make me feel so... secure?

"You're awake."

My ears caught a rich baritone sound forming words directed to me. Then, my eyes caught sight of him.

His vibrant azure eyes were familiar, so was his crisp suit, crimson velvet cape and that crown perched at a precarious angle on his raven-colored hair, which I saw on numerous posters and newspapers.

My heart was caught in my throat, my palms secreted sweat, my body trembled,  and my breaths came out in irregular patterns.

He, too, was in the same shock as I am, as he caught sight of my eyes, in the hue that I despised.

"You're a--" he began, as if realizing something was wrong...

Me.

"And, you're the--" I started to say, as I sat up abruptly, one hand hidden behind my back. This is preposterous... I was saved by a—

"You're a Maharlika... you're the King." I said firmly, keeping my composure as I faced him.
"And, you're a Mahika." he answered me, as he unsheathed his gleaming sword and pointed it at the scum that I am.

Ah, what wonderful wake-up call. You find out your savior is from a caste you despise, and then he comes and points a sword at you.

Brilliant. I thought these things only happen in novels.

"I thought you were an—" he began, but I continued his sentence with a menacing tone.
"An Ordinario? So, you saved because you thought I was an Ordinario. You disgust me."