Heiress To the Throne

Prologue

Her nails are chipped.

Strange how I noticed this, of all things. I'm not one to judge people, but it struck me as soon as I gave her a once-over that her nails are indeed chipped.

There are a lot of other things I could have noticed about her. She has striking jet black hair, cut in such a way that it looks as though someone slashed it with a blade. Her face is plain, much like mine, except for black lipstick. Dark black, and the kind that stays on all day, not the kind that fades throughout the day into a cool color.

How do I know so much about looks? For one thing, my section is all about looks. We are supposed to judge people based on their appearance, but it doesn't come naturally to me, so I only do it when necessary.

She shifts in her seat, her hair slanting to the other side. She slumps down, stretching long, skinny legs out under her desk, so skinny that they remind me of wires. Her top is a black off the shoulder top, shrugging down too low for my liking. My section may be all about looks, but we're all about modesty also. 

And I never said I don't judge at all, I said I don't like to.

Her sleeves are tugged over her fingers, encasing them in warm material, creating a perfect little shell. I pull at my own hoodie, but it has gotten too short to fit over my fingers snugly. Plus, I despise stretching my clothes out.

My section would disapprove of the way she slumps in her seat, yawning without a care in the world as the teacher drones on. I suppose I'm not much better, daydreaming instead of paying attention. You're missing out on a valuable learning experience! My mom would shriek.

Maybe I can pay attention tomorrow, when I know she won't be here.

She pulls her sleeves up, scratching not one but both of her arms. Oh, the horror of a terrible itch.

Sunlight streams in suddenly, the clouds parting and moving away. I catch a glare in my eye and clap my hand over my eye, wincing. The ceiling suddenly sparkles. I glance at her. Her left hand. Her ring finger. The ring that has been sitting there for a year. Exactly a year as of yesterday.

Yesterday. Her birthday, the most important day of the year for those who observe Burnt.

The ring, the most expensive one to be made on the face of this Earth. Given to her by Ezra Kindra. Her one true love from since they were in diapers. Or at least, that's what everyone in Burnt believes.

But they don't love each other. Never had, never will. That sparkly ring that all girls ooh and aah over? It's only for show, to show that sections can work together.

Ezra Kindra, loyal observer of Vain. Loyal, except for the fact that he's engaged to her.

But what kind of nonsense is that? Is everyone under a magic spell or something? Ever since time first started, over the course of evolution, we all matured and supposedly became better people. But from the time of our oldest ancestors, there have always been two sections: Burnt, and Vain.

During passings on streets, we smile, say hi and hello, and put up a front for the outsiders.

The outsiders. The ones who don't belong to Burnt nor Vain, for they can't pick sides. Well, actually, they could very well pick. But they choose not to choose, as not to upset the most famous people on this Earth.

Eric Enika and Violet Enika, leaders of Burnt.

Charles Fryer and Monica Fryer, leaders of Vain.

The outsiders must have figured something out by now. They have to be able to see past the front. The sideways glances we give each other when someone from the opposite section walks by, after saying hi and hello, of course. The way our eyes travel up and down their bodies, judging them on their appearance.

The outsiders are terribly devoted to either couple in their heads, but they're too nice to pick. So they live in a shabby neighborhood on the far outskirts of the planet. They still roam our streets, though. They're always visiting someone or the other, but we know the truth.

They're looking on, admiring who they secretly admire, though they cannot let anyone know, for that would be a betrayal to their own little community.

So they aren't under a spell. They're putting up a front too, pretending not to see through our front.

Ever since time was created, Burnt leaders have always despised Vain leaders. And Vain leaders have always despised Burnt leaders.

They don't really show it, but everyone knows it deep down. But it's only a matter of time before all that angst comes tumbling out.

She pulls her sleeves back down over her hands, and in that instant that she does, the clouds zoom back into my view out the tiny classroom window, once again hiding the Sun. 

What? It's like she controls the world or something.

Her, Olivia Enika.

And me, Charlotte Fryer.

Charlotte Fryer, daughter of Charles and Monica Fryer, heiress to the throne that rules over Vain.