Princess Amara

There was blood everywhere. 

My tears mixed with her blood. 

My small body shaking uncontrollably as the ground became saturated in her life force. 

Her glassy eyes staring back at me. 

It had all happened to fast, it was a blur. 

Father had said he would be back right after his meeting with his generals. He should have been right back. 

Mother's warm face had smiled down at me brightly as she nodded in conformation that I could play in the square with the other children. 

Something I was never allowed to do. 

That man. I'll never forget his eyes, so angry and full of hatred. My little three year old self had never experienced anything like it. 

I would come to learn that it was that hatred in that man's eyes that had brought my Father to my land. 

To my Mother. 

The War. 

That man had just been so angry, so disgusted by me as I accidentally bumped into him. 

His armor was perfectly clean, his brown hair slicked back, his sword must have been polished over a thousand times to shine so brightly. 

Maybe if I hadn't had that scarf over my head to hide my hair,  maybe if I had been paying more attention, maybe if I had ran instead of watched helplessly as he drew his sword with the intent to murder me. 

Maybe. 

Maybe She wouldn't have stepped out. 

Maybe She wouldn't have taken the blow that was meant for me. 

Maybe Father would have had time to find us and stop that man. 

Maybe I wouldn't have been covered in his blood as well as hers. 

I wouldn't have heard that awful scream of pain as Father clutched her body to his chest. 

I wouldn't have been dragged off my land, away from my people, forced to live in a palace where I would be forced to find the world I had grown up in, full of love and compassion was gone. 

Instead I became something else. 

Princess Amara.