Exile (Book #2 Royale Series)

Chapter 9: Foreign Betrayals

Juliana

Dear Aspen,

     I am not going to send this letter. First, I would have no way of doing this, even if I so desired—which I don't. But I'm writing it because it needs to be written. These words on this page have to be said, and I'm too much of a coward to say them aloud. Here's a fact: I am never going to see you again. I'm never going to see my family again. I'm never going to see my home again.

     My name, now, I suppose, is Julie Hawthorne.

     I am not a princess.

     I don't know who I am.

     But I know one thing for sure...

     The girl you love?

     She's never coming back.

     ...And I don't think I want her to.

     She looked directly at the face of adversity and ran.

     I am not her. We are not the same.

     My biggest fear is admitting that once I left the Isolian Court, I was never going to be the same again. How do you let go of the person that you've always been, and become something else?

     Easy.

     You delay doing it, and you deny everything.

     I will come back—denial.

     I will see you again—denial.

     I don't need to move on—denial.

     This isn't permanent—denial.

     No more. Because all denial is good for is delaying the ugly, cruel knowledge that will inevitably come.

     I will not come back.

     I will not see you again.

     I need to move on.

     This is permanent.

     I stripped myself of my princess skin, I walked out of that shell, I left it behind, and now I'm naked. And I need new skin. I need to find another shell. And I can't do that if I'm still holding on to this one. If I'm still clinging to the last remnant of hope that I will come back, and slip right into my old role as if I never even left at all.

     I'm ashamed that I ever let myself believe that, but even infinitely more ashamed that I let you believe it.

     Another broken promise that you must endure.

     I'm sorry that letting go of you must be my first step in finding my new self. But you became such a big part of me. Loving you was at my core—my very being. Do I believe it would have all gone away by the time I have written and subsequently burned this letter?

     Definitely not.

     Stripping yourself of a love like that takes time. And strength. A strength I don't necessarily think that I possess. But I'm working on it. This is me working on it.

     The new me will be strong.

     She will not bow down to the image of the girl she thinks she is supposed to be. The girl who everyone else wants her to be.