The cold metal shone on the edges under the flickering candle light, looking so unthreatening if not for the dried blood smeared over its barrel.

The gun's nozzle lay pointing at its owner, whose head was perched over the backrest of a dusty sofa.

His eyes were battling with the flickers, opening only in the darkness whilst avoiding light. His legs were crossed at his knees, breathing a tense pattern, yet, looking as serene as a Japanese art work.

Contradictory to this image of peace, his wife was screeching her lungs out in room behind him. It was a battle of will, a war for not one but two lives. Maybe a new beginning or maybe a somber end.

Dominic Goldstein was neither used to depending upon people for rowing the boat of his fate, nor hold the paddle of his life and have the ability to sway it as they please.

Though, as unfortunate circumstances had come to being, he was so dependent now.

Promises had him wearing down, expectations tearing him apart —all because of one woman.

Her.

She held beauty, she held grace, and she held power far beyond her age. Irresistible and inciting was her poise. Making her his, felt just right.

He did not know if it would ever be worth it. The sin of giving into temptation.

.

.

.

.

Her head hit hard against the stringed charpoy, breathing labored, gasping for air like a human deprived. Her pupils were dilated and a clear rush of adrenaline had her body warm and thumping.

"It's a princess!" the midwife exclaims in mirth, cleaning the child with warm water, ever so gently. "Her hair…it's just like you!"

Her heartbeat staggered, dipping low in her gut as a new sheen of cold sweat overcame her.

Not a girl. It couldn't be. This has to stop. She promised no more bloodshed to him. A girl…it would mean chaos. She could not let the peace of the entire empire be jeopardized because of a child.

A child she knew she could never accept.

A child who would be easier to let go of.

With a heavy heart and burdened mind, she opens her chapped lips and croaks out:

"N-no, Ji-ah, it's a-a b-boy."

The midwife looks up at her employer and a look of desperation was exchanged. They were more than just an employee and an employer. Within that look, coursed a history more than decades long, there was an understanding of idealistic kindred spirits. 

With a silent nod, she wraps the now sleeping babe in a cashmere turquoise blanket and clears out her throat, with her voice as loud as the raging thunder storm outside, she announces the beckoning of this low born.

"IT'S A BOY!"

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[SOMEWHERE ON THE STREETS OF KINGDOM RETRICA]

It is the beginning of a new year. Like every other, streets are adorned with fairy lights of purple, Queen's fanciful, color and the graveled roads are littered with cupcake wrappers and discount coupons where there isn't ankle deep snow.

Every other store on the street is transformed into a makeshift bakery, freshly painted with festivities, temporarily selling baked goodies that little orphans could never afford.

Chocolate covered strawberries, velvety cheesecakes and glazed doughnuts inciting the soul.

She stood there, face pressed against the shop window, warm breath fogging the cold glass as her grey eyes glimmered on the sight of such delicacies proudly perched on a silver trolley. She drooled on the pristine glass, like every other winter.

"Fancy a sweet off the trolley, lass?"

The question caught her off guard; voice rough, hoarse around the edges and a figure big and intimidating stood beside her. She looked up and gulped. "N-n-no, sir, I-I'm quite fine," the young girl answers, with all the eloquence her five-year-old brain could muster.

This five-year-old is Sienna, a pale orphan of five years, deprived and malnourished, yet her eyes glimmer as if a beacon of hope itself. Ragged clothes leading to a dirty face is graced with a shy smile. 

The man grinned at her; his dimpled smile too far away for Sienna to touch. She stared up in an odd sense of wonder; he looked masculine and kind, chiseled face with sharp features yet his brown eyes are laden with kindness. He gave off an aura of trust. He was fatherly when he ruffled her nest of obnoxious red hair. Sienna wanted to follow him everywhere.

Who knew you could find kind people on a random Wednesday afternoon in the kingdom of Retrica.

"Ay, ye peasants, move along! Don't yer loiter around my shop with yer dirty bums!" the shopkeeper shouted from inside, waving a rag to attract their attention as if his voice wasn't loud enough.

Sienna, remembering how her last experience of loitering around shops resulted in her being drenched with dirty fish water because she was caught staring at a kid with a doll inside a restaurant, instantly backed away. As if the contact burnt.

Her small body tumbled backwards and the momentum had her butt swinging to the ground. The redhead whimpered, ice-covered foot-walk numbing her butt and eventually making her pants go wet.

Now the children at the orphanage are going to tease her by calling "pissy pants" again.

They'll laugh at her again. Write the bad words on her books.

Her big dull silver eyes welled up and lower lip jutted out, quivering in impending crisis. 

"Move ye asses along, bumblebees! Me don't have the day for yer!" the shopkeeper wailed again, waving the rag aggressively.

The big man scoffed and grabbed a hold of Sienna's arm, lifting her up like a packet of cotton, he settled her on his shoulders. The small girl yelped, at almost 6 foot 5 inches, this might be the closest she'd ever come to flying. She grabbed a hold of the man's collar like her life depended on it.

Which quite possibly was the case.

Big man chuckled in his deep voice, swaying his shoulders left and right that incited squeaky yelps from the girl.

Sienna, in that moment, realised she did not like heights.

"Be brave lass, you've got the world to conquer."

Big man pushed the glass doors of the cosy bakery open as Sienna jerked to clutch his raven hair with her small bony hands. Her senses were instantly overwhelmed with the scent of sweet delicacies and New Year specialties. Her grey eyes sparkled in excitement and the obvious shock at the face of the stubby shopkeeper.

He looked like a merchant sailor from any one of Retrica's neighboring kingdoms.

"Eh, Gentleman— welcome!" the Shopkeeper greeted merrily as if he wasn't shouting at them mere seconds ago. "Would yer like something?" he grinned, rubbing his hands together and craning his neck at big man.

The interior was warm, lit dim and classic folk songs rang through. The roof was wood with multiple hinges and hooks indicating it to be another one of those makeshift bakeries.

"The Queen's special, if you may," Big man demanded politely and Sienna's eyes instantly darted to the infamous purple pastries secured in a crystal case, gleaming like a rainbow under the light. Intricate details of a castle sitting on top of the hills carefully decorated over the circular cake.

The shopkeeper nodded vigorously and brought it out of the case. Sienna breathed in the sweet scent of lavender. It felt like home. Which one? She didn't know.

"It's pretty," Sienna voiced meekly not feeling entitled enough to comment, though it was too pretty to be left unappreciated. Her wide eyes stared at the cake in an unblinking stance, almost shining like pure silver.

The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at her. 

"Queen's fancy, they call it," Big man added with a dimpled smile.

"Eh—yer first time? Tis magic, they say," the shopkeeper grinned and Sienna sighted his gold filled teeth. But she was too young to understand that it was gold and not solidified piss stuck to his teeth so she recoiled in disgust.

She felt high on big man's shoulders, yet, under the shopkeeper's spine-chilling gaze, her heart knew she did not belong there.

"Keep it moving, boy," big man commented as the shopkeeper hastily boxed the treat. Payment was made and the box was handed to little Sienna on their way out of the shop.

"Come back, eh?" the shopkeeper waved the bills greedily at them.

"You'll like it," big man spoke softly, taking Sienna off his shoulders and softly putting the kid on the ground. Big man was tall, scary and intimidating yet his demeanor held a kindness Sienna had never received.

"T-t-t-thank you!" Sienna exclaimed, eyes tearing up, small nose sniffling uncontrollably. "Thank you! S-s-so, m-much! Thankyou!" she cried out body bending ninety degrees in diligent bows, over and over.

Big man smiled, bending down to Sienna's eye level and this time the little girl could touch his dimples by pressing her small hands against his big face. The elder leaned into the touch and ruffled crying Sienna's hair.

"Now now, don't bend too much or the pastry will be ruined!" big man pulled Sienna to look up straight and squared her shoulders. The small girl, still overwhelmed yet diligent to follow all orders, nodded vigorously.

Big man laughed. And it was so manly, Sienna almost stilled in time. Jaw dropping. She mimicked his smile, presenting her own dimples on her chin.

"Pretty," Sienna mumbled in awe and big man smirked.

"Yes, you and your smile. Promise me to never hide it, no matter what happens, okay?" big man's eyes roamed over Sienna's worn-out sweater and baggy pants engulfing her figure in a whole. "I don't want tears in those eyes."

Sienna smiled almost robotically fast, neck disappearing in the oversized sweater as her heart fluttered with admiration.

"Is your butt still cold?" big man questioned and Sienna nodded in a trance.

"Okay, here you go, Agnes."

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And that's how Sienna's five-year-old frame ended up being wrapped in an oversized cashmere sweater of a thirty-something man, dragging her tracks all the way from the shop to her orphanage. There was an energetic skip in her step as she looked forward to hide under her bed and eat the pastry all by herself. 

But as she entered the godforsaken housing lodge, the matron burst into a fit of rage with her riding crop in hand. Muscular body dressed in a tight fit of velvety blazer and knee-high riding boots. Her raven hair was all neatly tucked in a bun which left her ever frowning forehead on show.

"Where have you been, Sienna?!" she shouted, eyes burning with malice. "Did I not ask of you to be back before four?! Do you dare disregard our rules!"

Sienna whimpered, cowering in herself as she kept the pastry box hidden behind her. The woman picked her up by her collar and hit her leg with a loud splat.

Small Sienna cried out loud, withering in old matron's grip like a dying leaf on a windy day. Like fish trapped out of water. Like a shooting star destined to hit the ground.  

"You dare cry out loud?!! What are the rules, Sienna?!" she hit her again, on the cheek this time. It was harder and it stung her awfully so she bit her chapped lower lip and wished the pain to disappear.

It didn't, like always. She instinctively tried to evade, but she swung harder on her shins.

So, instead of crying, Sienna tried smiling.

The matron liked exercising her dominance over defenseless kids. It made her feel better in her own miserable life.

So, she hit the little girl again. Like she was hit when she was a kid. Like she was hit when she was a woman. She hit Sienna harder.

Hurting children felt relaxing to her.

And poor child, clutching the box of pastry hard against her back, under the cover of her sweater, let the waterfall of tears flow down her bruised cheeks and broke into a smile. It was hard. It hurt. So much. Still, she pushed her lips in a wide stretch.

Smile no matter what.

Somehow, this little gesture, so unlike a reaction for that circumstance, made her feel empowered.

That's what big man had asked of her. Big man was kind and gentle. Sienna was naïve and gullible. Big man was big and intimidating. Sienna was a follower.

So, she smiled because at least there was something expected of her. Someone counted on her. So, she smiled like the first ray of sunshine beaming through darkened clouds. Like the first cherry blossom blooming after a harsh winter. Like the first reason of anything.

Though, to say the least, this smile was not contagious.

Matron hated it with a passion. For different people expected different things of you and Sienna was too young to know that, yet.

Matron wanted fear and misery to dominate Sienna's small, innocent face. She wanted to hear more screams resounding through the old walls of the orphan lodge, so that she had a reason to hit harder.

A reason to exist.

How dare a little girl like her, weak and lanky, smile when tears spilt from her eyes like a gushing waterfall, an unstoppable fountain? Why were her eyes sparkling like diamonds on a dull night and why was her smile was so inciting?

Inviting.

"You are pathetic, Sienna. Weak and disgusting. Go in your room and we'll continue. I'll make sure you never smile again," The matron grimaced after throwing Sienna down.

The little girl fell onto the rough carpet, face dragging against the harsh fabric and bruising, but all her hands knew were to protect the pastry box. Like a treasure. After crying and fear, protection was one of her first instincts that begun to brew from this fateful day on.

The girl sniffled, hugging her pastry box. As the rush of adrenaline subsided, her limbs started throbbing. She could feel the blood rushing through her body and gushing out from the many open cuts that were not hidden by Big Man's sweater. It hurt. Everything did.

It would hurt more if she followed.

Go in your room.

We'll continue.

But she has always been a follower.

Should she stop because sometimes following hurts?

She tried sitting up but her foot got entangled with her sleeve and she fell face first again.

Pain greeted her body like an old friend, embracing it as a whole.

Following people had always been easy. Whenever she couldn't do something on her own, she would copy it from the people around her. She copied tying her shoelaces from Macy. She copied brushing her hair in pigtails from Ezra. She copied sitting up from Rellesme.

Following was easy, copying was easy. Choosing for herself was tough. Making decisions was tough. But, was it worth the pain?

Whom should she follow?

Someone kind who she just met and knows nothing about?

Someone mean whom she knows for years and knows nothing about?

Smile, no matter what.

The words resounded in her head, playing like a broken record. Every throbbing beat of her fist-sized heart increased the impending dread that started pooling her gut.

Go in your room.

We'll continue.

She felt squeamish, lying on the ground, hurt. Matron will beat her again. The scars of her past beating had yet not healed. She was going to carve new ones on her skin.

She wanted to protect herself. She was scared of the Matron.

I'll make sure you never smile again.

She was scared of disappointing big man.

The sheer thought had her crying again. Her hands involuntarily clutched the pastry box as her brain forced her limbs to get up.

And run.

Her small feet hit the ground and a resounding sense of freedom consumes took her being. Her tears felt cold against the wind, nose running and snot dripping over her mouth. She smiled with a sense of freedom and though her limbs hurt, though she had no place to be, though the sweater constricted her pace, she held it up and ran. To the face which would make her smile.

Where to?—she asks herself.

Somewhere?

But at the end of the day, she was still a child with airy dreams. A person with no position in this world. With no one to call family and nowhere to belong. Her freedom was unfortunate and as she stood in the town center staring up at the escaping sun and the invading moon, she felt alone.

People were too big; she was too small against the world. She had nothing. She was nothing.

Nowhere, -- came her own reply.

What did she bring upon herself?

She stood against the gigantic statue of the royal crest, build right in the middle of town square. Looking right and left, all she saw were adults walking around with a destination in mind or teenagers aimlessly screeching Christmas carols on top of their lungs. Someone eyed her with malice and instantly she cowered away to the alleyways. Small hands gripping the only asset she possessed: a pastry box.

Little Sienna waddled her way to a park, and because she was too small to climb a bench all by herself, she crawled under it. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation, silver eyes sparkling in hunger, having digested her toast breakfast eons ago. Her fingers grazed over the silky fabric draped on the box and the embossed royal crest. Underneath, with silver embellishments, was written, Wabi—Sabi. To the magic of new beginnings.

Not that Sienna understood. They were pretty words in her eyes. Her small fingers traced the elegant font, urging to recreate it.

Her stomach interrupted the reverie with a loud growl.

Her lanky fingers hastily unbuttoned the box open and standing firm against all oddities and expectations was the castle atop a hill, still intact. Sienna was in a temporary utopia.

She would cry later.

She would regret later.

Maybe even go back to the orphanage and get beaten up again—but this moment, the kairos of sublime bliss where she held in her hands the one thing she had desired for quite some time in her small life— nothing could break the reverie.

She aggressively wiped her index finger against big man's sweater and gently swiped it over the pastry frosting. The creamy texture felt like clouds collected on her fingertip. Her chapped lips opened and tongue swirled out for a lick when—

"Ay, lil lass! Fancy yer acquaintance 'ere!" exclaims a voice and a huge, rough, hand was already dragging her from the safe confines of her hideout.

Her heart sunk to her gut.

Her moment broke, the reverie shattered and the cake box shut on magnetic impulse for a dirty hand was pressing atop it.

With wide eyes, quivering lips and haggard breaths, Sienna looked up to see the same shopkeeper maliciously grinning at her. His gold filled teeth peeked out like solidified piss which made Sienna cower in disgust.

Her breathing hitched and impulsively, she pulled the pastry box from underneath his hand and hid it behind her back. The man grinned another dirty smile which had Sienna visibly tear up under its peer pressure. 

"What a pretty lil lass, innit? Whatchadoin out 'ere in these hours? 'avent 'eard of the nightmongers, eh? Gon' sell yer soul to da devil—"

"N-no, p-please, leave m-me al—lone! I—uh—I don't want t-t-to go to the d-devil," Sienna cut in, crying inhumanely hard and scared out of her wits. Strange surroundings and strange people had her senses overwhelmed.

"Why, matey, aint gon' let this snatch away. Devil ain't gon' take ya'. I will. See those silver lil eyes look a tad suspicious, innit?" he cooed in her face, bringing Sienna close to him. His sweaty smell irked Sienna and she forcefully pulled apart. The man, unexpecting of such a revolt, growled in disfavour.

Though, Sienna was already running. As fast as her small feet could carry her. Screaming in the sparsely populated park, consumed by desperation, sweating in anxiety and crying in fear. Running because her life depended on it.

Though, no one came. No one saw her. No one was there to notice the flickering sense of hope dying within her small being when she was held by the collar.

No one was there to see the moonlight shiver in her eyes and the brilliance extinguish forever after being hoisted on her kidnapper's shoulders.

It wasn't a hassle for the shopkeeper to catch up to her. Gag her with a rag. Pick her up, and walk away into the darkness.

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