Yurina Eleton
Daughter of the Emperor, and the 2nd Princess
She always wore the finest silks, always had the most expensive jewelry, with unmatched beauty. She had long curly blond hair, and beautiful yellow eyes.
Not only that, but she was the finest and most delicate lady in the Empire.
Or at least that's how it should have been..
Yurina wasn't a real princess. The Emperor picked her off the streets and pretended that she was his daughter. That's how it always was. Yurina was nothing more than a tool to be used, a mere pawn in her Father's game.
And so, Yurina met her end on her Debutant day.
I look up at Brother in fear. He holds a sword in his hand, and his intentions are clear. After all, now that Father is in deathbed, I'm his only obstacle to the throne. Why should he hesitate to kill me?
We're in the dungeon of the Imperial Palace. This is where most criminals meet their end, but I'm not a criminal. So why am I meeting my end here?
Elwin's sword goes through my stomach, and I feel a sharp pierce in my stomach. Elwin's face remains emotionless as he takes the sword out of me, my body crumbling to the floor.
I close my eyes, darkness engulfing me.
I don't even have any happy memories to die to. What a shame. I wish I could go back, back to when It all began. That way, I would have lived as a commoner, be happy, and maybe even have my own family. I'm only 16, such a young age to die.
However, I open my eyes again. Huh? Where am I? I glance around and realize I'm lying on the floor. My eyes go to a mirror to my left, and my eyes widen in shock.
"Why do I look so young?"
I look at myself. I look like I'm, 6.
I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, my small, dirty face staring back at me. My blond hair is tangled, my cheeks smudged with grime. I don't see the silks or jewels I once wore. Instead, I see the street urchin I used to be—a skinny, forgotten child surviving on scraps.
"What is happening?" I whisper, stepping back from the mirror.
The bustling noise of the city outside pulls me from my thoughts. I glance out the window, and my heart skips a beat. It's the familiar sight of the slums—narrow alleys, ramshackle houses, and the faint smell of baked bread mixed with soot.
I'm back. Back to before the Emperor found me. Before I became Yurina Eleton, the Second Princess.
A sharp knock on the door jolts me. "Yurina! Get out here, you lazy girl!" The voice belongs to Madam Bren, the owner of the orphanage.
I scramble to open the door, my mind racing. Madam Bren looms over me, her stern face twisted in annoyance. "Stop gawking and get to work! The bakery needs firewood, and you're not getting dinner until you bring it!"
She thrusts a basket into my arms and shoos me toward the door. My feet move automatically, but my thoughts are a whirlwind.
If this is really before the Emperor adopted me, then I still have time. Time to avoid him. Time to avoid the palace, the schemes, and the sword that pierced my stomach.
As I walk through the crowded streets, I clutch the basket tightly, my mind sharp with determination. I don't know how or why I've been given this second chance, but I won't waste it.
This time, I'll make sure I live a life of my own.
One year later.
The sun sets over the slums, bathing the rooftops in a soft orange light. I sit on the edge of my shared bed, fingers working carefully to patch a tear in my dress. It's my only one, and the fabric is worn thin in places, but it's still mine. Over the past year, I've grown taller, my limbs lean and strong from endless chores. My hands are rough, calloused from work, but my yellow eyes—so bright and out of place here—still burn with determination.
I glance around the crowded dormitory. The younger kids are huddled near the window, sharing a stale loaf of bread, while the older ones argue over whose turn it is to fetch water. Nobody notices as I slip my hand under my mattress, pulling out my little leather pouch.
My heart skips a beat as I open it. Inside is my secret—my escape. A small collection of silver and copper coins, carefully hoarded over the past year. Every extra moment I had was spent working in secret. Carrying packages for the market vendors, cleaning stalls, and even running messages for a few kind shopkeepers. I did whatever I could to earn a few extra coins.
It isn't much, but it's enough. Enough to leave this wretched orphanage. Enough to leave this city.
I hold the pouch tightly, imagining the life I could have—a life far away from here. No more Madam Bren yelling at me, no more endless chores, no more... waiting to be used by someone more powerful.
"Yurina!" Madam Bren's shrill voice breaks through my thoughts, making me jump.
I shove the pouch back under the mattress and smooth out my dress just as the door slams open. Madam Bren stands there, her face pinched with anger.
"Stop lazing around and get downstairs! There's wood to be chopped, and the baker's waiting for his delivery!"
"Yes, Madam Bren," I say quietly, keeping my eyes down.
Soon, I'll be free. And then, I'll run away, run away to somewhere where no one can find me.
The sun is almost gone by the time I step outside, basket in hand. The streets are noisy with people hurrying home, and the smell of bread from the bakery fills the air. I head toward the pile of firewood near the bakery, the same as every evening.
I kneel by the pile, stacking the logs into the basket. As I work, I glance around. The baker is busy packing up his stall. His wooden box of coins sits at the edge of the table, shining in the fading light.
My chest tightens.
I shake my head and focus on the firewood. No. I've worked hard to earn what little I have. Stealing won't help me—not this time.
With the logs tied tightly, I lift the basket onto my shoulder and start walking back to the orphanage. The streets are quieter now, the sounds of laughter and chatter fading as the sun sets.
When the orphanage comes into view, I feel my heart sink. The crooked roof and broken windows never looked more unwelcoming. Madam Bren stands at the door, arms crossed, waiting for me.
"You're late!" she snaps the moment I get close.
I lower my head. "Sorry, Madam Bren," I mumble, slipping past her.
Upstairs in the dormitory, I place the basket on the floor and sit on the edge of my bed. The others are already asleep or too tired to notice me. I slip my hand under the mattress and feel for the pouch.
It's still there. I sigh in relief. If Madam Bren ever finds this, then I can never run away. I'll stay in this hellhole forever, and will only be a pawn to the Emperor.
The next day, I wake up with one thought in my mind: today is the day.
I go through my morning chores like normal, scrubbing the floors and helping with breakfast. Madam Bren barks orders, but I barely hear her. My heart is racing.
When the afternoon comes, she sends me out to run errands. My hands clutch the empty basket as I walk down the familiar streets, heading for the bakery. The smell of fresh bread fills the air, and I see the baker busy at his stall, talking to a customer.
There it is. The small wooden box, sitting at the edge of his table, filled with coins.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. My hands are sweaty, and my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my chest. I walk closer, pretending to look at the loaves of bread.
"Yurina, what do you want today?" the baker asks with a grin, his attention still on the customer.
I don't answer. My fingers are already moving, sliding toward the box. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it.
In one quick motion, I grab a handful of coins and shove them into the pocket of my dress.
The baker doesn't notice. He's too busy wrapping bread for the customer. I turn quickly, clutching the basket, and walk away as calmly as I can.
Don't run, I tell myself. Don't look back.
I keep walking until the bakery is out of sight. When I finally turn a corner, I duck into an alley and press my back against the wall, breathing hard. My hands are shaking as I pull the coins from my pocket.
There are so many. More than I've ever seen in my life.
A small, nervous laugh escapes me. I stuff the coins back into my pocket and straighten up.
I smile to myself, this is so much money.
At the mouth of the alley, a figure leaned against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows. His wavy blond hair fell messily over his forehead, and his piercing green eyes were locked on Yurina. He didn't move, didn't make a sound, just watched with an unreadable expression.
There was no malice in his gaze, no anger or judgment. If anything, there was a faint flicker of interest, a glimmer of something close to admiration.
As Yurina straightened up and hurried off, clutching the coins in her pocket, the man remained where he was, his sharp eyes following her until she disappeared around the corner.
He tilted his head slightly, as though considering something, and then turned away, slipping into the crowd without a word.
The sunlight shines through the window as I finish my chores. The floors are scrubbed, the dishes are washed, and the shelves are cleaned—everything is done. My arms ache from all the work, but it's worth it. Every day brings me closer to leaving this place.
I sit on my bed, about to eat a small piece of bread I saved from breakfast when the door slams open. Claudette walks in, her dark curls bouncing as she heads straight for Madam Bren, who's standing by the window.
Claudette is always loud and dramatic, her green eyes always searching for someone to cause trouble with. Her dress is nicer than the rest of ours because she doesn't do the harder chores.
"Madam Bren!" Claudette's voice is sharp and accusing. "Yurina didn't do the dishes! They're still in the kitchen!"
My heart skips a beat. I freeze, the bread still in my hand.
"That's not true!" I say quickly, standing up. "I did them right after breakfast. I even cleaned the shelves!"
"Liar!" Claudette snaps, turning to face me. "I went in the kitchen, and the sink was full of dishes. If you really did your chores, why is there still a mess?"
I feel my stomach twist. I did clean everything. I scrubbed the dishes until my hands were sore.
"I swear I did," I say, my voice shaking. "Maybe someone used the sink after me."
Claudette crosses her arms, smiling smugly. "Oh, so now you're blaming others? Typical."
Madam Bren looks at me with a stern face.
"Yurina," she says coldly. "This isn't the first time I've had to remind you about your chores."
"But I did them!" I say, my voice rising. "I'm telling the truth—"
"Enough!" Madam Bren interrupts. "If you have time to argue, then you have time to clean the kitchen. Do it right, or you'll miss lunch!"
My chest tightens, and my face gets hot. I look at Claudette, who is smiling like she's won, and at the other girls, who are whispering and avoiding my eyes.
I clench my fists, but I don't argue. I grab my apron and head to the kitchen.
As I stand at the sink, scrubbing the same dishes for the second time, my hands move automatically, but my mind is somewhere else. Lately, I can't stop the dark thoughts that keep swirling in my head. They come out of nowhere, and I can't seem to push them away.
I think about Madam Bren, her cold voice always ordering me around, always making me feel like I'm not good enough. I imagine grabbing her, shaking her, maybe even—no, I push that thought away quickly, but it lingers. The idea of making her feel what I feel, of seeing her fear—it's there, and it won't leave.
Then there's Claudette, always looking down on me, always ready to blame me for anything. The smug smile on her face when she lied to Madam Bren about the dishes... I picture her, and suddenly I'm imagining what it would be like to hurt her, to make her stop looking at me like I'm nothing.
The thoughts grow stronger, and I feel my breath quicken. They all blend together—Madam Bren, Claudette, even the other kids who ignore me or gossip behind my back. They all have something that makes me feel small, and part of me wonders how it would feel if I could just make them stop.
I clench my fists, my hands gripping the dishes too tightly. It's a strange feeling, this rage bubbling up inside me. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't. But the thoughts are there, clear in my mind like they're calling out to me.