The Journey of The High Priestess

Her eyes. Her eyes will always be ingrained into the deepest, darkest parts of my mind. They were young, beautiful, full of light and wonder. It was as if it was her first time wandering into this world. Except it was..

I remember things I don't know. I see things I've never seen. I miss her even though I never knew her. She has come to haunt me. To swallow my mind with her image. I want to burn it. So I will.

How can smoke be so repulsive, so intoxicating and deadly but so beautiful at the same time?

Run.

"Essence! Wake up." The first thing I see when I open my eyes is Luce, her light brown eyes are wide and panicked, brightened by the beams of sunlight that seep into the room. "Luce..?" I mutter, my eyes half lidded. "Go away....I'm sleeping." She trembles but shakes me once more, "There's a fire, get up!" I shake my head in disbelief, "How could there be a fire?" The sudden realization hits me and I sit up and meet her eyes. "Unless.." She nods, "Rebels..." A tear threatens to roll down her cheek. "They're downstairs.. "

"You can leave the house through the window. Once you're out call the fire department." I pick a damp towel and wrap it around my mouth. "Hey! Where you going?!" She cries. "Don't tell me you're planning on going down there!"

She grasps my arm tightly.

"I need to do something."

"Please let's get out together! What if you get hurt!?"

"You can't go with me!"

I don't say another word after that.

My body moves on autopilot. I run. Down the stairs. Down the hall. Anywhere and everywhere. It doesn't matter that my heart feels like it may explode. That my lungs are trying but failing to expand. "Is anyone here!?" I shout. "Where are you!?" Silence. The house is engulfed in flames. Red. Hot. Destructive.

My body is suddenly frozen in place. I am unable to even lift a finger.

"Don't turn around." An eerie voice whispers into my ear. It's so quiet. I can't tell whether it belongs to a man or woman. "It's very admirable of you to try and catch me yourself.."

"Who are you?" I exhale a shallow breath, my question ignored. "The high priestess goes to the sun before the soldier bares his rifle. Once the sun is set he will shoot." The voice whispers to me a riddle I can't understand.

I turn around.

There is nothing behind me.

"Hey! You're a coward!" My shout is painfully raw.

I've been down here for too long, my vision is becoming distorted and my legs can no longer keep me balanced. I tip over to the side like a leaf blowing in the wind. My head meets a wooden tiles before the world around me turns black.

"You're Mighty Second Hand, what do you have to say about the rising number of rebel groups?"

"May I ask you what you have to say about the outrageous amount of arson attacks today?"

It's an abseloute disaster. There are reporters, protesters and victims gathered in a clump and waiting outside the Main House. They are trying to catch a glimpse of the Mighty Second Hand, Caspian. They are waiting to hear what he has to say. To find something to critique. To find a way to blame him for all their problems. Commoners are petty human beings. They act as if it wasn't their choice to select their ruler. As if they have abseloutely no say in how Lumeria operates. It's frustrating, abseloutely inexcusable. The only commoner who does not particapate in such is his darling Menelinda. Caspian takes a sip of Rosemary tea, in hopes that it could substitute his frustration with some form of pleasantry. "Marcof," he snaps his finger towards the window. "Get these people off my estate. Immediately."

"Yes Your Mighty Second Hand."

"It's Caspian, just Caspian."

"My apologies, Caspian."

His loyal servant excuses himself from the room so he can complete his task. Caspian sets down his china, he thinks about all the other, many many things, he could be worrying about instead of all these protests and complaints. Example, his transition into First Hand. Now with his father gone, all of his responsibilities are on Caspian's shoulders. At this rate he may grow old and grey before his 30th birthday. The door creaks open, followed by the gentle tap of high heels on the marble floor.

"Sorry, did I startle you dear?" She chuckles.

He turns to meet the gaze of sweet Menelinda.

"No, infact I'm quite relieved to be face to face with you right now." He sighs, sets down his reading glasses.

"It's really been a mess around here lately, I can't seem to find a way to make everyone happy."

She takes his hand and intertwines it with her own, "because it's not your duty to make everyone happy. You are supposed to lead not perform magic."

Menelinda directs his head towards the vanity, she has full brown hair that travels in loose spirals, sly brown eyes that fail convey message. Caspian is not too bad looking himself, gold ringlets for hair, ocean blue for eyes.

"We are supposed to rule." Says, Menelinda.