A girl in disguise. An heir in hunt. A world divided.
Iris Lavera is born into the civilization of the least respected ones. The lineage where it's predicted to birth a curse. A low born who will be the downfall of an entire nation if left alive.
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Take a deep breath!
Take a breath so deep that it hurts your lungs enough to remind you that it's real.
The world I live in is real and so was I. So were we all. One hundred andsixty two of us all. And counting?
No.
What breed of an imbecile would wish to bring a child into a merciless atmosphere as such?
Exclude my dead parents and Mr. Birch and a couple more who must have lost their mind.
Take a deep breath so the lung is heavy. Do it until you can't take it anymore.
But deep breaths seldom calms my mind. It does the contrary to it. Romping with fanciful dreams of a civilization that had an ounce of civility. The kind of courtesy only seems to exist with monsters in silk and velvet. Civility- not humanity.
I know of them because I have read about them. In books and journals, in pictures and paintings, and from the tongue of who had lived there before the banishment. The one's who are alive to tell the tale.
Before they all fled into the corner of a kingdom that no one has ever outlived. A streak of ice and sky on map. They perhaps believe we died in the journey, it's said many certainly did. The story that took place twenty-two years ago is hazy and contaminated, but it's there.
The truth. We fled.
My parents did.
I was born here. In ruins of ice. In a land where no man should live. Where no one comes in or goes out.
We are hiding.
But I haven't seen anyone from across the land. None we need to hide from. How cruel are they that we are terrified so fresh even of year's that passed.
What is so inhumane about the people of Antar?
Weren't we among them once?
Sometimes we hear their names in rumors. The newly implemented policies and ever-changing generals. I curiously desire to know who fetches us the report. Do they patrol farther than the land I have walked. Do they do it often. Is there a way out.
Is there a way out?
Is there the kingdom that I have read in books? Where sun brings blush to cheeks and nights with gentle air. Fruits grows in house yards and flower blooms in windows shells. Where a ruler looks after his subjects and leaves a part to rot when he can't seem to unearth the traitor.
At times I hear his name. I try to forget it the minute. Evade it in detailed nonchalance.
Irresponsible and erratic was it by my role to do so. Since I had been curiously soaking up all the information I could get my hands on since my childhood.
