Where Our Shadows Touch

i

The night feels heavy on the girl's skin, as if it were made of the land's anguish. A lazy breeze blows her dark curls around her face and fills her lungs with the scent of sea brine. She finds a certain peace in the quiet found in the empty city streets, the only sound being the waves crashing against the jagged rock of the cliff below her. In this moment, she is not Paloma Santos, a daughter of Solara and the princess of Paxoria. She is but a girl alone with the night's stars.

Almost alone. For in this crystal prison she is never truly left to her own company.

"Have you heard what they're saying about the little birdy?" The distant voice of a castle guard and the mocking laughter that follows drifts up to her balcony. From her view, she can make out a pair of them smoking on the ballroom balcony to her lower left. Their uniforms are a stark contrast to the night, pearly white against obsidian. She can see them despite the dark, but unless they look up, they cannot see her.

"No. I barely even see her. You know how the king is, hiding away his precious princess." He exhales and the cigarette smoke drifts up over his head.

"If my daughter looked like that... shit, I'd want to hide her, too." The first one laughs. "They're saying she will need a personal guard to be with her at all times. He's getting scared of the undersiders. More revolts closer and closer to the castle lately."

The girl has not left the citadel grounds since she was little, when her father was crowned. The safest she will always be from dissidents' threats is in the one place they can never infiltrate, he says. With his squadrons of soldiers standing guard twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, walls made of reinforced concrete, bulletproof windows, and a highly sensitive face recognition system upon entry, the fortress is virtually impossible to break into. Or so her father says.

She fears he equates loving her to keeping her there like a perfect prisoner so that the world may not touch her. She's not a little girl anymore. She may love her father, but she does not understand him.

"Where do I sign up?" The second guard jokes. "I wouldn't mind being stuck with that sweet thing all day." At that, the other guard laughs while she wishes a hole would spontaneously open up below her and swallow her whole.

They flick their white sticks of vice over the edge before they turn to leave the balcony. As the twin cherries disappear into the abyss, she suddenly wishes she could have a smoke, too. She has never once held one in between her fingers, inhaled the strange smoke. She imagines she would find the taste foul but she would not mind as long as it made her feel good. As long as it made her feel something different. Something new.

She is about to head into her bedroom at last when she spots a figure on the balcony that was not there before. At first, she reckons one of the guards must have left something behind, but that cannot be. They were only a minute ago wearing their uniform, were they not? This person is dressed head to toe in black. It is more accurate to say she is looking at a shadow, because she can hardly tell where their figure ends and the night begins.

Her skin prickles. She has never seen any of the workers wear anything but the standard white uniforms. Guards, maids, cooks– they all wear the same color. Which means this must be an outsider. Perhaps her father had guests over for a meeting today? Though it would still be odd for them to still be here. The king never keeps his guests too late.

A warning bell goes off in her head, but instead of alerting the guards down the hall, she stays there, intrigued. For a moment, the shadow does not move. Then, slowly, they turn their face and look up. Right at her.

She gasps, pushing away from the railing and closer to the wall. Her heart wants to jump out of her ribcage. Trembling, she takes a deep breath and peeks an eye out from the column closest to the wall where she has hidden behind.