Phryine had experienced illness. Not many times. But she certainly knew what it felt like to be ill. She had always hated the feeling of an itchy throat and warm eyes, though fortunately she had never had to deal with it for too long. She had been a princess, after all, and thus had access to the best healers her kingdom had to offer.

But this was a different kind of illness. Was it?

Whatever it was, Phryine found herself on her hands and knees beside the river, heaving. Erindir kneeled beside her with his coarse hand placed on her back, though it felt as if his hand was on the back of someone completely different.

Seven months since her exile, and she found herself in such a moment of weakness.

“Your Highness,” Erindir started, but she lifted her hand to cut him off.

“I am...fine, Erindir,” Phryine choked out. She blankly looked down at the vomit-covered ground before she sat back on her haunches, taking deep breaths. “This was only a minor setback.” She refused to call it anything else.

After she cleared her face with the water of the river, she looked up at the sky above her. She ignored the cold wind blowing against the soft, dirty fabric of her clothes, losing herself within the blanket of stars. She wondered if there was truly something powerful up there. And if there was, there was nothing that she wouldn’t give for a chance to replace it.

She had never been too hung up on religion. Her people had, her family had, but she herself never found a reason to get into it. She never thought too much about a higher force of being nor a cycle of life that was all otherworldly work.

Yet if there was one common religious subject that she confronted herself with, it was the matter of death.

She had been young at the time, but she still clearly remembered the flashing of teeth and sharp claws ripping through her flesh. The forceful tugging at her small wings until they nearly came right off. She didn’t think of gratitude when she saw the guards. She hardly thought at all when she saw the beasts with spears stuck through their bodies.

Someone had sent those beasts for her, and it hadn’t been long before they found him and had him executed.

Many people thought that she would be safe by then, but even their assurances didn’t calm her. Her mind was far from ease when she rested within her bed at night, staring up at the dark ceiling. One person had wanted her dead, and she could only think, Who else wants me gone?

She often imagined herself in the place of the murdered monsters. She pictured a spear tearing through her flesh, bones, blood, until it came all the way out to the other side. The thought of how her life could end so easily with just the slightest mistake, misstep, a turn to the right a turn to the left a wrong move the wrong motion the wrong words...made her want to get to sleep faster to escape all of those thoughts.

But for a while her dreams were only filled with red, red, red, red, red.

Perhaps that was why she had developed such an appreciation for red, and a larger one for pink. It was just blood mixed in with a little bit of purity. Its pretty shade covered up all of the ugly, bloody parts of her soul. It hid all of the worst parts of herself. It made her feel like the palace's greatest jewel among its marbled walls and golden patterns and treasures.

And by wearing it proudly, she became numb to sleeping horrors. They didn’t affect her as much as before, as she refused to lose herself in her fear of it. She took her conscience by her claws and strangled it until it turned all her nightmares into dreams.

In those dreams, she saw a great throne and a loyal army.

Her mind went to Erindir then. He hadn’t been any older than her at the time, but he swore that he would stay loyal to her, serve her, and protect her from anyone else who wished to hurt her. Which would have meant so much more to her if she had faith in him.

Still, it was nice that she had a ‘friend’, if she was even willing to go that far. She still wasn’t sure yet. But had it not been for Erindir, she would have died in the wild not too long after her exile...and she would not have any more allies even now.

He supported her, when she had her eyes on the throne. A golden, shiny, jewel-encrusted throne...one that would have been fit for someone like her. A throne meant power. And power meant safety. And safety meant life. And if there was anything that she had been taught as a child, it was to fight to keep herself alive.

“Your father misses you, you know.”

Phryine whipped her head to glare at Erindir, but to her surprise she found that her second-in-command did not flinch under her gaze. “Tell me,” she said in a low voice, “where you got that idea.”

“I knew that he loved you,” Erindir said. Phryine listened for any hint of a waver in his voice, but she heard none. “And I knew that losing both of his children in one day broke his heart more than he would ever admit.”

To hear these words from Erindir of all people made Phryine feel...what? Angry? Cold? Fearful?

She thought back to the years when she was just a small fledgling. She saw her father’s smiles and heard the laughter from her brother as her father carried the both of them within his arms. She saw him giving her everything that he could give. But those memories were few and far between. And as for the rest of them, there was no trace of him.

Her father hadn’t even been present in most of her memories, and to think that somehow Erindir knew him better than her made her feel so, so angry.

“Then let it break him,” Phryine said with a smile, and her fingers dug into the soil below her. A shaky breath escaped her. It was only what he deserved.

Her mind suddenly became ever so aware of the empty space on her back, and the empty space on Erindir’s. She thought about the agony she felt on that same space and bloodied dove-white feathers scattering the ground. Red and white mixing once more to create pink.

It was only what he deserved. She covered all spaces within her hesitation with those words. He did nothing for her. It was only what he deserved. No matter what.

Her father had cared more for her brother, she knew. The great King Ellavan had always cared more for her brother than her.

She saw the look on his face when she threw the knives, breaking through her brother’s armor and piercing the skin below. Amidst the chaos and the dead was one murdered man. And that was all that had mattered in that one second.

Leave his grave behind.

Cirien did nothing for me either.

Cirien was in my way.

Our kingdom should not have been robbed of a stronger ruler than the one on its throne.

My father was the one who took that from us.

She imagined what it would have been like if that had been her in Cirien’s place instead, and she could imagine it so clearly. Far more clearly than she, perhaps, would like to admit. But that was the only thing she could see. Her body spread upon the ground, her silvery hair fanned out across her head to be the halo among the pooling red—no, pink blood.

But everything else around her was empty.

Perhaps it was better that way. But it did nothing to contradict her belief that he only cared for her brother. Not her. He never did.

“But—” Erindir started.

The knife was out of her pocket and the tip was pressed against his throat. “But what?” she asked sweetly. She pressed it further. “Tell me, please?”

Erindir said nothing, and he slightly bowed his head. At that, Phryine sheathed the knife again.

If there was something she always appreciated about Erindir, it was that he knew when to stay silent. If he had been her father, he would have tried to talk to her more. He would have tried to ask her how far she wanted to go before she was brought to her grave, as if the answer would make her change her mind.

But by now, the important question wasn’t how long it would be before all of the fear and grudges that had built her mind lead to her demise. It wasn’t about which demon of hers would finally be the one to end all the others by ending her.

The question had presented itself to her before. All in neat, curved letters. All in pink.

How many graves can I dig before I prepare my own?