Skin.­­

The feel of skin against skin and bodies dancing to the heavy bass beat of music. Revy watched them all—the kissing lips and the drunken slurs, of men escorting their girls to bedrooms downtown and a brawl about to begin.

Skin.

She took a hot and heavy sip of drink. Revy winced as its fire rushed down her throat, set every part of her to flame. She chuckled weakly and tipped her head back.

Ah, the joy of parties.

Revy sat at a couch, alone tonight, not accompanied by a woman of her choice. She had all the drinks she could want sprawled on the table in front. The music of the bar was chaotic, and Revy frowned at the girls draping themselves over men for a quick coin.

Revy sighed heavily, and then scowled at what her Kingdom has become. Analide had become a land of whores and brothels and liquor while the king liked to bask in it, or turn the other way from the slums.

She didn't.

This world of waking up the next morning wasted, of clothes that were barely there and by the end of the night were torn apart was... depressing. The royals who came to enjoy or waste themselves away passed by here and there. They were distinct because of the way they walked away with the over-importance of a spoiled brat.

Revy took another sip.

"Fuck." Revy rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a heavy hangover.

All of this glamour didn't fool her keen eyes. She saw the man crying at the bar, stood up by the love of his life, saw the girls who drank sombrely and cried in each other's arms, saw the whores who didn't want to be touched get dragged out by men. And when that got too much, she drew her dagger and took care of it.

My father is giving me a shithole for an inheritance.

The statistics were false. The reports were wrong. Education was down the drain. Poverty was high. Her people have become dogs waiting for the scraps, and even that wasn't enough.

Revy took a long sip as she thought about her disgust. Swallowed it, buried it. She was angry at all of this. At the injustice and lies the Court weaved for their favour, while they turned the other way. Dismissed this.

Corrupted. Awful.

There was shouting by the back door. Tipsy enough to feel light, but sober enough to have her wits together, Revy turned to the commotion. She grimaced at the sight of another poor woman's clothes barely covering her, a man dragging her out.

"No, sir!" she begged, and was fighting with all her might. "Sir, no, I have a child! Sir, please, we can barely get by I cannot risk—"

Everyone looked away.

Everyone who saw, who heard, who knew—they turned away.

Revy didn't. Her hands tightened, and she cursed her father's court for the nth time tonight. She cursed the world he and her ancestors created, the bloodshed and the hopelessness and the fear.

So when she threw the hood of her cloak on, Revy drew her daggers underneath it.

Oh, welcome to the mighty Kingdom of Analide—where the poor were ignored and the little money they have was stolen, and their children killed for crimes not fairly trialled. Where it didn't matter if they worked hard—the barrier of privilege was something the marginalized would never be able to climb. Where war has been deemed a priority and conquering other lands was Analide's lover in bed. The might Kingdom of Analide where the rest of the lucky ones lived a life of luxury and comfort, while the unlucky died at the hands of brutality, hunger, old age, and illnesses.

And who was she?

I am Princess Reverie, and I will give this shithole a future so bright the stars would be proud of me.

~

The man would have been a good fighter if he wasn't so arrogant.

Revy found it too easy—dodging a blow, knee to the groin, a dagger to the neck, and a whispered threat of harsh and careful words. 

"Go," she grumbled, dropping her voice. "Let the girl go."

He did. Quickly.

"Apologize."

The man was baffled. Were it not for the blade poised to kill, Revy had the feeling he would have blanched.

It took a second too long. Revy pressed the dagger closer, deeper. "Apologize."

He whimpered. "I'm sorry, miss. I'm—I'm very sorry. It won't—it won't happen again—"

Revy let him go. He made a run for it, disappearing through the dark and twisting alleyways until he was out of her sight.

"Thank you," the woman whispered. Revy turned to look at her, careful to keep her face in shadow. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much—"

"There is no need for gratitude," Revy replied gruffly, keeping her voice low. It was almost comical. "You take care now."

One more woman kept safe.

She didn't wait for a response. Revy inclined her head quickly and began to stalk away, hands in her pocket and dagger sheathed.

"Sir?" the woman called out. "May I please speak to you?"

Revy didn't stop walking, nor does she respond.

"Please, sir, allow me to thank you properly—"

Revy sighed, heavily enough so that this woman could hear. "There is no need, dear." She walked away faster, picking up the pace. Stars be damned.

"Princess Reverie?"

That made Reverie halt. Her heart began racing, her fingers twitched. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Revy turned, careful. "Excuse me?"

She had collected her dignity. She fixed her clothes and covered her bare shoulders, and she crossed her arms to cover her breasts. "Princess Reverie," she said again, and the admiration in her eyes made Revy look away. "You are Princess Reverie, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." But the venom from her voice has wavered, and she failed to keep her voice low.

Ah, fuck it.

"My name is Cyra, Your Highness," she bowed deeply. The streetlamp made her look eerie and sad, the weight of responsibility bending her back and testing her spirit.

Revy dropped her hood. "How did you know?" Cyra gasped and took a step back.

"Your dagger has the royal seal," Cyra whispered. "And no other royal would do that for me."

Revy pursed her lips. She thought about the cruelty of her father's rule, at the disdain the common folk had for him. It really had gone to shit. Grand feasts funded by the people's money, the castle's unnecessary renovations while the houses of the people slowly began to crumble.

The throne used to symbolize unity among the different cultures of Analide. Tribes coming together from all over the archipelago to war against the invaders, using their powers and magic until the Star Son ascended to turn the tide of the war.

But now a once mighty and beautiful country, ripe with culture and harmony has descended into poor leadership and tyranny.

And Revy, despite herself and her secrets, doesn't realize she's saying it out loud to her—to this sad, aged woman out in the streets, concealed by the dead of night. "I will be better than my father."

Cyra smiled. Revy saw the hope in her eyes, the hope for the dear Princess who saved her life. The hope for who she would become. The hope for what a future with her as Queen would entail.

An end to the suffering, an end to the tyranny, a beginning of a different kind of power.

"We know, Princess Reverie." Cyra bowed again. "We know. We all know."

Revy nodded.

Silence.

"Take care, Cyra," She said after a few, fleeting moments.

She wished her goodnight.

After that, Revy began the depressing and hidden walk back to the castle. She passed by the rotten and abused alleyways, too tight to properly raise children. But there they were. There were the children who were still awake in the wee hours of the night. They waited for mothers and cried after fathers who left. Some approached, some avoided her—Revy kept her head down.

At some point, a poor drunken man tried to start a brawl with her, slurred words and sloppily raised fists. And instead of complying, Revy gently disarmed him, coaxed him to ease, he ended up crying, and helped him found shelter for the night.

Everyone who saw what she did left Revy alone after that, content to peek at her with poorly veiled interest. That was alright.

The children, especially, liked to approach her wordlessly, their little grimy hands outstretched. She'd give them enough money for three full meals for a week. She'd get the same reaction each time—the shocked, open-mouthed stare and welling tears. Revy also did the same thing—gently close their mouth, tease them about flies, and hug them before she went her way.

It was the least she could do.

It was depressing to walk here, too, along the slums. The floors were always wet with pee and awful-smelling liquid. And it always looked as ghastly as it smelled, putrid and foul, the whole place probably crawling with diseases. Vagrants lined the narrow streets, and often Revy tried to help some find a roof or an inn to stay at for a few days with meals provided by her. The houses were so cramped and stacked along too close, almost falling into each other. It was horrible.

But there was hope, with the overheard conversations—the people here were excited for her coronation. They whispered amongst themselves that this Queen, oh, she was nothing like we've had before!

They traded stories of real and fabricated stories of her talking to the children, feeding the hungry, and helping people find shelter. And especially now, a night before her coronation, everywhere she went it was talked about.

"Do you really think she will be different?" "I think so. I hope so."

Revy would be queen soon. So, so, so achingly soon. So soon she could already imagine the feeling of the stars' energy in her veins. Stars and power and leadership. Tomorrow night. The mighty crown of stars and power on her head.

Revy would change the world.

She was a world-changer. She had the infinite power to do so.

When she reached the castle's towering gates in all of its might, before she went with the trouble of going through the winding corridors and hidden tunnel systems, Revy stared out into the night. The castle was perched on a hill, to make it harder for attacks. And it helped her now to see everything of the capital from this height. At this height she could see the rich, the common, the poor—all of her people.

Revy breathed in the bittersweet air of her kingdom. The lights were winking out. The stars shone brightly.

Stars.

She felt herself smile. Rolling her shoulders, easing her nerves, she looked up to that vast void of power. She let herself feel content, standing there feeling the night breeze.

I will be queen.

Queen Reverie of Analide—world-changer, daughter of the stars, the power of this world.

--

this is the first time ive written a story without a prologue. but here we go! let's dive straight into the story:>

chapter 2 can come tomorrow or in the next two days if i feel like it.

i hoped you enjoy this chapter. leave a vote and some feedback! don't be a quiet reader dummbies!!!!

- yannah:>