1 Prologue: The Sparrow's Nest

Death. To all of those whom I've met throughout my short life, it was a somber word. A word meaning the end of something sweet, something joyful. I believe— no, I know, there are worse things than death. Loneliness. Fear. Regret. Guilt. Betrayal. We make death out to be such a dark thing, yet why does it feel so freeing?

I've always seen birds used in literature to represent death, and now I can finally, truly understand why. Dying feels as if you've taken flight and have been whisked away from all that once burdened you. And I have never felt better. Perhaps my family remains down in the mundane world, cursing my name, yet all their words do is add wind under my wings. Luckily I am no longer a part of that world, now, my only worry is where to fly next. Perhaps to the ocean to enjoy a nice sea breeze?

I feel the sun shining on my face- Shit. Why is it so damn bright? Did the curtains open while I was asleep?

Ah.

It was a dream. Perhaps a better word is "a memory yet to happen"? My seventeenth birthday, to be exact. The day I was finally freed, the day I watched myself get impaled on Father's arrow and bleed out on the forest floor. Though, I don't have much time nor energy to care for that too much, especially seeing as that day is 8 years from now.

Yet here I am, cursed with another life by Aeon, Goddess of Life. I am sure there are plenty of people out there with unfulfilled wishes who would looove a second chance at life. People other than me. I was plenty happy being dead.

Despite my wandering thoughts, I scramble out of bed as quickly as my short little 9-year-old limbs can. Hopefully, there will be some breakfast I can snag from the kitchen. Splashing my face with water, I calculate which path to the kitchens holds the least chance of encountering my family, servants, or anyone else, I suppose. To do this, I would have to walk by the dining hall, where the Duchess and my Father, the Duke, would be eating alongside my Second Brother. As the saying goes: the center of the storm is often the quietest.

I cast up a bit of wind magic to help dry my hair and face, despite wind magic not being my strong suit due to my lacking affinity with the element and no previous training in it. No point in changing my shirt, this is the cleanest one at the moment, and I don't exactly feel like handwashing anything at the moment.

Though I must admit I am practically a professional at walking these halls unnoticed, I wouldn't have survived had I not been! Thus, I begin my extensive trek from my room in this shabby side wing to the main corridors.

"Gods, why do rich people have to go on and on about being rich and then go and neglect their shit, like damn. Can't keep your hands NOR your mansion clean, dumb bastards," I grumble under my breath, seeing as no one cares enough to go back here. Though this emptiness is often comforting, as it seems only when I am in the presence of others that I am hurt.

Regardless, this comforting emptiness soon ends as I turn the corner to a brighter, cleaner hallway. A telltale sign that I am now starting to enter a place that people actually care about, even if it's the slightest bit. Most the hypocritical servants don't have the slightest bit of loyalty to the family; the only things they hold loyal to are money and power. But again, what more would you expect from humanity? It's not as if useless loyalty will pay for food.

Regardless, here I am, wandering through the spotless, glimmering main hall. I wonder if they'd punish me for staining the carpet, ha! ….though I don't care enough to test this theory. Believe it or not, I like my limbs to be functional and not broken. I stick it next to the walls. The servants in this area are ever-present yet have become masterful at keeping their presence as quiet as can be as a way to avoid the wrath of the Duke. If only one of them could've taught me, I would have been able to avoid much more suffering.

The doors to the dining room are as large and grandiose as ever, yet in my child body, the doors feel as if they have grown. Past me would have been eager to push past these doors in an attempt to make myself known, yet now I know better. There is no reason for me to willingly insert myself into that unwelcome, hostile environment. A lesson I learned many years too late. As I begin to scurry away, I notice the doors are open a crack, and the voices of those inside are spilling out.

My father, being the head of the household, sits at the head of the table in an ostentatious and downright ugly golden chair. On the right side of the table sits his wife, while the first chair on the left side of the table remains empty. Now don't get confused, that seat was never meant for me. It's there as a reminder of my eldest brother. May he fly freely of this suffocating life into his afterlife. Next to his seat is my second brother, Ares.

I don't have to eavesdrop to know the contents of this conversation, no matter where it starts, it will end the same way. Perhaps it will start with my brother talking about his life at school or how he is soon taking the Knight's exam. Or maybe his mother will gossip about the lives of fellow noblewomen.

Nonetheless, somehow Ares will be compared to the ever-perfect Draven. "If only you were as talented in magic as Drav," perhaps the Duchess will sigh, "Oh, but with Draven gone, your father must do all the paperwork alone. Sadly you don't seem to have any talent in the matter."

And as I expected, the seemingly happy conversation came to a close as Duchess Violetta complained in her horrible, shrill voice, "All you do is hang out with the knights and those ghastly friends of yours! Ares, when will you truly step into the position of heir?"

My jaw almost drops, watching Ares calmly set down his glass of juice he was about to drink. The patience he has! I almost wish I could throw that juice in her face for him; maybe all the makeup on her face would melt off. Or maybe she herself will melt into a puddle, just like the witches in the stories! Sadly, my thoughts simply remain a fantasy.

"Mother. Your constant comparisons between me and my brother won't change my wish to become a knight and will not change the fact that he's dead." The room goes silent, and I almost instinctively applaud his statement. Ares glances down at himself, seemingly in an attempt to regather his thoughts and words. As he raises his head to speak, we accidentally make eye contact. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. No, there is no way he could have noticed me through all that ruckus and through the tiny door crack that I am barely peeking through. But on the other hand, he is a genius knight. Fuck it, him knowing I'm here won't change anything so I might as well stay and see this unfold. No- it's not because I want to see Violetta scolded. It is obviously for scientific purposes.

"Your complaints will not breathe life into his dead body. I do not exist to replace him. I am my own person, Mother, please," Ares is pleading with her. I wish I had the strength to call him an idiot, but somehow I'm unable to. This snake in a noblewoman's dress is his mother, the person who gave birth to him. It's odd seeing a fragment of my old self in my elder brother. Despite our similarities, I do not have the strength to be entirely sympathetic toward him. Not to the person who has remained a bystander my whole life.

Violetta stumbles for words to defend herself, "You- you- It is your duty to care for this duchy! And I'll have you know that I am well aware of the fact that Drav is dead. So now it is your responsibility to replace the spot he once held," She takes a few breaths to calm herself down. It's like watching a pufferfish slowly deflate. "Me and your father have upheld this duchy which has given you the privilege and opportunity to frolic as you'd like amongst those knights and commoners. But now it is time to repay us and live up to your duty."

"Mother! You have been well aware that my entire life, I have been working and training to become a knight. And now I am but a few steps away-"

"That is enough. The both of you." My father interrupts the argument, perhaps in a lackadaisical attempt to prevent a strained relationship between the mother and son. A pathetic attempt, honestly. "Viol, Ares. We will discuss this at a later date. In the meantime, I recommend you finish your meals. The food is growing cold," he commands in his everso-emotionless voice as he raises a piece of meat to his mouth. His head had never once lifted to see the faces of his family.

I glance over to my brother's seat only to see him looking at me. Well, there's no avoiding this now. Despite having been seen, I finally scurry away.

Grrrowl, my stomach rumbling serving as a reminder of my original purpose in coming here. Food.