Chapter 1

Dear Osiris,

Good morning! Tomorrow will be our fourteenth birthday, right? Aren't you so excited?? We'll both be one year older!

By the way, my new tutor says I should start writing letters. I don't really know why, but she says it's to prepare for when I have to do politics stuff when I grow up. That doesn't sound very fun, but oh well. I guess, as the crowned prince, you have it worse than me, so be sure to write back! It'll help strengthen... your hand, I guess? Maybe your letters should be twice as long, since you probably need to write twice as many letters.

Mother says you keep having hallucinations. She says you haven't been eating much, either. I don't want you to be skinny and sad, since then you wouldn't be able to rule the kingdom.

Osiris, if you're feeling sad, you can come to my room. You probably know that it's in an annex of the palace, and some of the maids aren't that nice, but I'll always be there when you want somebody to help you.

Please get better soon! Preferably before tomorrow.

Your brother,

Easter.

-

Easter sighed, leaning on his hair and holding the letter to his face. He wondered if Osiris would like it; after all, not all of it was genuine. There were some parts that were, but the lies in his letter stood out more. Perhaps, did he sound too enthusiastic?

Geez, what did he know, anyway? It was okay if he lied a little, right? He was only eleven, well, almost fourteen, after all. Even if he was the second prince of the kingdom, or some cleaning servant in a poor duke's house, he was only a fourteen year old kid. At least, his mother thought so. Not himself. Nor did anybody else. He could make mistakes, and they would be reasoned with, "Oh, his mind hasn't developed yet." "Oh, he's just a kid."

Easter set the letter down, then picked up the pen again. Should he write more?

Well, it doesn't really matter. He had no need, so he set down the pen.

-

In front of Osiris, a dancer with pretty pink ballet shoes danced on a small circular platform. He frowned, setting down his homework, a hand to his chin. The music being played was childish, but only by a sole piano, making it rather lonely. The dancer danced in small, silent steps, her bloodied feet and tear-filled facade moving timidly in the way of the music.

She saw him glancing at her, and her eyes widened. Then, the music was filled with screams and begs of help. It was an awful addition to the piece, Osiris may add, but he listened on, smiling a little as the dancer's expression and moves perfectly matched the cries and pleas of the music.

"Help me... Please... sir," the lyrics were, as the music became livelier, clashing with the words. Her movements were rigid, almost as if her body was being possessed, but not her mind. Such grace and talent, she were.

Her cries momentarily faded with the music, but as her fingertips fell off and her worn shoes became more bloody, they intensified. (her screams, of course) After her fingertips, so did the laces wrapped around her feet, and the bow on her hips, and her eyes holding tears. As her chest disappeared, and her arms, and legs, the only thing that remained was her long blonde hair. Soon, that faded into dust as well.

"Your Highness!" Osiris flinched a little as he realized he had dozed off again. In the center of his office, there was no platform, nor was there the dust of what used to be an elegant dancer. Instead, by his door, stood a maid, a rather grumpy one.

"...Isabella, come in." The maid who was leaning at his doorframe in a childlike and exasperated manner, walked in, handing him a letter.

"From your baby brother." Osiris nodded, setting the letter on top of his pile of books and homework to do. As the maid left, Osiris sighed again, looking out the window. The sound of the door shutting wasn't heard, as Osiris found his eyes traveling to the daffodils. The Puppet was there; it had just arrived recently, despite the fact that the Runaway had not died and was in no need for a replacement.

The Runaway... As her name suggested, did Mother think she was going to escape?