Steal The Prince's Heart

It's on one day that's awfully cold, a day before the beginning of the exam season, that Mari gets sick of the villainous stares Ara shoots at her. The pressure being put on her leaves a gaping crack in the walls she had to protect herself from all that's too much and she's had enough.

Mari slings her bag over her shoulder and runs, knowing where exactly she's going to go. She has nothing on her, nothing more than a shattered dignity and her bag if it counts. There will be no note, no reason as to why it happened.

None of the teachers will know, nor will the students who never knew her but will mourn, nor her parents who have wasted too long on a girl who'll ultimately lead up to this.

Mari's eyes have long lost the light they used to have. She pauses briefly at the sidewalk beside the busy road, her feet edging to tip herself over. Mari lifts her head to the side where she listens to the sound of cars passing. Her ears ring.

'You have nothing to lose. It will be better when it's over.' Her heart aches, her lips quivering. Her eyes never move, only narrowing slightly to hold back the weight of oncoming tears.

It so happens that Ara is passing with her group of friends, four self-entitled girls, a little snobbish too. Ara catches notice of Mari standing by the road, lips curving into a frown briefly. She pauses a distance away, catching the attention of her friends. Noticing them, she chokes out a chuckle, screaming, "Oi, what are you doing? Staring at your home?"

Mari turns, and there's a smirk on her face. A gust of wind blows, sending her hair in a mess. For a moment, Mari's eyes glisten with something. Vengefulness. "In my afterlife, I will not let you rest in peace," she points an accusatory finger at Ara.

Ara widens her eyes as she notices Mari shift her leg off the edge. In a second, Mari's off, falling backwards onto the busy road as a truck approaches from mere centimeters away. Out of instinct, Ara dashes forward and reaches for Mari's body, ignoring all the screams of her friends.

It's too late when Ara realises the weight of her actions as she collapses on top of Mari. When she turns her head, her gaze meets the bumper of the oncoming vehicle. It doesn't take more than seconds for their consciousness to pass. Mari will no longer be remembered except for the lingering vengeance that her soul remains with, even by the thousand hands that reach out to save her nor those who will claim to care.

. . .

Fairytales don't tell children that evil princesses exist. Cinderella tried, but Anastasia turned out to be good and the cruel Mother Gothel that tried to curse Rapunzel was never strong enough in the face of love. It's never the princesses that are bad, or foolish or mess everything up. Life isn't like that, noble daughters aren't perfect because they're in love.

"What a strange dream…" Myra wakes up to the strong scent of enhanced rose perfume in her bedroom. Her head throbs achingly as the aroma gets increasingly difficult to ignore. She crumples forward, massaging her temples as her heartbeat drums against the tips of her fingers. "Eomma never lights incense," she mutters to herself.

Myra hears a door squeak as it opens and she shifts her gaze, brows furrowing at the sight of an unfamiliar woman entering through an unfamiliar door. Out of instinct, she lifts her gaze skyward, eyes met with a high ceiling with a painting of Icarus' tragedy. Raising her hands, she narrows her eyes at her skin, lips parting in surprise.

"Am I in the wrong place?" her heart throbs against her chest. Sliding to the side, she snatches a hand-held mirror off her bedside table and holds in front of her face. Her eyes widen in shock as she squishes the cheeks of a body that isn't hers. "I… I might be in the wrong body in the first place…"

Myra's eyes dart around the room, welcoming her to a place foreign to anything she might've known before. She doesn't feel like she's never been here before. There's a lingering sense of familiarity laced between the alienity. It's like there's something missing, whether it's in her head or the entire peculiarity of her situation.

Myra turns her head to the sound of quickened footsteps against the floor, furrowing her eyebrows at the old woman that entered the room.

"My lady, you've woken up!" she squeals, flailing her arms mid-air in surprise.

"Ah…?" Myra stutters, confused. The lady in front of her wears a humble black frock and white apron, similar to a maid's. Her hair is tied back into a bun, woven with artificial flowers and pins. Myra finds herself touching her own, lifting a couple strands to her eye level.

'Pink?' She can't remember an instance where her hair dyed this colour. The maid clears her throat briefly upon noticing the princess' confusion, bowing modestly in apology. Myra keeps her lips shut in the time she questions her situation, paying her full attention to the servant.

"You fell unconscious all of a sudden during a tea session with the other nobles. The Duke was extremely worried that somebody from the Bougainvillea family had done something horrible to you," she elaborates. "You have been unconscious for an entire month now. Do you still remember or recognise your circumstances?"

Myra rubs her arms consciously. "I don't know."

'But I need to find out why I'm here', she ponders to herself, averting her gaze from the maid.

"I'll have your chambermaids tend to any questions you have, my lady. If you will allow me, I will let the Duke and your siblings know that you're awake," she bows, proceeding to excuse herself from the room.

Before she can, Myra raises a hand and calls out to her, muttering a soft 'Hello', not knowing how to address her. The maid whirls around promptly into position, standing in attendance to Myra's order.

"May I have your name?"

"Agresta, my lady. Margaret Agresta."

Myra nods in acknowledgement, slipping off the bed into her slippers. She notices how Margaret still stands in attention without Myra's permission for her to leave. It takes her a couple seconds of staring for her to realise she's supposed to excuse Margaret before she can leave the room, promptly waving her off.

As soon as Margaret has left the room, ladies wearing the same uniform come filing into the room, hair braided with the same flowers. Myra fidgets with her own hair, wondering how the flowers would look gorgeous weaved between her own. Two servants introduce themselves as Leia and Jen.

"Ah, princess, we'll get the bath ready for you!" Leia exclaims, scuttling to a corner of the room where there's a wide door leading to the bathroom. Myra notices as Jen promptly ducks when she passes her gaze, wondering why everyone holds such high respect for her.

Myra can do nothing more than watch this while rubbing the nape of her neck awkwardly, wondering how she's going to pick up on the ways of being a princess.

The bathroom is expectedly as luxurious as her bedroom, faucets made of rose gold and floor designed with the finest marble she has laid her eyes on. The tiles on the wall each have a rose emblem engraved upon them, piquing Myra's interest.

Her maids stand attentively by the door, waiting for Myra's request for help, although Myra doesn't do much more than to stare quizzically as to why they're not leaving her with privacy. "Are you not going to let me bathe on my own?" she cocks her head to the side.

"We have been tasked to help you with your shower every morning, princess," Jen explains, earning a scrunched nose look from Myra. She turns her head to another side of the bathroom, eyes finding a gold-crested mirror.

Her expression softens at the sight of her reflection, a person she doesn't remember being. She caresses her cheeks, squishing them confusedly as she wonders if the body truly is hers. Pink hair like that of an angel's and eyes ice blue. It'd be hard to say she wasn't mesmerised by herself. Narcissus could not compare to her envied beauty. Her robe slips off her shoulders, revealing rosy skin.

"We missed you dearly, young mistress," her maids mumble out, voice shaky and hands extra cautious as they lightly wash her hair with a wet towel. Warm water reaches Myra's knees as she folds them against her chest, lowering her gaze to the reflection of her face against the crystal clear water.

Myra slips a hand under, a ripple echoing through the water from where her hand dips. She lifts it and she purses her lips, wondering if this truly was the life she had been used to all along. To her surprise, a sharp tug of her hair jolts her out of her stupor, earning a grimace from her.

"What?" she whips her head to the back and the maids instantly cower, peeling away from the top and lowering themselves onto their knees in submission. Myra's expression of surprise morphs into one of confusion yet again. "Why are you like that?"

Leia raises her gaze shakily. "It wasn't my intention in the least. Please forgive me, I will take any punishment you give me but please—I have two children—I beg for your mercy—" she stammers in a panic, clasping her hands together tightly. Jen has her head lowered, hands pressed against her lap in deep request.

"What? Was I supposed to hurt you?" Myra jokes but Leia's expression stiffens. Myra drops the joking lilt in her voice, pressing her lips into a line as she waits for an explanation. 'Could I be stuck in the body of a brat?'

"Ah, uh, have you been feeling unwell since you woke up? It seems that you are unlike yourself. If you'd like, I could call for the royal physician," Leia suggests, still tense as ever. Myra can only wonder why she looks as if her life is in complete danger. Myra shakes her head dismissively, turning back around and waving as a gesture for them to continue.

Still, Myra finds the itching urge to figure out what she was like in the time was asleep. All she's left with from before is a horrid achiness in her bones from being stiff the entire time she was in her slumber. It's going to be difficult regaining the rhythm of her life, much more finding out how to live it in the first place.