The Kings and Queens of Summer

.2.

BloodRose Azslum

Kingdom of Love and hate

Hunkered to Pandäämon

Hunger of the Thrones is one serious game. A game I intend on winning. My name is Melanie Auburn. I am the sixth child of War Maiden Elizabeth Auburn and to everyone else, it was such a surprise that the youngest daughter became the chosen one. My five older siblings were murdered by my hand, or should I say 'gift'. Some would call it a curse, while others call it a mutation in my ability gene. I honestly don't care what they call it. It got me to the top.

Do you know why they call my mother the 'War Maiden'?

Because it was the least offensive, most powerful sounding name. Elizabeth Auburn was a child born with the ability to see past our world, to see past our realm into the next. She was a child that never got exorcised and it drove her to insanity with each new demon she came in contact with. She has been to several other planets that our people didn't even know existed, all because of her twisted, crazed mind. The mind she passed to me.

I run through the halls of my castle singing and dancing, daggers clutched in hand. They are my specialty when I don't want to exert too much energy. The walls in the entrance sector are made of mahogany and gold. Even with the barbarians allowing for our kingdom to coexist with theirs, us escapees are far richer. And with our kingdoms intertwined, our courts still ruled that I could be a participant. And so I will.

Tranquilisists, the only people capable of stunting my gift, dash through the halls with me. They hide behind chairs and duck under tables as they try to release their invisible chains of silence on me.

I do not wear my 'appropriate' attire as I hunt them down. It will not help me fight my court siblings when we are placed in Eden together. It wouldn't even help me now. I round the corner as I spot one tumble down the entrance sector stairs to land painlessly on the bottom and aim their gift at me, with one glance.

The muscles in my chest contract at its weight and my skin suddenly feels too tight. Using the mahogany rails at my side, I climb them with exhilarating speed and jump to the chandeliers with scratches and dirty bandages. Halfway to my destination, I feel the weight of their silence fall and I give a sigh of relief. Tightening my grip around the dense material, I slowly release as I hook my leg over and around the gold material. I lower my body and cock my head to see them dash off into the dark, dwelling hallways that branch off of the sector.

My legs release, and my body does a complete flip before I land effortlessly on the floor in a crouched position. There's no time to acknowledge the throbbing in my feet. The arches are bandaged to prevent real damage but all I have to remember is that it's for the throne. Everything.

I sprint off towards the one I was initially seeking, but stop short. I turn around, casting my blade to the tranquilisist that hides behind the rails I leapt from. She cries out as it lands in her abdomen. The creeping of her silence on my neck disappears. The silence etched in her bleach-white overalls can't reach me from where I stand, partially in the hallway. I leave her be, to die in agony.

I continue down the dark, creaky hall. My feet thud against the planks and I make as much noise as possible.

"Come get me!"

The hall leads to the dusty library room that no one uses. I only know it exists because my prey always scurry to it. Makes a great hiding place.

The bookshelves, packed to the brim, reach the padded ceiling and form a large circle in the middle. The walls are shelves but are large enough for three of myself to fit in. I search the dim room but find myself come up empty. I stand in the center of the bookshelves.

"Oh well, looks like I'll just have to use my ability." I shrug, pretending to sound sad. Casting my daggers off like trash, I reach out to my gift. Like how an elemental feels fire, or air, or water, I feel my gift. It first comes in the form of water. Like just a whiff of its presence, until I lock hold.

"Death." I breath. Their screams bounce off the walls like balls and I imagine drums.

I compact myself awkwardly, because it's comfortable and I pull them from the shadows. As I back out of the circle, they enter it. Two girls and a guy wearing their traditional, baggy white overalls. Their bodies as disconfigured as mine. My knees face slightly towards each other as well as my feet and my back is cocked to the left.

With my erratic movements I move their limbs to my will and in the end we just look like a bunch of zombies coming back to life. Though I know their movements are far more excruciating then mine, I laugh as they cry and blood streaks their faces.

It spills from their eyes, nose, and ears. All the while, I manipulate it from their insides out. Because blood wrangling is my gift. And mine alone.

Music blasts overhead-Or maybe just in my head-and I make them dance to it. They circle me as we stand in the circle made by the bookshelves and I imagine how the crown will look on my head. Beautiful.

After they've bled all their blood unto their pristine white overalls, I let their corpses drop to my feet and I retrieve my daggers. Inserting them between the band of my shorts and skin, I make my way back down the hall.

Some say I'm crazy, others insane. What did they expect from a princess of a kingdom that used to be an asylum?

Suddenly, just as I enter the entrance sector from the hall, my mother steps from the shadows behind me. "You've made quite a mess, I see."

I equip my right hand with one of the daggers to scratch the back of my neck. "I was just having fun."

"You don't need fun. You need practice." Saying this, she steps around me to stand center of the room. Her eyes lock on mine, and then, for a second, it is as if the whole room has been intruded and a cold wind washes over me.

Four shadows walk into thin air.

"Fight." she says in her sweet, weak voice.

On cue, the shadows shed their previous forms like ash falling to the ground, and the four tranquilisists that I just killed are back in front of me. They're just as confused as I am, but at my mother's command, they quickly snapback.

"Fight."

She repeats.

They raise their fists and suddenly all their silence comes cascading on me at once. I backpedal from it as soon as possible, feeling my legs buckle. I'll be cornered against a wall if I keep this up. What am I gonna do?! I'm so panicked that I barely notice when my mother starts talking.

"It seems that our ancestors want you to win."

"What do you-" I struggle to raise my arms, for they're heavy with silence. But I make do and send them sprawled out on the floor as the blood rushes to their backs with my force.

"-mean?!" I exasperate. I take the time it takes them to regather, to head to the stairs. I'm nearly out of breath. But I'm lucky. Other people like Angelica would be sprawled out on the floor, suffocated by silence and turning pink, and unable to light a match. But not me.

Tranquilisists only have the ability to numb external forces. These forces such as weatherbending, fire, water, air manipulation. Mine are internal and therefore work from their way out. They can not completely silence me.

"You no longer have to worry about Angelica."

One of them clamps a hand around my neck, fist ready to bruise my face. Desperately pulling the remaining dagger from my shorts, I waste no time sinking it into his gut. He drops me and I gasp for air.

"Why?" My voice is raspy.

The guy may have dropped me, but only into the grasps of the other three girls. Their silence kills me without their hands having to. My lungs collapse and my vision blurs. I barely hear myself wheezing as my heartbeat fills my ears in its stead.

All the while, my mother watches.

"She is pregnant. Fallen from the game."

Shoot! I had really wanted to kill her. Even with my eyes becoming bloodshot, I still suffer more from the pain of knowing I can no longer cause any to Angelica.

I struggle, one last time as I call to their blood and beg it to do my bidding.

The three girls lose grip of their ability as I make all the blood rush to their head. I see a couple drops drip from their ears.

It takes time to gather myself, but I eventually make it to my feet, chancing a look at my mother for approval.

"But, who will I fight in her place? Who is Pandäämon's next chosen one?"

A fist collides with my face, sending me crashing to the floor, and I spit blood, laughing.

Her heels echo as she walks. Then, she's before me. Leaning down she cups my cheeks in her hand.

Black eyes pierce mine. "Tara."

The world spins and it doesn't take a punch or even silence. She releases, taking her time to walk up each step and leave me to the tantrum she knows I'll throw.

"No. No!" I shout. A foot to the ribs knocks the air out of me. I roll unto my back, jumping up to all fours as quick as I could move.

Tara, my best friend.

"No!"

I send the first tranquilisist slamming into a wall.

Tara, my only friend.

"No!"

I send the second crashing into the chandelier, blood raining down on me and gathering in a puddle by my feet.

Tara, my love.

"I said, no!!"

I scream so loud I feel the walls of my throat rip. My burning eyes find the last tranquilisist as I feel the price of my ability rush to me in a wave of nausea. It doesn't stop me, though. Cocking my own neck hastily to the left, her neck snaps.

I fall to my knees as my ability's side effects take a toll. Despite having an ability that no one else has, life isn't just sunshine and rainbows. Because my gift is rare, doctors don't know how to treat its side effects, which unfortunately happen to be thinning. At the use of my blood wrangling of others, my own blood thins and deforms. My body's response is immediate.

I fall to all fours as I feel it come up and it knocks all the strength from me. A pool of vomit and blood intertwined gathers ahead of me.

Elizabeth stands at the top of the staircase, body facing me, eyes boring into mine and willing me to listen.

"You will kill Tara. Without hesitance. And you will win the throne."

I wipe my mouth and sloppily gather myself to at least be able to stand.

Even with everything my mother has done to make me, I am still envious of her. Though she could never be me, I could regretfully never be her. Golden curly locks fall to her feet. She can wear beautiful, large, pink dresses that dramatically puff out after her silky, white bodice to reach the floor. Her skin is porcelain and unmarked by bruises and poisons. It is untainted by the flames and not bitten by the snow. Fists never leave marks on her face, nor do they ever reach it. She was perfect and beautiful. She was fragile and men did not fear her like they feared me. Without our 'lost minds', no would be able to tell that my mother and I were related. They barely can now.

But as she stands before me I see the demon no else has. The satan spawn scheming to pry from my hands my only happiness. I snarl and glare.

"No."