#and then miri is their little cherry on top. she brings out parts of them that they had long buried

[galaxy-of-me]

buddy daddies makes me cry for the first time holy shit

[probablyjustamagpie]

Chapter 1 is done!

or the first draft at least. Lemme know what you think before I inevitably delete this in embarrassment

I remember flying for the first time. I felt invincible, free from earthly constraints. And then I got a face full of sap-ridden pine needles. 

 Nine years later, and my luck doesn’t seem to be getting any better. Today had started off high, when I managed to snag the last cinnamon roll from under my sister’s nose (she’d already had three, the brat)(come to think of it, how did she even fit that many in her stomach? She’s tiny!), and I spent the afternoon soaring over the garden, feeling much more like myself than like a girl trapped in a castle. Father had even offered to take me into town for a new dress rather than fetching for the tailor.

Then dinner came around. Que me, a magic user, at a table of nobles who would have me sacrificed to the gods in two seconds flat giving the opportunity. All of these social events left me feeling stickier than if I was covered in pine sap. It wasn't as though I could slink away later either, not when the gathered lords and ladies all wanted to marry their sons off to the Imperial Princess. Maybe I didn't even want to marry a man (I do, but that's beside the point here). The aftermath is worse though, with all the dimwitted nobles vying for attention

“My Lady! I haven’t seen you since your brother’s wedding!” An older woman exclaims. Her ridiculously tall beehive updo sparks the slightest recognition, as do her tawny wings, but I’m left at a blank for her name. I spent most of Brenton’s wedding trying not to interact with all the stuffy  nobles who I didn’t recognize. The seven-year-olds Mirin hangs out with at these events are much more fun, even if I am practically 16.

“Oh, yes. Well I don't get out much, after all. Plenty to do here. At the palace, with my studies and all.”

“Ah, yes. I remember my studies when I was your age. Though, I don’t really use them much now. Your husband takes care of everything darling, so don’t fret!” Oh. I remember this one. Countess Ryelle. Lower down the chain of command, brainwashed into a useless sack of jewels and satin by her husband. She used to be one of the brightest people in the empire. I used to admire her, till I met her.

“Is that so?” I try not to sound sarcastic. “Oh, would you look at that, my father is calling me over. I’ll be seeing you.” never, I add under my breath.

My father pulls me aside. I’m not mean enough to lie, unfortunately. “Aria, the Prince of Mordu is here. I wish you would dance with him.”

“Must I?”

“At least pretend to enjoy these events, he may be your suitor.”

“Fine.” It comes out bitter and angry, much more than I truly feel. Dancing is fun, despite who attends these events. Still, my steps are forced and awkward as I approach the prince.

His hair is close shaven, and he looks at least 5 years my elder. Not to mention that he isn't Symphinian, and though humans aren’t bad, they always want to touch my wings. Nevertheless, I smile, trying to look like I’m genuinely afraid he might say no to a dance.

“Hello,” he says, curt, but not unkind. His voice has an unfamiliar twang to it. “Have you come to ask for a dance?”

“Yes. I am Princess Aria.” I nearly fall over when I curtsy without spreading my wings, trying to make the human prince more comfortable (I think it's ridiculous, but Father insists), and he grabs my arm. His grip is firmer than necessary, and I try not to shudder.

“Try not to fall at my heels, Princess. I’m afraid it happens all too often.”

“Is that so?” I ask, brushing off my dress. I hate it when 

“Why yes. Who wouldn’t want to dance with I, Prince Hayden of Mordu?”

“I’m sure my brother wouldn’t.”

He seems genuinely taken aback at my statement, before he laughs.

“You surprise me. I wouldn’t mind taking you as mine.”

I suppress another shudder at the thought of being considered his property. I extend my arm and flatten my feathers, pretending the whole interaction hasn’t made me feel very, very slimy. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

I suppose dancing with Hayden isn't the worst thing. He seems unsure of the steps but insists on leading which is, frankly, obnoxious, but he at least doesn’t reach to stroke my wings at all. The Reolan prince I had danced with earlier had desperately wanted to touch them (Like I would let a stranger touch my wings. He clearly hadn’t read up on the Symphinian etiquette, even though Reola has the second highest population of us in the world).

I still walk away from the dance feeling sticky with his intentions. No matter the customs the royal courts of the world had seemingly agreed upon, 16 still felt like too young to be married off.

When the night began to draw to a close, I spotted Finnigan stationed at one of the exits. Tap his shoulder from behind, and whisper in his ear.

“I’ll see you on the roof later, ok?” before ducking back into the ballroom.

I don’t have time to see his reaction before my father calls attention to himself. 

“Lords and Ladies gathered here, I must apologize. Princess Aria has accepted a proposal, Prince Pascal of Suther!”

My heart drops. The prince in question was the worst of the lot I’d danced with. He’d touched my wings despite my protest, and would hardly let me speak. He was sandy haired, weak limbed, and generally an entitled weasel. Had I chosen (as my father had said I would be able to do, on my birthday)(he never really did care for me did he? To much like his wildfire late wife, who he snuffed out) it never would have been Pascal, not in a million years. And the cherry on top, the part that really got a fire stirring in my veins, was that Suther was the worst kingdom in Aoris.

See, Suther was where the Cruel King lived, as Finnigan and I called him. He had no restraints or hesitations when it came to magic. The moment I got married I would be signing  my death sentence, doomed to be sacrificed publicly or to quietly ‘disappear’. Like my mother had. As my father had sworn, per her last wish, would not happen to me. But apparently, dying vows mean nothing to a man like him.

I’ve lived years like this. Expecting the worst. But the feeling of betrayal is incomprehensible. You think your mind can come up with the worst things imaginable, with no limits of reason, and real life turns out to be worse. I take a deep breath. In, and out, in and out. Don’t explode. “They will be married in a month's time.”

My…. birthday. I will be married on my 16th birthday won’t I? That's when my life is going to fall apart. Pyla, it's already falling apart(who the hell am I, praying to Pyla? I’ll probably be sacrificed to her specifically).

“I wish all of you safe travels home.”

The nobles trickle out, until Pascal and his mother are the last two in the ballroom, besides Father and Mirin. The adults talk off to the side, as the prince approaches me

“Hello.” Pascal says, like we haven’t met.

“Hello.” It's tight and forced as a hold back my tears.

“You look sad, darling,” he strokes my wing and I draw the tight to my spine, instinctively moving back a bit. Mirin grips my hand, holding tight.

“Hey! Don’t touch my sister’s wings.”

“What did you say?”

“Don’t touch her wings. You can’t do that until you get married, or unless you are family. Or like, really, really close friends.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you tell me, darling?”

“I did. You didn't listen.” I practically whisper. 

“Well it doesn’t matter any how. In a month's time I can touch them all I want, isn't that right my little blackbird?”

“Jackdaw, actually.”

“What?”

“I have the wings of a jackdaw.”

“Does it matter?”

“Female blackbirds are brown, like Mirin’s wings. Mine are those of a jackdaw, jackass. Like my mother’s.”

Mirin ignores the swear. She’s heard worse from Father. But she squeezes twice. I need to calm the fire in my gut. Literally. Two squeezes means I’m getting hot.

“Mirin, why don’t I take you off to bed?”

“Ok, Ari.”

I swing her into my arms, and head to the door when Father stops me.

“Aria, you have a guest, where are you going?”

“It's getting very late. Someone needs to go to bed.” I tell him. Mirin yawns for added effect.

“Oh, a maid can do that. Come and talk with your fiance.”

“I don’t care.” I think Father sees the fire in my eyes, because he lets me go.

I bring Mirin to her room, and give her a good night hug.

“Is he a bad man, like the ones that took Mama?”

“I don’t know yet Miri. I don’t know.” I let the tears fall.

“Mama was brave, you said. You can be brave too.” I can be brave too. A plan begins to form in my head.

“And you as well, but it's practically midnight, so off to bed with you now.”

“Fine. Love you Ari!”

“Love you Mirin.”

Though I started crying with Mirin, it's not until I've locked the doors to my room that the downpour starts. I let myself sob so there is nothing left in me, lettting the hurt and betrayal spill out. The fallen tears begin to drown my fire, and I’m left feeling like a husk, empty and dry.

I wipe the final tear from my eye, and take a ragged breath. With no tears left the fire returns to my veins, for after all, a dry husk is a very flammable thing. The ornate clock on my wall reads 12:27. I shakily stand, and walk to the balcony. I shake out my wings and breathe. In and out. In and out. I wake more as the cool night air enters my lungs and dries the remnants of tears from my skin.

I get a slight running start and soar up onto the roof. As expected, Finnigan is waiting for me. I ran to him. He swoops me up in a hug, blotting out the stars and moons with his wings.

“Aria, are you ok?”

“Not in the slightest.”

I disentangle myself from Finnigan, and sit down. He follows suit. Mirin and I, as well as my brother when he’s home, live in the westernmost tower of the castle, and the roof is inaccessible without flight. It’s flat, and the ramparts protect us from being seen for the most part. Not that anyone is looking. 

We’ve spent so many nights here together, ever since we could both fly. To think that was eight years ago seems wrong, we were the same age as Mirin then. If we aren’t careful she might just end up joining us up here.

But that won’t happen. Not with what I have planned.

“Do you want to stay here?”

“What do you mean?” Finnigan asks, surprised.

“Do you want to stay here? Do you really want to be my bodyguard for the rest of our lives? To stay in the castle and never explore? To pretend not to have magic for the rest of time?”

“Well, not when you put it that way.”

“Does it ache? For you. It aches when I can't use it.”

“Yeah.”

I let my hands catch flame, the way my body has been begging me to do all night. 

“I’m getting married, Finn.”

“I thought-”

“Yeah. I thought too.”

“So?”

“Pascal. I’ll be married to the Cruel King’s son.” I stand, and let the fire go as I lean against the rampart. “I’m going to die, Finn.”

“What? Your father swore. He swore this would never happen.”

“He probably got a large dowry. He doesn't care. We knew that.” I look out to the west, away from this all. You can see the faint glow, for in the distance, of the burning forest.

“What are you going to do?”

“Me? Oh nothing… much.”

“Do tell.”

“What do you say we run away?”