The Burned Girl
819 Words
The first night outside the kingdom, Luda burned her dress.
Not in anger. Not in sorrow.
In necessity.
The baby pink gown had once represented something—purity, peace, and femininity was now marked as a disgrace, a murder ,the cursed princess who poisoned a foreign prince and betrayed her crown.
She tore it into strips, it’s silk whispered memories under her fingers, and then she fed it to the fire.The flames licked the fabric hungrily, devouring every shred. The gold thread that it was made of curled and melted like lies, twisting into smoke that carried her past into the night sky.She looked at the fire with a pained expression but she did not shed a tear, not when the cold earth pressed against her back. Not when bruises bloomed across her wrists. Not when she’s now in a place that did not know her name, the place that she wasn’t familiar with.
She slept on the streets for days, she didn’t know when was the last time she drank water and ate real food because now food has turned into a luxury to her .She kept hoping that maybe Kain will come for her , that maybe this nightmare will end . Each day she will wait patiently for Kain to come get her off the streets, but he never came for her .
By the seventh night, she stopped looking back.She literally stopped expecting people to come and save her.
The village of Blackarrow was a pit on the edge of nowhere, poor, rough, ignored by the crown. It was exactly the kind of place Luda needed. Dust clung to her skin, and the smell of smoke and wood fires hung heavy in the air. It was a place where whispers were currency, and survival required sharp eyes and a sharper mind.
She worked under the name Lulu, sweeping floors, binding wounds, grinding herbs in the dusty apothecary. Her hands blistered. Her back ached. But her mind stayed sharp. She watched. She listened. She learned.
She learned that the kingdom she once called home bled its people dry. She understood that nobles grew fat while poor and vulnerable starved, that gold silks hid cruelty, and the cruelty hid behind silver crowns and littles. She saw how her mother’s rule had turned iron, and she discovered that rebels called Nyx circle were beginning to spread—whispers of a good deeds they’ve done to the poor, and how they struck the royal convoys and vanished into darkness like smoke.
She smiled the first time she heard those rumours.
Not because she was one of the rebels
At least not yet.
But because she would be.
Later that ,the guards came to Varrow.They walked into the village with their shoulders stiff, looking around fast and their eyes moved from person to person, trying to find whoever they were looking for. They didn’t smile nor talk with kindness when checking every corner, doors, and dark spots. And finally saw the person —a young girl hiding behind the chicken coop.
The girl was barely fifteen, she had stolen bread from the tax cart. They dragged her into the village square, they broke his right arm in front of his dear mother and they laughed and called it discipline.
Something inside her cracked.
The next night, those same guards did not wake. They were found tied to their horses, gagged, and covered in tar with words burned into their armour:
“The crown is watching.
So are the people watching back.”
The village never discovered who did it. Not a soul could connect the shadow to the girl who now walked among them.
But one man did.
He found her where the fire met the trees, tossing a burned royal crest into the wind. Smoke swirled around her fingers, the embers illuminating her determined eyes.
“You’re not just a burned girl,” he said quietly. “You’re a fuse.”
She turned slowly, blade in hand, the cool steel glinting faintly in the firelight. “And who are you supposed to be?”
He smiled, unafraid, calm, and certain. “Someone who’s been waiting for a match like you.”
His name was Livon Valen, a former royal guard turned rebel. He offered her a place—his position because he wanted to retire , he gave her a plan and a chance to fight back.
Not for pity.
Not for justice.
But for strategy and justice
“You have the mind and heart of a queen,” he had told her. “And the wrath of a betrayed ghost”
She let those words sink in, the flames reflected in her eyes, the chill of the night air brushing against her skin. And in that moment, the girl who had been betrayed, accused, exiled, and forgotten became something else.
A shadow.
And the shadow became The Vesper.
- Writer
