ASTRID

Determined I tighten my grip around the small sword, every muscle in my body straining as I fight to hold my ground. I grunted in pain when the blade of the sword cut my arm skin. I grit my teeth as blood beads on my skin. "One point for Hillary!" I heard my father's voice ring out in the distance while watching my fight. I don't want to disappoint him. I want to surpass all his expectations from me at all cost. I only want to be enough for him. Tightening my grip, I raise my sword and lunge at Hillary again. But she's faster. With a swift, calculated move, she parries my strike and pivots, sweeping my legs out from under me. Before I can react, the world tilts-then slams into me. My back crashes against the cold, hard ground, knocking the breath from my lungs. I cough, struggling to rise, but Hillary's blade is already pointed at my throat. "Yield!" She says, her voice steady. I can't lose to her... A loud clap echoed through the training grounds, sharp and final. My chest heaved as sweat trickled down my skin. I wasn't sure if the trembling in my limbs was from exhaustion or the crushing weight of defeat. I lost... to Hillary. "Very well, Hillary!" My father's voice carried pride-pride that wasn't meant for me. "You are the finest swordsman under my supervision." Hillary removed her sword from my throat and stepped back, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Sir. It is all thanks to your teachings." She spoke with gratitude, but all I could hear was the unspoken reminder of my own failure. Not once had I ever heard him praise me. Maybe if I had defeated Hillary today, he would have finally acknowledged me. But I wasn't good enough, was I? Hillary walked straight to my father, and together they left the training grounds-without so much as a glance in my direction. No words of concern. Not even a fleeting check to see if I was still in one piece. I forced myself to sit up, wincing at the ache in my limbs. It wasn't the loss that hurt the most-it was the realization that, once again, I was invisible to him. Just like always. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. I had trained for this. Pushed myself past exhaustion. Suffered through every bruise, every cut, just to hear him say my name with pride. But in the end, it was still Hillary he saw. Still Hillary he praised. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down. If I won, maybe he'd finally see me. Maybe, just once, he'd look at me the way he looked at her. But defeat meant fading into the background, swallowed by his indifference. And that... that was what I feared the most.