Falling from Fire

Breathe. Hold. Breathe again. The mantra echoes in my mind, frantic and urgent, as my ribs and spine are wrenched together with each merciless pull. Tighter and tighter, I’m bound to a life I never chose. Breathe. How did it come to this? This isn’t what I want. I dream of simplicity—of a life steady enough to spark joy, but calm enough to treasure. I picture my own library, the shelves towering and packed to the brim with books. The townspeople would step inside, drawn to the glow of polished oak shelves adorned with golden accents, finding peace in cozy nooks surrounded by lush, vibrant plants. But the dream shatters, ripped away by the sharp, cloying scent of rose perfume clinging to me. My mother drenched me in it earlier, and now it churns my stomach and pounds at my head, dragging me harshly into reality. I cling to the vanity for stability, my sweaty palms slipping against the smooth surface, as she yanks at the laces of this damn periwinkle corset dress with the tenacity of a bull. The silk scratches against my skin, leaving raw, angry welts across my chest and back. It feels like the dress was designed for one purpose—to steal my breath, to make me smaller. The grinding squeal of the tightening strings echoes like a warning, sharp and insistent, each pull compressing more of me away. I catch my reflection in the mirror, my flushed cheeks staring back like a stranger’s. The girl I knew—the one with dreams, with fire—fades away, her light snuffed out like a flame pinched between wet, uncaring fingers. “Oh, darling, you look beautiful,” Mom sighs in an overly sweet tone as she ties the corset strings into a delicate bow. My mother is a simple woman. She runs a bakery that’s been in the family for generations, dedicating the past twenty-five years of her life to it. She never craved more and took pride in never having less—until twelve years ago, when my father’s heart gave out. At just six years old, I clung to her trembling hand as we watched his body lowered into the earth. After that, something in her broke. The bakery fell silent, its shelves dusty and bare, as customers stopped coming. Mom turned to whiskey, drowning her sorrow in a bottle and pouring her grief onto me. I became the one who cooked and cleaned, scavenging what little I could to keep us alive. Once, I made soup from scraps in the garden and the meager contents of our cupboards. I set it on the table, hoping she might appreciate the effort. Instead, she picked up the pot and, without warning, poured it over my head. The scalding broth burned my skin, leaving me crying on the floor. It hurt like hell, but the pot had cooled just enough to spare me scars. That all changed when Governor Varyn announced his son needed a wife. Something shifted in her. Compliments replaced insults, and gifts appeared out of nowhere. For the first time in years, it felt like I had my mother back—the kind, beautiful woman she used to be. But something about her new demeanor unsettles me. The stench of whiskey still clings to her, and her drunken mess has transformed into a drunken cheerfulness that feels... off. Her smile is too wide, her gestures too sweet, and it all leaves my stomach twisting. I stare into the mirror at the long silk gown, not recognizing a single part of myself in the girl who stares back. A hint of sadness creeps into my mind. I wasn’t meant to look like this. I look like one of the girls who made my life miserable in school—like a fake. “Mom, please,” I beg. “Don’t make me do this. We can live just fine—just like we have been.” Pleading with her has never gotten me anywhere, but I have to try. This time, my life—my freedom—is on the line. I knew this day was coming and have been trying to derail her plans ever since she first told me about it. The thought makes me sick—parading myself in front of the general’s family like some gold-digging, penniless beggar. I’ve always worked for everything I’ve had. Every dollar I earned from odd jobs at the market went toward buying my phone, my clothes, my books. Everything I own, I worked for. My sense of self-worth slips further from my grasp as I search her face for any trace of the mother I once knew. Any sign of warmth. Of humanity. But all I find is cold, unrelenting determination. Mom rolls her eyes and squeezes my shoulder, her nails digging into the skin where the top of my constellation tattoo falls, the bite of her fingers sharp and unrelenting, like a patch of thorns. I let out a pained whimper.
“Scarlett Elara Ashford,” she spits, her tone cold and cutting. “If you talk back to me on this subject one more time, I will cut your tongue out and present it to the Governor alongside you. Everyone loves a silent queen.” My face falls, disbelief crashing over me as she lets go of my shoulder. The sting of her nails lingers, but it’s nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. I know my mother can be cruel—she’s always had an edge—but this is a whole new level of madness. Despair, and a flicker of fear, creeps in, wrapping around my bones like ice. She picks up a delicate sapphire headband from the nightstand, one of the gifts she’s bought me, and carefully places it on my head, arranging my hair around it with meticulous attention. The band presses into my scalp, itchy and uncomfortable, its weight mirroring the heavy, unrelenting pressure on my shoulders. It’s beautiful, but its cost alone probably exceeds that of half the furniture in my room. A wave of anxiety tightens in my chest. What if this doesn’t work? What if my mother is pouring our life savings into this pointless effort to make me look elegant, and I’m not even chosen? The thought is unbearable. The bakery brings in some business, but it’s not nearly enough—not enough for this, for these reckless, extravagant purchases. Don’t get me wrong, the bittersweet gifts I’ve been receiving from her are a welcome change from the usual harsh comments and abuse. She’s even stopped sneering at my red hair and the tattoos she’s always despised. But the moment I realized these gifts were meant for today, they stopped feeling like gifts. They’re a uniform—a disguise to present myself to a room full of hyenas waiting to pounce. The sky-blue gown rubs my skin raw, the pearl-white heels pinch my toes, and the sapphire headband feels like a noose around my identity. These aren’t just items of clothing; they’re the things I have to wear to erase myself, to make myself look like the future Mrs. Varyn. Mom looks at my face in the mirror, somehow reading my thoughts. “Don’t worry, dear. Everything is going to work out just fine.” She places a hand on my back before leaning in to kiss my cheek. My jaw clenches with distaste as her cold lips touch my skin. I’m in shock at the drastic change in her behavior, and for what? Jewels? Power? Everyone knows the general's wife has no real say in anything. She’s merely a figurehead, there to keep the masses calm while the council leads us into war with Valdoria. Mom glances at her cheap smartphone and gasps. “We’re going to be late!” Her tone is filled with excited urgency as she grabs my elbow. She pulls me out of my bedroom, through our cramped house, and out the door. I try to keep up with her, but the heels on my feet make me wobble like a deer on ice. As we rush through the town square, I feel the weight of eyes on me. They murmur to each other as they watch us rush down the street with hushed voices. I understand why they’re staring. I look like a doll in a display window. This is nothing like how I usually present myself. The blue silk gown is a far cry from my usual t-shirt and sweats. I glance at the massive stone wall beyond the lake and let out a sigh. I never really know what lies beyond it. I’ve heard stories of magical kingdoms and a bunch of other s**t but nobody truly knows. Nobody wants to. Fifty years ago, Governor Varyn’s grandfather announced that his brother was murdered by Valdoria’s queen using dark magic. There was hardly anything left of him when the news came. His body was sent back to the kingdom as a warning. His skin had been mutilated, only patchy, bloody remnants clinging to his bones. That’s the day the wall was built. Guards patrol it from every side, and there’s no way out. Part of me has always wondered what lies beyond. I’ve walked along the wall before, hoping for a glimpse. Of course, I’ve never been able to see over, but it’s worth a try. We arrive at the palace, where hundreds of girls line up, ready to kneel and beg for the chance to marry Governor Varyn’s son. I can’t help but turn my nose up at the desperation radiating off them. It’s pathetic. One by one, they enter the massive building, disappearing behind the towering white doors. Each girl walks in with excitement and smiles, emerging moments later in tears, their hopes shattered by the Governor’s family’s rejection. The line in front of me shrinks with each passing second, the clock ticking down to the moment I may be giving my life away for good. A weight settles in my chest, and I start to feel lightheaded, as if the air itself grows thicker around me with an oppressive energy. “Mom, I can’t do this. Please, this is my whole life you’re about to give away in the next 30 seconds.” I try to reason with her, but her mouth tightens into a stern line, and her eyes grow cold. “If there’s any ounce of humanity left in you, please— take me home.” I barely have time to blink before the palm of her hand slaps across my face. She grabs my arms, her nails digging into the constellations inked into my skin. “You ungrateful wretch. I’ve done everything to keep you from ending up on the streets, selling your body for scraps, and you couldn’t care less.” Those words slice through me like a knife, echoing in my mind. “You’re doing this to repay me for housing you for the past 18 years of your worthless life. Once the governor pays me to keep you, you can do whatever you want. But for now, you’ll do as I say. So help me, Scarlett, your life will be miserable enough to make you wish for death.” A tear slides down my cheek as my mother steps away, her expression cold and unyielding. Emptiness fills me, a frigid and unyielding feeling I’ve tried to keep away for so long. The guard motions for me to move forward. There’s nowhere left to run. I’m trapped in this twisted reality, and the thought of having to return home to that cruel creature who has stolen my mother from me—may be a worse fate than to marry into this life of darkness and misery.