Falling from Fire

Fire Retreating (Scarlett)

The next two days crawl by in slow, suffocating hours. I wander the palace halls, my footsteps echoing through the silence, as I try to make sense of this place. I find the library and lose myself in its shelves of knowledge, and I spend time in the gardens, admiring the vibrant flowers and the manicured lawns. But none of it matters.

As beautiful as everything here is, it isn’t mine. It doesn’t belong to me. This place, this palace, is nothing more than a gilded cage, and I am its prisoner. Not that I really have a home anymore. My mother—if she even remembers me—has probably long since erased me from her thoughts.

I skip dinner for the next two nights, choosing to have it delivered to my room instead. The thought of sitting at that table again, under the weight of Mavrik’s gaze and the looming shadow of Governor Varyn’s wrath, makes my stomach churn. His warning rings in my mind, but it’s not enough to make me willing to endure another meal in that suffocating room. Not with Mavrik’s eyes on me—cold, calculating, like I’m prey, ready to be devoured.

I sit on the edge of my bed, my fingers absently twirling a strand of hair as I stare at the ceiling, trying to push away the tightness in my chest. Today, they’re announcing my marriage to the kingdom. And that means my hair is getting dyed.

I overheard Governor Varyn and his wife discussing it on selection day—how my hair is “revolting,” how my tattoos need to be hidden. As if there’s any part of me left that they haven’t already tried to erase. With the entire kingdom’s eyes on me today, of course, it has to happen now.

The last piece of who I am will be swallowed up by this life that isn’t mine.

As if on cue, the sound of three quick knocks on the door interrupts my thoughts. Judith enters without waiting for permission, a bottle of murky brown liquid in hand, its odor already making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

“Come, come! We need to get you ready for the announcement. We haven’t got any time to waste,” she says with an unnerving cheerfulness.

Reluctantly, I push myself off the bed, my muscles stiff and heavy, and follow her into the bathroom. Every step feels like a surrender.

I strip off my t-shirt, the cold air hitting my skin, before leaning my head under the faucet. The water splashes against my scalp as Judith begins to pour the thick, murky dye over my hair, erasing one of the last remnants of who I am.

“Judith?” I ask, my voice tight as she empties the bottle and starts massaging the color through my hair.

“Yes?” she replies, her gaze meeting mine as she tilts her head slightly, as though trying to assess my mood.

“Will I ever get out?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and Judith sighs, a deep, tired sound, filled with both dread and resignation.

“Oh, sweetheart. This might not be where you want to be right now, but you’re very fortunate to have been chosen.”

I twist my neck, glaring at her, a scowl spreading across my face as I refuse to accept her words.

“You got out of poverty,” she continues, her voice gentle but firm. “Very few ever manage to do that. This is a good thing for you.”

“How did you end up working here?” I ask, hoping to shift the conversation away from the suffocating idea of being “chosen.”

Judith’s expression falters, her eyes momentarily losing their practiced cheer. “My mother worked here,” she says quietly, almost as if speaking to herself. “I was born into it.”

“Don’t you ever dream of more?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, watching the sadness flicker in her eyes. “More than serving this family who barely sees you as a person?”

For a long moment, Judith doesn’t answer. Then, finally, her voice cracks as she admits, “I was going to leave.”

The words hang in the air, a quiet confession that carries so much weight. “My fiancé, Bryn, and I had a plan to escape over the wall.”

She whispers it like a forbidden secret, and my breath catches in my throat. No one speaks of the wall, not like this. Everyone knows the unspoken truth—no one gets in, and no one gets out. It’s just the way it’s always been.

Judith continues, her voice trembling with the weight of her grief. “We had a plan. A good one. But when the time came…” She pauses, shaking her head as fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “Something went wrong. A guard left his post, and when we reached the wall, they grabbed Bryn.”

She takes a shaky breath, the words feeling like they’re choking her. “They killed her on the spot. Right in front of me.”

The regret and heartbreak in her voice are almost too much to bear. “They never saw me,” she whispers, her words brittle, as though they’re carved from years of pain. “I was hidden in the shadows. I ran. And I never tried again.”

The weight of her grief hangs heavily in the room, each word a new shard of sorrow. Judith sniffles, trying to gather herself, but it’s clear her composure is slipping away. Without thinking, I turn toward her and pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as she cries, her tears falling silently from her light blue eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Judith,” I whisper softly, feeling her heartache as if it were my own.

She pulls herself together after a long moment, wiping the tears from her face, and when she looks up at me, there’s a small, appreciative smile. It’s fragile, but it’s there.

“Call me Jude,” she says, her voice hoarse but genuine.

I return her smile, and for a fleeting moment, there’s an unspoken understanding between us. No words are needed. She needs someone to confide in, and as painful as it is, sharing her devastation with me seems to lift a small weight from her shoulders. I know, then, that I can be that person for her—the one she can talk to, the one she can trust.Jude gently turns me back toward the sink and begins washing the dye from my hair, somehow managing not to stain the tub. She wraps a towel around my head with practiced precision and leads me out of the bathroom, guiding me to sit at the vanity.

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” she says, disappearing into the closet.

A moment later, she returns with a floor-length, long-sleeved red gown draped over her arm.

I can’t help but smile. Jude smiles back, and in that small gesture, I can see a flicker of pride. She’s only known me for three days, yet she’s already figured out that red is my favorite color. I guess it was kind of obvious.

Jude removes the towel from my head and begins blow-drying my hair, carefully styling the chestnut brown strands into an elegant updo. I catch a glimpse of my reflection, and something deep inside me aches. The new color feels wrong, foreign, as though a part of me has been ripped away.

My hair had always meant something—it was my fire, my strength. It was a reflection of the resilience I’d built over the years. I’d endured my mother’s cruel words and sharp tongue. I’d survived the void my father left behind when he died. I wasn’t angry at him—how could I be? You don’t die on purpose. But a small part of me resented that he’d left me to fend for myself against my mother’s venomous actions and intentions.

Now, with my red hair stripped away, it feels like they’ve stolen a piece of my identity, my fire. Something inside me breaks, leaving a hollow space I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fill.

Jude pulled me to my feet, and within ten minutes, I was dressed and ready to go. I stared into the mirror, my reflection foreign and unrecognizable. The red dress clung perfectly, the long sleeves carefully chosen—intentional, I knew—to cover my tattoos. Another thing to mask who I was.

The diamond earrings dangled from my ears, and the matching necklace sat heavy against my chest. Everything about it felt wrong. Wrong in every possible way. This wasn’t me. It was a costume, a facade, a life I never wanted.

The weight in my chest became unbearable as tears spilled down my cheeks once again. Jude placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her gaze meeting mine through the mirror. There was no pity in her eyes, only quiet understanding.

“You’ve got this,” Jude assures me softly. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, and follow her out of the bedroom.