When she was born, Princess Levana had been told that she was beautiful.
Her older sister, the crown princess, had always told her the opposite. You're ugly. No one loves you. You're worth nothing. But the court constantly whispered about her beauty and the maids that dressed her everyday would say that she was the loveliest little flower. Queen Jannali would kiss Levana's forehead and run a hand through her hair, cooing and spouting loving words that Levana couldn't help but believe.
That is, until that one time when Channary had decided to force her in a fire. A little trick of the mind, a little lie, and she found herself in the hospital with a bad eye and a paralysed face. To this day, Levana never knew exactly why Channary had done it—maybe she was jealous, or upset, or just plain cruel—but after that, the whispers stopped, and Jannali no longer gave Levana the time of day. Everyone had said that her clumsiness was the cause of her disfigurements, that her stupidity had led her to the fire and that Channary had simply saved her, like any good sister would. No believed Levana when she cried and said that no, it was Channary, she used her glamour on me, she's been doing it for years now, it's not my fault! It shouldn't have come as a surprise. Her parents had always believed any lie that Channary would tell them, no matter how outrageous.
After the incident, Levana was moved out of their shared nursery and given her own chambers far away from those of the crown princess'. She refused to speak to Channary for three years. Whenever Channary tried to pick a fight, Levana simply turned the other way. Whenever Channary hit her or pushed her, Levana would just lie on the ground until her sister grew bored and left her alone. None of the other noble children wanted to play with her. Levana's glamour wasn't yet strong, and keeping up constant illusions to hide her ugliness proved to be difficult. She was brutally mocked by everyone and anyone, her position no longer offering her any protection from their verbal abuse. Mirrors became her greatest enemy, and she avoided them like the plague.
When she turned ten, Levana finally broke and begged the doctors to fix her, to do whatever it took to make her presentable again. She didn't remember much from the surgeries, but she could never forget how it felt waking up and having both of her eyes see again. The surgeon who had worked on her was one of the best in the field, and had managed to find a way to open her eye and replace her ravaged skin without much difficulty, without so much as a transplant. New stem cells had been her saving grace; even her hair had begun to grow back.
It had taken another two years for her to muster up the courage to look at her own reflection. She had come to her mother's bedroom begrudgingly, the queen having insisted that she help Levana get ready for her first official presentation at court. The ominous mirror that hung on the far wall of the room haunted her like a ghost as Jannali fussed over her daughter's gown, fiddling with the tiara in her hair and the roses on her neckline.
"Oh, you look so beautiful, sweetie…" Jannali cooed, and Levana looked down at her hands.
"I thought I was ugly."
Jannali frowned slightly, brushing back Levana's bangs. "Not anymore. You're lovely," she said.
Levana raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you're finally willing to spend time with me, Mother?"
Jannali's lips tightened against her teeth, her ghost-white skin flushing with anger. "Stop being so disrespectful."
Levana felt a mix of rage and hatred brewing in her belly, and her fists clenched. Jannali continued to fiddle with the bow tied around Levana's waist. "There," the queen said, clapping her hands together. "You're ready."
Levana felt her mother prod her towards the mirror, and she squirmed in dread. The enemy hung all smug on the wall, the metal frame glinting in the room's light. Jannali ignored the girl's efforts at resistance and planted her right in front of the horrid glass.
The sight was enough to take Levana's breath away. The girl staring back at her had rosy cheeks and glinting eyes and shiny brown hair that fell to her waist in elaborate curls. Her face was perfection, no sign remaining of the burns but a faint scar that ran down from her cheek to her chest; one would have to squint to see it. Where there had once been ravaged flesh, covered in ridges and grooves, there was only lush white skin. The purple gown that she wore was snug and elaborate, showing her blooming figure, part-girl, part-woman, early in her adolescence.
Levana felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. She was beautiful again. Like Channary, like everyone else in court. Jannali smiled over Levana's shoulder, squeezing the princess' hand. Her true reflection was also revealed, her chestnut hair and tanned skin and perfect smile—the Channary-clone. Or maybe Channary was the Jannali-clone. Levana was never sure, nor did she care to find out. She hated them both.
"Do you like what you see?"
"Yes," Levana lied, forcing a pleasant smile. "The surgeons did a good job."
Jannali giggled. "I'm glad that you think so. Your happiness means so much to me, sweetie."
Levana barely forced down a sneer. Liar.
The princess didn't bother listening to another word that the queen said. She tried to forget that she was holding her mother's hand as Jannali escorted her down the halls to the throne room. "You'll render them all speechless," she said, waving a hand in the air as she walked. "Once they take a look at you, you'll be all they'll talk about for weeks."
Levana nodded, staring straight ahead. Of course, they will. They can't resist fawning over a shiny new toy.
The creaking of the doors echoed through Levana's head as the two were let into the back entrance of the throne room, and the thick red curtains that separated them from the court rustled ever-so-slightly in the breeze. Her father stood by with her sister, both hideous yet beautiful at the same time; pleasing to the eye, yet repulsive to every other sense. Levana felt the sudden urge to spit in their faces.
King Marrok hooked an arm through his wife's in a forced show of affection, one that anybody could tell was fake. Levana eyed them with masked contempt as they stepped out of sight, and the applause of the nobles could be heard as their presence was announced. Channary smiled and tossed her hair in Levana's face as she followed, cheers and sighs of awe lacing her every footstep.
As Levana stood there, listening intently for when her name would be called, she began to imagine. It was always an eventful activity; her glamour had become much stronger as of late, and her costumes had become more intricate and creative with every time she sat down and thought. Once, she had painted herself the exact shade of silver that coloured every wall in the palace and had remained unnoticed throughout the entire day. An invisible princess; nothing more than a ghost.
Flames licked at the back of her mind, and she imagined smoke filling her nostrils and her throat, destroying her lungs. She imagined herself shrinking back down to a six-year-old in a tattered dress with a chunk of hair cut off from the back of her head—
"Presenting Her Royal Highness, Princess Levana!"
Her head snapped around at those words, and she pushed the curtain back with a shaking hand. Time seemed to stop and the ground seemed to lurch beneath her.
The collective gasp of the crowd was probably the most satisfying sound that Levana had ever heard.
Which was quickly followed by cries of shock and fear. Levana watched with a smile as a few nobles fainted in their seats at the sight of her. Of course, she knew exactly what they saw—not the pretty little girl in the mirror, but a creature that looked like it had crawled from the deepest pits of hell, a demon that was hideous and on fire and SO ALIVE—
Levana flashed a grin and curtsied, relishing in the gasps and shouts of the nobles. She was revolting, probably the most revolting thing that any of those peacocks had ever seen, so revolting that many of them were about to be sick. Her face was gouged with bloody red spots, her flesh boiling and flames eating away at her ruined dress, but never once burning the fabric. She had no nose, only ragged holes that wheezed softly as she breathed. Her lips had been melted off somewhat, allowing her clenched teeth to be seen.
A piercing shriek burst forth from the clamour, and Levana turned to see Channary stumbling back with a hand over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers. Jannali soon joined the princess, her glamoured skin turning even whiter than usual. The king stood by his throne, furious and surprised and terrified above all.
Terrified. The great King Marrok, terrified of his ugly little daughter. The thought made Levana want to laugh.
Instead, she held out a hand and walked over to them with an odd grace to her step, flames roiling off the hem of her dress and scorching the floor. Of course, the fire wasn't real, but they didn't need to know that. All three of them flinched, as if Levana was about to burn them with her scorching touch, but their fears were completely unwarranted. After all, Levana wasn't her sister.
"Good afternoon, Father," she said, bowing down slightly. Marrok said nothing, merely staring at her with his mouth agape. Levana then grinned, turning over to Channary. "And a good day to you, Sister. I've been looking forward to meeting the court that you're so fond of," she giggled. "I must say," she continued, addressing the crowd, "that you all look quite marvellous today. Such effort must be recognized! Tell me, do you appreciate my effort? Do you like my costume?"
The room was dead silent, so much so that it nearly made Levana regret her decision. Any reaction, no matter how negative or embarrassing, was better than no reaction at all. She stood and waited, the fire still raging on. Levana then sneered, gripping onto every mind in the space and making them see just how hideous and monstrous she was and how they should be terrified!
"Levana, that's enough—take that down at once," the king growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Well, Channary? What do you think?" Levana continued on, as if Marrok hadn't spoken. "Do you like this? You must, since you went to such great lengths to inspire this look."
Channary's eyes widened even more, and she looked as if she were about to cry from embarrassment. "What are you—"
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Come here, baby sister, I want to show you something. What should we burn? Familiar to you?"
"Levana, I'm giving you the count of three!"
Levana turned around and glared at the king. "Of course, I was so young and stupid; how could I have known that meant me?"
Every ear in the room was turned towards her, and some courtesans had already begun to whisper behind their hands. Levana grinned. The rumours had taken off.
She let out a little squeak as she felt a strong hand grip the back of her flaming dress, and she dropped her glamour in panic. The tension in the room seemed to evaporate along with Levana's fiery illusion. Marrok's eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul as he dragged out of the throne room, leaving her in the hands of a nearby maid.
"Now what did you do this time, Your Highness?" the maid inquired as she escorted the princess back to her own chambers. Levana walked with her back straight, her head tall, her heart swelling with pride.
She simply said; "I embarrassed Channary. It was very amusing."
The maid raised an eyebrow, but didn't question further. Her first inquiry was already a trespass against the unspoken rule of not conversing with her superiors.
Jannali had been right: the nobles talked about that meeting for months, but not for the reason that the queen had hoped.
They said that Levana was ugly. Of course, this was nothing new. But it was the fear with which they said it that made Levana listen intently to their conversations, before they would notice her fiery presence and move away from her like they always did.
But there were also the faint whispers of how Channary had attacked her sister, how Princess Levana tried to fight her off but was burned and disfigured in the process, how Princess Channary was a monster, who could do that to a child, nevermind her own sister?
Those were the words that made Levana smile.
Little by little, the court ladies refused to consort with the crown princess, afraid that she would also throw them in fires and ruin their lovely faces. Soon, even the men had distanced themselves from her, despite the way she would constantly flaunt herself. Channary had become a social pariah. Demon, the court would whisper. Never again shall I speak to her, the noblewomen would say. And this is our future queen?
Through the couple of years that followed, Levana constantly wore her disturbing illusion everywhere she went, flaunting it at court and during balls. She had exquisite gowns made custom, designed like flaming rags in black and red and orange. Her only tiara was a slab of black regolith, inlaid with rubies and onyx stones, like her eyes. With the nearly-unrecognizable deformity that was her face and her ravaged body, she looked like a grotesque parody of the child that had been pulled out of a fireplace so many years ago.
Without a doubt, her favourite part of the day was suppertime, when the royal family would dine together in the lavish hall built specifically for that purpose. Levana loved watching her parents squirm uncomfortably as she sat there eating her meal, on fire and grotesque. Guilt. There seemed to be guilt in their eyes, but it could've just been a trick of the light. Channary always looked like she was about to faint in Levana's presence; the look on her face would always make Levana snicker under her breath.
As time passed, Levana's ability to create glamours had become more powerful than anyone that ever seen, and she would often be merciful on the servants and simply make them see her as a normal fourteen-year-old girl, with a pretty face and no skin melting off her bones. Manipulating several minds to see different things became nothing more than a bat of her eye.
She walked through life as a hideous creature, laughing and laughing at everyone who flinched, everyone who would back away in disgust.
Once, she had felt invisible.
Now, she would never be forgotten. There was no way, with her glamours that instilled fear even in her own parents. There was no way, with how she had ruined Channary's spotless reputation.
The crown princess had become the laughingstock of all of Artemisia. No woman wanted to have tea with her. No man wanted to climb into her bed. She was forever known as the Beldam, the witch who burned children, the one who shouldn't ever be allowed to inherit the throne. She's stupid, she's lazy she will RUIN US ALL! SHE'LL BURN US!
Only a few weeks before her sixteenth birthday, Levana's parents had been killed by a furious shell, and everyone knew the story of how he had snuck in and how the king and queen were defenceless and how they were so weak, letting themselves be killed by one madman. Channary was quickly crowned queen, the government desperate to get the struggling nation back on its feet.
However, their hopes were in vain, for a goldfish would've proved to be more politically adept than Queen Channary of Luna. The rumours and whispers only grew louder behind Channary's back, and Levana wasn't even surprised as she passed by the queen's closed door one night and heard sobbing echo from inside.
But that wasn't the part that truly made Levana happy. No, it was the whispers of how she should come to rule the moon instead. How she would be a much better queen, the best that had ever lived. The court had begun to see past her face, clinging onto every word of her precious advice. She had upstaged Channary to the point that the courtesans completely ignored the queen, instead favouring the young-yet-wise princess. The government saw her as their saving grace, their answered prayers.
They wanted her.
About a year after Channary's coronation, Levana found herself standing once again in front of her mother's mirror, which had then been moved to the queen's room. Channary was out in her solarium, trying to escape the servants' gossip.
Levana placed a hand on the reflective glass. Her brow furrowed as she analyzed her reflection, her perfect face, her clear skin, her newly developed curves. She ran a hand through her chestnut hair, twirling a curl around her finger. It was silky and smelled of coconut.
The girl that she saw in the mirror was what most would say looked beautiful, but Levana knew better. No amount of surgery could ever hide her ugliness. This ideal person wasn't her, nor would it ever be. Levana longed to look away, to slip into her favourite costume, the one that she knew was her true self. She knew that she wasn't beautiful. Channary was beautiful. Jannali was beautiful; and they were fools.
Levana was most definitely not a fool.
She was respected. She was adored. She was hideous.
The ugliest princess that Luna had ever known.