Okay, I'm finally putting up my first Pokéshipping Universe fic!
Anyway, enjoy ch1!
She's a political prisoner, daughter of the president of a war-torn country, born and raised in a setting where the idea of death was painfully real.
He's a clueless rich 'rebel' who comes to bail her out of jail.
Can he survive in her world?
Misty sighed, staring at the blank wall of the prison cell around her. Her home for the past day, night, and now it was day again.
All her life, she had been prepared for this moment. Her dad, president of Pacurbia, had passed away peacefully and it was her time to take over rule over the peaceful and beautiful land of Pacurbia.
Yeah, right.
Her dad had been assassinated during a public speech to the war-torn country and she had been taken and thrown into jail. Now an usurper was ruling.
As if even if she HAD been allowed to take over, it would be anything more than just for show. The real power lay in the hands of the regents who would be 'helping her fulfill her duties.'
That had all happened twenty four hours ago. When she still had a life and dreams of her own.
She knew she was stuck here for good. The army that was formerly her father's now lay in the hands of another.
And while her father had been a good man, Giovanni was certainly not.
This whole situation was so stupid! She didn't even want to rule the darn country. All he wanted to do was to be a dolphin trainer. Like her mother, just a dolphin trainer. Who had the 'luck' to fall in love with the eldest son of the ruling family.
Now she was being held captive for a life she never wanted.
Days passed, then weeks, and months. Misty's anger had passed and turned into sadness, then hopelessness, then she had swung back to anger again.
Why was this all happening to her again?
Oh yeah. Because she was daughter of President Waterflower.
/Isn't that nice though, Misty?/ a voice in her head seemed to say. /Maybe once you die, your the image of your face will start a rebellion!/
\Shut up\
/I'm serious! You'd be much better use to the cause dead than alive!/
\I said shut up. And there is no 'cause'. There's just me, and you who's also me, and a dim, dank prison cell.\
/Please. You really think that your father's murder didn't start a rebellion? And that there aren't people going out of their minds to get you out?/
\Please. \
/And like I was saying. They're being stupid. I mean people need a martyr to fight for.../
\I am NOT a martyr!\
/How can you be so sure?/
It wasn't the fact that she was beginning to talk to herself that scared her.
It was the fact that the voice in her head was a cheerful, masochistic psychopath.
And more often than not, she admitted it was right.
THAT scared her.
It was just another day like all the others. Four walls. Sunrise, morning meal, sunset, evening meal.
She scratched off another day in the corner of her cell. Without counting, she remembered it was day ninety-three.
She leaned back against the wall behind her cot. Day in, day out, the only person she talked to was herself.
And the voice. She called it Flame. That was, until she decided that something else would make a better name.
Sometimes she called it Freedom, some days it was Phoenix or Ash. The voice of freedom, calling her from outside this depressing reality, calling her to be reborn like a Phoenix from the ashes of its forecomer, in a beautiful blaze of flame.
Of course, Flame was also insane.
/But aren't we all, Misty, dear? I'm just an annoyingly cheerful projection of your own darkest thoughts./
\I thought I told you to shut up, Flame.\
/Telling your best friend to shut up is rude. Telling yourself to shut up is the first sign of insanity. What are you then, hmm?/
\You are NOT my best friend.\
/No, sorry, I'm your only friend./
Flame also had a condescending, sarcastic wit.
\Oh you are so not part of me.\
/Where am I from, then, honey?/
\Touché\
Most conversations ended like that.
Misty sighed, staring at the wall again. Even toying with Flame got tiring eventually.
/Wait- can you hear that too?/
Misty cocked an ear to listen to what her subconscious had noticed. Some sort of a clatter and shouting going on in the hallway outside her door.
\Yes. I do. Don't get our hopes up, it's likely just the guards getting drunk or something.\
/What about somebody messing with your lock, Misty dear?/
Misty froze, not daring to move. It was true. Somebody was fumbling with the lock on her door.
All right, this likely sucked because a) I did it on my iPod and b) this is my very first try at something this dark. If this comes across as dark at all.
Anyway, I'd really appreciate a comment or something!