Hello! I just wanted to say that Red River has hardly any stories. Anyway, please enjoy and comments are always appreciated. I DO NOT own anything of Red River.
I don't ask for pity. I don't ask for remorse. I am too calloused to be loved, to be gentle, to be kind. I had a rough life. Nobody ever thinks that a princess is anything beyond her dresses and the happily ever after. Well, I never had a happily ever after.
I was an imperial beauty at fifteen years old- I was too vain to realize that my appearance was a curse. Men coveted and courted me, much to my pleasure. I was drunk with attention as I blossomed into womanhood. Little did I know, my era of happiness would soon come to a crashing end.
Babylon was my home. The magnificence of the soft vegetation against my feet as I danced across the gardens, the babbling waters; all of this was my safe haven. Though, I knew that my Babylon was starting to dwindle.
I couldn't feel the pinch of shortage, but I had seen it. I had seen what war had done to the people. The peasants, I once had sympathy for them many moons ago, were starving, and begging for some sort of salvation. Those people had bones prodding from their flabby flesh. Everyone was timid and wary at best. At worst, they were violent with each other; often times, blood would spill blood on our empire's soil. Everyone was in despair. Families cried for the lost men, wondering how they would honorably make it to the next meal. Children ventured out without any one to love or nurture them, becoming the next generation of scavengers and criminals.
On that fateful day, I was informed by my father that the Hittite's king was beguiled by my grace. My father edged his way into to telling that I was to be concubine to this complete stranger whom I had met maybe a handful of times. He proclaimed that I was the miracle which saved Babylon. I was being sold as a play thing to some emperor in an alienated land for aid for my beloved Babylon.
I was confused and then I felt pain. Realization hit me like slap in the face. I had been sold like cheap whore. I had been sold. Sold. Sold. Sold.
I had tried to be in love with my owner. I think in the beginning I was infatuated with the thought of being in love and having a happily ever after. It all changed on that one night.
On a warm spring night that man crept into the room was probably the worst day of my life. His weight nestled on top of my body without any sort of consideration of my own feelings. The anguish of lost innocence to a man I didn't love was the seed to begin the bloom of my ruthlessness.
No longer the innocent girl, I began to loathe. I was alone in this strange place. No one ever offered a helping hand or a gentle smile. I knew no one was going to save me. I was scorned and ridiculed by all the women in the seraglio. I was nearly invisible to my master, just another beautiful bobble in his collection. I ran from nearly everything, too soft from being a princess to become an unfeeling mistress.
Soon after arriving in the empire, I met a young man. He was the same age as I was; he seemed to be isolated in this kingdom just as I was. I felt like we had this understanding of each other. He was the most beautiful man I had ever laid my eyes on. He was also the one I could never have. As I began to mature, I had countless, lustful fantasies that keep me awake for many nights. For the first time in my life, I began to question my appeal as this man never touched me.
I began to become more than just a pretty face. I bore a son. I also conceived the idea and ability to ensure that my bloodline ran through the Hittite bloodline forever. I acted on it with the help of the man who would never be mine.
My heart was cold now. I couldn't take pity on anyone, I didn't feel remorse. I understood what the arms race for power between the women in the harem felt like. I killed cold bloody because I wanted what I could never possess. I planned in the futile, vain attempt to make an accomplishment that would leave footprints in time.
I don't regret what I've done. I was ready to die at any moment. I was ready to die when I was fifteen years old. The only thing to show of my efforts in trying to obtain the Hittite throne is pain.
I had lost the man who I had loved since I was mere girl. I sometimes wonder if he ever loved me. I couldn't tell. I have a son who tried to kill because I tried to force my ambitions on him. I have bloody hands for every life I destroyed. I have too much time on my hands.
I was sentence to linger on memories. I was damned to play those recollections in my head and dream of the day when I die. I think bitterly to myself if I had told him I loved him would it have changed anything? Would I have gotten my happily ever after?