Everyone always says that I'm as beautiful as my mother used to be. Sometimes I wish I didn't look like her. Don't get me
wrong she was the most beautiful woman I know, but I think that maybe if I looked a little more like daddy, or if mom had never died,
that daddy wouldn't keep me locked away. I'm like that princess who longs to be loved by that lowly servant her high and mighty Mr.
Hey You father would never let her be with. I always seemed to be sitting in the highest room in the tallest tower and never once had I
seen the outside of the palaces walls and never once had I even tried to leave. I feared what would wait for me on the other side of
those stone walls, maybe some drunk who is looking for a good time or maybe a woman looking for me to join her gang of street
walkers. I couldn't risk it, I always had to fear the worst and know that it didn't get any better than inside these walls where I could be protected.
As a child I was always taught to be submissive to a man, but as a young woman I realized that life wasn't completely about giving the
men what they wanted. I wanted more than to be married, have six million boys (because of course my forced husband would never let
me keep the girls around.), cook for family and order maids to wash my palace. I wanted to see from the east side of the planet to west
and from north to south. I wanted nothing more than to be in love and be loved, to have a life before children. I wanted to have a
husband who wanted so many things out of life, about as much as I wanted or even more. I wanted to live a life, even if only for a
moment, where no one called me Princess and no one was down on their hands and knees tending to the countless bouquets in my
room or washing the floors my family scuffed up on purpose. I wanted to live a life of simplicity, certainty, and, maybe just for once, a
life of sanctity.
"Bra, what are you doing?" My father called from outside my door as he rapped on the door with one enormous powerful fist. "I was
just getting ready to take a bath." I lied. I knew that if I told him I was thinking he would tell me that it useless. My father thought that
what I meant by "thinking" is that I was contemplating liberation. "Hurry up," He roared. "You're brother's leaving in a few minutes." I
gasped, threw my hair in a messy bun, and tugged at my clothes to make it look like I had just thrown them on. "Trunks' leaving so
soon?" I panicked running into my father. Daddy rolled his eyes and headed toward what used to be the living room.
My father had his ups and downs, but since Trunks was leaving to train elsewhere to become a stronger man my father hadn't let single
emotion grace his once affectionate clad face. My mother's death took the greatest toll on my father and no once did he let us even
speak about her, not for a few years anyway. I remember hearing each and every heartfelt sob come from his room. I remember seeing
the glazed eyes I never thought I'd have to, I mean, he was my daddy and my daddy was the most powerful man alive. He didn't cry,
not for himself, not for anyone, boy was I wrong or what? I remember daddy holding my head to his heart and telling me that weakness
would be the death of him and if I had a brain in my head I wouldn't let weakness into my heart.
I hurried right after my dad almost stepping on his heels. I quickened my pace wanting so badly to beat my father to the Trunks.
Trunks and I hadn't been that close lately, but for some reason I felt like he understood me. I mean he never admitted his feelings, not
since he cried over mom's body that one fateful, or should I say fateless, day. He hadn't shown a single emotion except for anger and
hatred since then. He used to be so sweet, not like candy or like ice cream, but like Trunks. He always wore a bright smile on his face
and a heartwarming giggle hidden under every single one. After mom, his everything changed. His heart released the warmth that it once
held to keep it pumping. Everything grew cold inside him, not a smile was cracked, just those evil, mischievous smirks. He never
laughed and he never used the L word. Take a wild as to which L word, lilacs? No. Lesbian? I wish. He never said love anymore, not
to me, not to anyone. And whatever emotion was feeling he kept it bottled inside him. I can't help, but lie awake all night, every night
and think about how it used to be between him and I. I mean, how he was aloud to tell me that he loved me and that he would protect
me from the cruel world. Once he was even aloud to kiss me in front of Dad. And when I didn't understand why he wasn't aloud to
himself in front of daddy, we fought. if mommy died we would've never fought, he would've never made me cry, I would've never f
orced him to undergo a kick to the groin, but then again, I guess, after mom we both became problem children.
"Trunks!" I called as I tackled him in a bear hug I hadn't given him since he and I were young. "Get off me." He scolded and pushed
me away instead of attempting to hug me back. Trunks put up this wall when we were around dad. I knew he would've accepted the
hug had we been alone. Dad always thought it would emasculate Trunks to have such weakness in his heart. "Bra." My father said
sternly indicating that my actions were as my father put it, "extremely unnecessary and those kind of actions wouldn't be tolerated." I
cleared my throat and took a step away from my brother. He held out his hand first to me, but I didn't take it. That's not how family
says goodbye, is it? When I didn't accept the hand shake Trunks directed his hand toward my father and my father took it with pride in
his eyes and hope in his heart. My father expected no only the best, but the greatest out my brother. Trunks hadn't even had time to
find a mate and his life was passing him by, as much as I tried to envy Trunks I just couldn't bring myself to it. I did love him with all my
heart, but that day, I promised myself I wouldn't let my life pass me by.