The Children of the Damned - SYOC

by Sora Kalopsia

When King Christian changes the laws of Illéa so that he can chose out of his five, illegitimate heirs who will proceed him after his death, no one knows who exactly will take over the country. Now, after the death of one of the most despised rulers Illéa has ever seen, the Chosen Heir inherits a country about to tear itself into pieces and a Selection, at once. SYOC CLOSED.

7. Kill the Lights

Chapter Eight – Kill the Lights

"You reside in grand disguises, just to get, get away from it all. Falsify the life you're hiding, just to get, get away from it all."

Prince Weston Declan Sinclair

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt."

When life got difficult, Weston often turned to the works of William Shakespeare and found solace in the soliloquies and eulogies of the characters, so lifelike that the felt like his personal friends. Rather socially awkward, the young prince had never had been one to build strong bonds between others, besides his younger sister and his mother, which he wasn't entirely sure counted, and a few sons and daughters of foreigners who had quickly left after learning of his father's tyrannical habits. So, to pass the time, Weston had taken comfort in his personal library, the one he had lovingly labored on the blueprints for over three months before he gave them to the royal contractor. It was his pride and joy, and no one besides his family had ever set foot inside it, not even a servant.

Now, as he scurried to the set of The Report, quotes of legendary plays swirled and danced inside his head, distracting him from the uneasy feeling in his stomach. It was far past butterflies at this point, as hearing the names of his 35 girlfriends was a lot more stressful that an insect or two. This was more like an earthquake.

To Weston, who was a claustrophobic person by nature, it felt as if the world was caving in.

This was, he was aware, probably a stupid feeling to have when about to see the picture of the love of his life. But the Prince couldn't help but think that something, something was wrong. Nothing had happened to give him this idea, really. The palace was fine, busy with preparations for the girls who would arrive in a week. Everything was fine, really.

And that was what worried him.

This whole week, he had been basically on time and prepared for everything. Elyse has been helping him, of course, but he didn't mind. The young man was already well aware that his fourteen-year-old sister was far more prepared than he was to be the ruler. Then again, she wasn't going to be Queen, so perhaps that took some of the pressure off of her. Weston wasn't sure about that fact, but he knew that his life since the announcement had been one huge calamity to another.

Now, suddenly, everything seemed to have settled it. And Weston didn't like it. Well, it wasn't as if he didn't want his life to calm down. He just didn't entirely trust it. He hadn't seen either Jasper or Rosemary all day, which was never a good sign. Elyse had been placed on heading the Selection Committee, as she'd decided to call it, and had roped Juliet into picking out the colors of the Selected girls' bedrooms. Weston only knew this because his youngest sister had spent approximately seventy years in his room last night before bed attempting to choose between cream and eggshell for the trim in the bathroom for the girls. Before that, Weston hadn't been aware that it was possible to be bored to actual tears, but he guessed you learned something new everyday. Did he look like he was the type of person who cared whether it was cream or eggshell paint? For God's sake, they were both white!

"Weston!" The Prince heard his name called from behind him and turned around. Juliet rushed forward, which was quite impressive in her three inch heels, a sour expression on her face. "Weston, can I talk to you?" She looked put off by something, which was usual, and also slightly worried, which was not. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept in a week. In her hand, she clutched a piece of paper as if her life depended on it.

Her brother's eyes flicked to the butler, who was giving him an annoyed look at this delay. "Umm…" Weston was uncomfortable making decisions. "Can it wait, Jules? I really need to get to the Report early, for once."

"Oh…" His sister turned the paper over in her hands, her face dropping momentarily before she nodded. "Okay. But right after the Report, okay?"

"Got it! After! See you there!" Weston said as he continued to race along, not having time to worry about what the piece of paper contained. Probably just another color of paint they needed his approval on. Not that it mattered, to him. The Selected girls were allowed to redecorate them as much as they wanted, so Weston thought this whole thing was a waste of time.

He was not, however, going to tell Elyse this.

The young prince waited on his throne, early for once but too early. 45 minutes too early. Some staff members milled around lazily, checking equipment and cleaning cameras. A few of them gave him strange looks, but he hardly noticed. He needed this time. To prepare for what was to come.

But sometimes, even Shakespeare couldn't console him in times of true struggle. Almost an hour passed, and Weston was only joined by Elyse. Beau and Belle followed her, and his brother gave the prince an odd look. "I don't know where they are, either," Weston desperately tried not to panic. Were they just going to abandon him? Where were they? Jasper and Rosemary had been gone for most of the day, but now Juliet was gone too. That wasn't like her, Weston knew, but it was like her to attempt to sabotage something that didn't go her way. Perhaps she was off doing the something quickly in attempt to steal the crown away from him.

Weston wished she'd hurry up. He was only two weeks into this job and it already sucked.

This whole thing was more trouble than it was worth, Weston pouted as the Report countdown began. Probably not exactly what he should have been thinking when about to see pictures of the 35, but he was too annoyed to care. Beau, apparently deciding to take the place of Jasper, lounged comfortably in his chair as if he'd done this his entire life, Belle bouncing up and down on his lap, clutching her stuffed bear. He looked far more prepared than Weston himself did to judge the pictures of 35 girls. Then again, anyone probably would have been more qualified than himself. He hoped that he wasn't going to embarrass himself too much in front of, oh, the entire nation.

Were girls able to withdraw from the Selection after they were picked? He was pretty sure most of them were going to want to, after tonight. God, he hoped that was against the rules, but at this point, it wouldn't surprise him. Honestly, if one more thing went wrong today, Weston was going to punch someone.

"Wazzup, amigos?" The annoying voice almost gave Weston an aneurism right there and then. His hands curled into fists and he seriously had to restrain himself from giving Logan St. James a black eye in front of the live audience. It was, quite possibly, the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Elyse sat up straighter and played with her hair as she saw Logan, utterly in love with her as was every other teenage girl on the planet. Grr… stupid Logan with his stupid hair and his stupid charm. Weston hated him. He couldn't believe that this was who was announcing the Report and the most important day of his life.

The camera counted down. Five, four, three, two… One.

The red light flicked on. Show time.

"Hellooooooooo, Illea! It's me, Logan St. James, taking over for my old man today. I'm so excited to be with you all tonight, especially on the night that 35 lovely ladies are going to have their lives changed forever. That's right, everyone, it's Selected Night!"

Weston was going to murder him. Next to him, Beau looked like he was about to laugh and Elyse was about to faint from the excitement.

"There's been some interesting political stuff happening this week, but no one really cares about that. Let's just skip to what really matters and start reading those names out. I know, you can thank me later for getting straight to the point. Tonight isn't about me, it's about our wonderful King-to-Be, Prince Weston himself." The camera panned to the prince and he gave an awkward wave before realizing it was stupid. "Got anything you want to say to the ladies in the audience, Your Royal Highness?"

"Err…." Weston had not realized he was going to be put on the spot like this. "Thanks for applying?" He awkwardly managed to stutter before going red in the face. He was terrible at this.

"Awww, isn't he sweet folks? Alright, let's not dillydallying anymore, folks. Time to read those names! We'll go in alphabetical order, shall we? The first girl we have… from Allens, Miss Fleur Dahlia Devereaux, Eight."

Well, that was certainly a way to start a Selection off with a bang, Weston thought. The young prince wasn't sure there had ever been an Eight in a Selection before, whether that was just or not. He wondered how this girl had managed to get in as he laid eyes on the picture of the first girl of 35 that he might marry. She had dark colored hair down her back, a little unkempt and frizzy which was to be expected from an Eight. Weston noticed her eyes, first, though, and how striking they were. A beautiful swirl of green and blue, they reminded him of the ocean. But they looked so sad, so afraid. He instantly felt the urge to strike whoever who had made the girl look so scared. But he didn't have time to dwell on this, as Logan had already moved onto the next name.

"From Angeles, Miss Penelope Quiakides, Three." Another pretty girl, though Weston supposed they would all be beautiful. Penelope had tanned skin and raven colored hair that she had half-up, half-down. Her eyes were so blue that they almost appeared purple, which was a beautiful effect, but also intimidating. He thought he had heard the name Quiakides, but couldn't remember where or when.

The girl from Atlin was Savannah or something, and cute but not memorable at all. Baffin brought him Cassandra Merriweather, a Four with strawberry blonde curls and a freckled face.

Weston had actually seen Candida Nivens, a popular weathergirl on a fairly large network, which he had often seen. She was a cute blonde, with a personality that matched her sweet face from what the prince had seen of her weather reporting. He wondered why she would give up that career to join the Selection, when she was such a promising talent, and made a mental note to ask about that as politely as he could as he was frankly curious about the answer.

He missed everything except the first name of the girl from Belcourt, Maia, pondering this question.

Bonita came up with a name from popular culture, Miss Austen Zimmerman. Weston had seen her picture hundreds of times, plastered under headlines like "Hottest Young Actress" or "Illea's Angels" in Elyse's magazines that she tried, and failed, to hide. The prince had to agree with all the hubbub over the Bonita candidate, because she was quite possibly the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen. Her hair was a dark, cocoa brown that flawlessly accented her tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her makeup was perfectly done, probably by a professional, and she had been captured flashing the camera a runway-perfect smile.

"From Calgary, Miss Mayre Mao, Six." Logan and Weston both recoiled slightly as they were met with quite possibly the scariest death glare either of the boys had ever seen. The girl on screen was pretty, of Asian descent from her appearance with long, black hair and skin like porcelain, but Weston didn't know what the cameraman had done to invoke the wrath she was giving him. As her picture flashed up, he had just enough time to make a mental note never to get on her bad side before it disappeared off the screen.

Hope Hansen, the Three from Carolina, caught his eye because of her colorful hair. She had several different colors mixed in her bleached blonde locks, with tips colored with cool shades of blue, purple, and emerald. She had a sweet smile that didn't match her rocker, punk look, and Weston wasn't exactly sure what to think about. Daphne Ferris, from Clermont, had a heart shaped face framed by her auburn hair, which was cut in a long bob.

"From Columbia, Miss Holland Larkworthy, a Four." Holland wasn't as strikingly pretty as Austen or Candida, but she was still elegant in her own fashion. Her eyes were a lighter blue than the previous girls, almost a sky blue color, and crinkled as she smiled a little shyly at the camera. She looked almost too young to be applying for the Selection, and Weston hoped there wasn't a mistake with the ages.

Dakota introduced Sierra Ferguson, a beautiful girl with skin the color of dark chocolate and eyes like caramel. She wasn't smiling as brightly as some of the younger girls, but she seemed to have almost a maternal instinct that glowed around her, evident even in the photograph. Denbeigh and Dominica had two girls that didn't catch Weston's eye, unfortunately, though he was sure that Gloria and Anastasia would be a lot more interesting when he met them in person.

Jasper's pick came up first alphabetically, and Weston knew if his brother had been there, he would have been gloating at that random coincidence. Elizabeth Gardener looked as friendly and approachable as she had as the first time he'd seen her picture, with her blonde curls and warm, round eyes. She was quite pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way, and Weston thought it was nice that she was a more average beauty than some of the other girls. Both her and Fleur seemed to have a natural sort of charm to their good looks that couldn't be manufactured with makeup or fancy clothes.

Hmmm… Weston shot a suspicious look at Elyse as Oralie Fayme's name came up from Hansport, and he raised his eyebrows just slightly as he looked at the pop star. Of course, she was popular and probably immediately a preferred candidate in the Selection, but he had an idea that Elyse may have had something to do with her form getting chosen…

Honduragua's candidate was a girl named Luna, who looked… for lack of a better word, mean. Perhaps it was just the angle of the picture, but she seemed a little arrogant for Weston's liking. If Jasper was here, he was sure that he'd be wolf whistling.

They were just at Simantha Adams, of Hudson, which marked approximately the halfway point, when it happened. A distressed young woman in a nurse's outfit banged open the door and all eyes turned to her. She blushed pink at all the attention, but quickly made her way to the director of the Report. The woman whispered something in his ear, and the older man instantly paled. Speaking to Logan through a headset, he made several cutting motions that Weston was not one hundred percent certain of the meaning. He had never seen them before, not during a live broadcast.

Even Mr. St. James seemed to be startled by the news. "Err…" The host stuttered, losing his charm for the first time ever, "We'll be back after a short break to finish announcing the rest of the names. Please, stay calm. We're just experiencing… technical difficulties with some of the equipment here on the set and want to make sure than the rest of the ladies get just as much screen time as the ones already pulled."

That was a lie. It was a rather good lie, Weston admitted, for coming right off of the top of his head, but it was a lie none the less. The screens were fine.

So what wasn't?

The red light flashed off, probably over to a commercial break or a rerun, and the young woman ran up directly to the young Prince himself. She quickly gave an awkward curtsey, but immediately started her sentence. She sounded winded, as if she had been running quite fast for a lengthy stretch of time.

"Your Majesty… It's your sister, Princess Rosemary."

Instantly, Weston's heart beat a mile a minute. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. What had she done this time? One of her schemes, perhaps, or maybe she had finally gone off the deep end. It wouldn't be a surprise, really. Despite how hard she tried to hide her mental issues, Weston had always known. He wasn't sure if any of his other siblings were aware, but he had overheard her conversations with no one a few too many times when she thought she was alone. "What has she done?"

Confusion flashed across the young woman's face before she shook her head. "No, Your Majesty. She… she's been shot."

Elyse, who had been listening to the conversation attentively, cried out in shock and horror. "No!" Beau whispered from his chair, pulling his young daughter closer to him as if it was she the shooter was pointing at, and not Rosemary. For his part, Weston could hardly process the information. Shot? The word seemed entirely unfamiliar to him as it bounced around his head, unable to form any solid connections.

"Is…" It was his half-brother who spoke up first, not him. "Is she alive?" Beau looked more put together than either of his siblings, appearing ready to take action and command troops in a battlefield. The King that Illea truly deserved, as Weston had always thought.

There was a moment, just an infinitesimal pause, a normal pause, where the woman processed his question but where the siblings imagined all the horrific aspects and outcomes. It couldn't… it couldn't have been too late, could it? Weston didn't know what he would do with himself if he lost one of his siblings.

He did not get along with Rose. He never had. Truthfully, he was afraid of her. She was so much more cunning than him, so much more passionate and fearsome. Rosemary resembled a fox, the prince had often thought. Beautiful and popular to behold, but sly and cunning under the surface. She would have done anything to get his crown, and every one of the Royal siblings knew this. And yet she hadn't… at least not yet. He could not lose her. It would be like losing a part of himself, no matter how distant they had always been.

Weston was brought into a world where it was always him against the world. Against his father. Often, against his siblings. But when it came down to it, they were dependable. They were his family and he loved them, no matter if the feeling was mutual or not.

And he thought about all this in one instant, in one breath, in one heartbeat, and he froze.

"Yes, sir." The nurse addressed Beau, as he had asked the question. "The doctors do not know for a fact as she is still in surgery, but they are quite positive that she is going to make a full recovery." She turned back to Elyse and Weston. "Your brother, Prince Jasper, saw to that. I believe…" The nurse blushed slightly, as many people did when they spoke about the popular Royal. "I believe he carried her out of a burning church all the way to the palace doctors, though I don't know for sure. He was in a panic, understandably, but he was responsible for saving her life. If he hadn't been as quick, she might have been gravely injured or… worse."

Weston barely heard the story she told about Jasper. He barely heard any word after the first.

Rose was safe.

She was alive.

"Kill the lights, kill the actor, kill the actress. We're begging you to kill the lights, kill the actor, kill the actress."

Jasper Kingsley Sinclair

Why was it that Jasper so often found himself face to face with the bottom of a bottle? Strange, for the Prince who had everything, everything he could ever want, to feel like nothing at all. So often tossed around the saying, "Better than nothing." The blond felt that this was the worst saying in the entire world.

It would be better to have nothing, to be nothing, than to be this… this monstrosity. He had caused this. It was his fault.

He tried to reassure himself. The doctors had told him that Rose would ultimately be fine, no lasting scars or injuries at all. The bullet had just missed her spinal cord, which could have caused permanent paralysis. Jasper would have jumped out of the highest window if that had happened. They had called him a hero, for carrying her so far, for running so fast, for being so brave.

He didn't feel like a hero.

He felt like a monster.

So much destruction, so much pain, all because of him. It had been his fault for getting stuck in the flames that Rose had run back. Why, why had she run back? How many people would be hurt, because of him? Because of his family? Because he was just like his father and no matter how much he tried, he would never escape his past.

His sister should have let him burn. The world should have let him burn.

People who said the past didn't define you didn't have anything to be ashamed of. That was a lie. His past was his present and his future. No matter what, he was King Christian Sinclair's son. He was marked.

He was broken.

And he could not be something that he was not. He could not try to be good when his nature screamed at him the opposite. Jasper was no angel. Everywhere he went, people seemed to get hurt. Because of him.

Because of the monster he was.

Because of the monster he had always been.

The world was wrong. Wrong about so much. The world was cold, and cruel, and it judged you. The world only liked those who were perfect, like his youngest sister, or those unmarked by the pain of life, like Weston. But most of all, the world wasn't fair. It played favorites. It had taken Jasper's mother and tossed him aside, to become what he was today. A monster. Today, he was a monster.

His brother would think he was a monster. His sister could have died because he was a monster. His fault. This whole thing was his fault. But wasn't everything? Jasper had been born with tragedy in his blood. He wasn't like his siblings, made up of stars and divine secrets which he could never hope to learn.

No. Jasper was made of flesh and blood and faults and stitched together with lies he'd told to those he'd broken and left behind to die. And he knew it, oh how he knew it, but he could not change who he was as one could not change who their parents were.

This… this life… this was not better than nothing.

And so he downed another bottle and got as close to nothingness as he could.

He must have looked the fool, stumbling down the hallways with the drink to his lips and a stumble every third step he took. But he was too drunk to care, for his feelings had been dimmed somewhere around the halfway point of the bottle that was now almost empty and he felt almost human at last. "Jules!" He called loudly, reaching her door and almost falling into it, walking up anyone who might have been sleeping anywhere nearby and surely his sister himself. "Jules." Jasper hiccupped and his words were slurred as he pounded on the wooden door. How similar this scene looked to only a few weeks before, when he was consoling his sister after her boyfriend had left. Jackass, Jasper thought bitterly, the words he wanted to say to that guy... Except he was now the one who needed consoling. Or at least, a glass of water and some aspirin.

The Prince received no answer from his sister, but that was normal. It was one in the morning, after all, not the typical time for visitors. A sober Jasper might have cared about waking her, but in his current state, he didn't mind. He pushed open the door and stumbled into the dark room, accidently banging it as he did. "Shhh…" He giggled to himself at his little joke, looking around to see if his sister was awake yet. It was hard to be sure, since there wasn't much light. The only source came from the window, where the moonlight trickled in dimly and the curtains fluttered just softly enough to inform Jasper that the window was open. Jasper wondered who kept their window open in the middle of the winter months, but his eyes suddenly alighted on something… something lying just below the window…

What was that smell, the blond wondered as he turned on the lights to examine it more. It was almost… metallic.

The lights in his sister's chandelier lit immediately, bulbs twinkling like tiny stars above her freshly made bed. Jasper admired them slightly in his drunken haze, and thought they looked remarkably like how religious people might imagine the glow angels gave off, as they watched over the people of the Earth. And as he crossed the room, Jasper smiled, because here, without emotions, without feelings, with nothing, maybe his life wasn't as bad as he thought.

But then he caught clear sight of what was laying under the window and for a moment, for just a moment,

the

world

caved

in…

And the smell was too strong, too strong, and it shouldn't have been there at all. It should never have been there. But it was, and it was all so wrong, too wrong, and Jasper's head spun and the world spun and nothing was real except… except…

Except for his sister, his beautiful sister, lying under the window looking very much as if she had decided to take a nap there. Her brunette curls looked like they belonged on a doll, as she lay facedown in the carpet. Jasper screamed and he turned her over as fast as he could possibly get to her… but her blue eyes that had shown like sapphires were lifeless and glassy, and her face was stained red from blood. The Prince screamed and screamed at everything, at the walls, at the windows, at his sister for not answering him. She wouldn't wake up, she didn't wake up, and Jasper knew, but he didn't care as he screamed at the universe to take him instead of her.

And the lights of the chandeliers no longer looked like angels as they danced, mocking his every move, as he clutched the bloody body of his baby sister, the only family he'd ever known to care about him, to his chest until he too was stained in her blood. He didn't notice the paper lying next to her lifeless body nor would he have cared. All he cared about was how cold Juliet's body was and the stab wounds in her chest and on her neck where blood still trickled gently from as he desperately screamed for her to answer.

But the out of all the people who heard the Prince's screams, the only one he wanted to hear the most was gone.

Still, Jasper screamed.

Several minutes later, when the maid rushed in to see what all the noise was about, she found a corpse and a person. One of the Princess Juliet, the girl who no one would ever defeat, and her older brother, whose bottle had broken as he'd dropped it so that the glass was now permanently red like a stained glass window.

And it was impossible to tell which one of them whose heart had stopped beating and which one who had stopped living.

"Or kill us all."

I'm so proud that I kept this a secret the whole time. I'm the worst at keeping my own plot twists secret and this one has been planned for several months now, since the beginning of this story. Okay, I'm actually sad in all honesty. You have no idea how long I tried to postpone this chapter.

I know a lot of you are going to hate me because of this chapter, but I'm actually kind of proud of it. It's sort of a combination of both of my styles and there are some really poetic lines that I finally got to use. Plus, I'm a die hard Shakespeare fan, as well as a Set It Off fan (where the song lyrics are from), and I have been waiting to use this line. I also feel like there are some really important parallels between Jasper and Weston in this chapter. They aren't really as different as they seem and that's true with all the Royals. In the coming chapters and into the Selection, you'll see the gap between them start to shrink.

But… now you see why I didn't have an Author's Note last chapter. I wanted to, but since that wasn't really the true cliff hanger, I felt like it was hard to say anything that I couldn't give away. Before you freak out and yell at me, this is a literary device. A lot of you talk about having kill lists, and I actually did to before I started this story.

I want to say I'm sorry, but well… this had to happen. This was actually the first thing I planned when I created this story, and I'm really proud that I didn't tell the secret to anyone. Rose's injury came to me as a rouse later, but this was the real deal. For all you wondering why Marie and Bailey had to do what they did, you'll see a more in coming chapters.

I know, we'll all miss Juliet. I'll miss her too. For all of you wondering why I talked about her how she would act in the future Selection, I kind of had to… A lot of people asked about the other Royals and how she would act, so I couldn't not tell you or it would spoil the… well, surprise sounds a little too happy for this chapter.

So, basically, sorry not sorry. I liked Jules a lot too, but I promise you that this was always planned. Please don't flame at me *hides under covers*. I know a lot of you are mad and sad and I totally understand. Eight chapters in and your attachment to this story warms my heart. I really, really hope you don't stop reading because of this, because there's still a lot more to go.

On a different subject, don't worry about the other half of the girls who got interrupted. I'll make sure to either finish the second half of the Report or do something to get their names mentioned, I'm just not exactly sure what yet.

Also, Hailey and Mage really wanted the so-called Cinnamon Roll chart, the Cinnamon Roll Chart didn't fit the mood of this chapter so I'm doing it next one!