Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Written: 2005 Found: 2017- Licia

She rushed through the city, not caring at all about where she was going or if she was getting lost, not caring that she was alone, that Fiyero, the man she had grown to love and trust, had betrayed her, or that Glinda had to learn the devastating truth of who she really was, or that the dowager empress had all but slapped her back in the theater. She only knew that she had to escape. She had to flee, survive, like that night in the basement. The screams followed her, the gunshots, the metallic scent of blood...

Twenty-nine steps.

She pushed past a couple, ignoring their inquiries into if she needed help.

"But why do we need to sew, Mama?"

"Because we'll need to sell these once Uncle Manek rescues us, Fabala."

Her feet led her through the maze that was the City, past the fancy, high end shops and nice restaurants, into the shadier part of the City of Emeralds.

"When will Uncle Manek come get us, Mama?"

"Soon, my loves. Soon."

Tears stung her eyes and trailed down her cheeks; her hair tumbled out of its twist, flowing down her back and out into the wind as she ran.

Faintly, she could hear the whimpering of Shell's dog, Brr, though the whimpering got fainter and fainter as they moved down the steps into the basement.

"Papa, why are we here?"

She stumbled, losing her balance and landing hard on her knees on the brick.

She hit the floor, Oziandra landing on top of her and Nessa; the older girl was doing her best to shield her younger siblings from the bullets. Sophelia was already dead, her body sprawled feet from them, her head gone, brain matter splashed against the back wall. Their parents, too, were gone, and the servants, either dead or dying.

Though the wind was knocked out of her, she managed to crawl for a couple steps until she was able to climb back to her feet and continue on, the skirt of her dress torn, and her knees bleeding.

Though they shared no words, Oziandra's meaning was clear- get out, now. Escape if you can. Survive, for the rest of us.

She crawled through the smoke and haze of bullets firing, keeping as close to the wall as she could. Her palms slipped on the blood of the servants; she stumbled over the bodies of the doctor and valet, the skirt of her nightgown tearing as she got caught on one of the bodies. Eventually, finally, she made it to the back door of the basement.

Her hands dug into the material of her skirt, the silk slid through her fingers as easily as...

The blood of her sisters made it that much harder for her grasp the doorknob, as it slipped and slid in her hands. She choked on a sob, struggling to pull it open, the realization that the door was locked slowly dawning on her.

Locked.

They had locked them in from both sides- blocking the front entrance to the stairs with their bodies as they fired on them, and locking the back door to keep them from escaping. So determined to kill them, they'd led them like pigs to slaughter, and now were doing just that. But despite that, she continued to desperately try to unlock the door, trying to do as Oziandra had wanted.

She stumbled as she made her way towards the bridge. The Ozma Pastorius Bridge was the most ornate piece of metalwork in all the Emerald City, built for the late queen who, at eighteen, had declared she would marry no man; that she was good enough and strong enough to rule on her own. It was a symbol of strength and dedication to a people and a land who had adored the 'Child Queen' as she had been so affectionately called, even upon her death.

Through the chaos, she heard the faint sound of footsteps, and turned, pressing herself against the door. The soldier looked to be about her age, perhaps a year or two older at most. He was shaking, and held his gun out, aiming it at her heart. "No... please... please..."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. "I'm sorry."

The gun fired.

The metal was cold against her skin, as she stumbled, landing against a pillar of the bridge. Tears continued to race down her cheeks, and she looked out over the water of the river below. With the moon high and bright in the sky, it looked as though it had been cut from a jewel.

The bullet never hit her body, in fact, it never even grazed her skin. Instead, it bounced off her like rubber, clattering to the floor. No one but the young soldier noticed; for the others were too busy wreaking havoc among the smoke and smell of blood. She choked on a sob, knowing now that he had been recruited to kill her, that if he didn't-

"Please... I swear, I won't tell... I pro... pro... promise..."

The boy- for that's what he was- glanced over his shoulder, before turning back to the young princess. He seemed to weigh his options, before turning to the knife in he'd been given. Without a word, he slashed her nightgown, cutting through the flimsy material and into the corset she wore. It tore, the material giving way. And as it did so, the stitching Melena had been so insistent about was destroyed.

Out tumbled jewels of various shapes and sizes, karats and cuts.

The girls had not been protected by the hand of the Unnamed God himself, but by the wealth of their family.

He looked up at the young princess, who shook her head, choking on a sob. "Please."

In that moment, he made a split second decision and raised his gun.

A moment passed, before she moved away from the pillar to the ledge. Slipping out of her shoes, she hoisted herself up, getting her balance, her gaze never leaving the water.

Her moan morphed into a scream that lasted only seconds.

For the young soldier had slammed the butt of his gun into the side of the young princess's head.