He may not have been her only brother, but it sure felt like he was.
He was the only one she could trust.
Everyone else in her family hated her.
Pathetic little Prisca. Weak little Prisca. Prisca the lonely child. Prisca the worthless child.
Lamia pretended to like her, but she knew she was lying. She knew she hated her. Everyone did.
Everyone else in the family treated her with scorn. But Vincent was different.
He would often visit. Sometimes bring candy and other treats for her. Maybe even a toy for her. Prisca was never allowed to play with toys. The family she stayed with were always strict. They were always watching. Silently judging. Her own mother, the one person who could have provided her warmth, died by her side when she was just four.
Her father never came to pay his respects.
She hated her father. She hated her siblings. She hated the royal family she was apart of. She hated all of the royals. All of the Imperials. All of the Empire.
Except for Vincent. He came to comfort her after her mother's death. He was the only one who did.
He would spend time with her. He would play with her. He didn't care about politics or rivalries and all that. He was one of the few in the family's lineage to have practiced this. Everyone else in Prisca's family, from her immediate to her ancestors, always treated everything like a competition.
Do this to gain favors. Do that to win some land. Do this to take down a rival faction. Do that to become ruler of all.
Prisca would often look outside her window and see the other kids playing. They looked so happy. Despite growing up wealthy and pampered by servants, molded to be arrogant and snooty, Prisca still felt an empty hole in her heart. Sure, the shiny jewels and fancy clothes and lavish meals and elegant mansions were nice, but what were they without someone to share them with?
She wanted friends. But her family wouldn't let her.
The only thing close to a friend she did have was Arakiya. Her dog-girl bodyguard. At first, Prisca thought she had finally been given permission to have a friend, but she learned that was not the case when she was just eight.
A man had been sent to kill her. He broke into her bedroom in the middle of the night with a dagger in hand. Prisca had been awoken by the sound of shattering glass. She saw the silhouette of a man raise the weapon high above his head, ready to strike.
Why? What did she do wrong? She never hurt anybody. Why did someone want her dead? Why would someone so willingly kill her?
It made her cry.
She screamed for Vincent.
Arakiya lunged forward, being forced to plunge a knige into the assailant's gut, slicing to the left. A sickening squelch was heard, and the next thing Prisca knew she was being comforted by Arakiya, asking if she was all right. Prisca looked down at the floor. What were those strange fleshy things hanging out of his stomach? Was that really inside of her body? She saw the pool of crimson blood, and a long string of horrifically looking fleshy rope.
She vomited.
When she was just nine, she saw a woman get her skull bashed in. She had been caught stealing from her manor. She said she was trying to find money to feed her children. One of the workers at Prisca's manor delivered an axe to her head. Pink brain matter flew all over the place, even in Prisca's face.
She vomited.
When she was just ten, she saw a blue-haired boy cut an assassin that was trying to kill her in two. More guts. More blood. Intestines and organs splattering on the grass, painting it red. She got a good clear look of what was inside the human body, and how she might look one day if an attempt on her life was successful.
She vomited.
It was only after she had gotten some blood on her own hands that she managed to keep the contents of her stomach down.
She still hated it. She still hated everyone.
Except for two. Arakiya and Vincent.
And then, her father passed. They were meant to kill each other. All of her siblings fight to the death.
Since she was the youngest child, she knew she was in danger. Yet for some reason she felt oddly calm.
Because there was Vincent.
He wouldn't let anything happen to her.
They would get through this together.
Now all of the bottled up hatred and anger that had been bubbling since she was a toddler began rising to the surface. She would take revenge. She would take revenge on all of her awful siblings.
Both her and Vincent.
The first was her creepy older brother. Even for a standard pervert, he was despicable. She saw the way he looked at Lamia, with unkempt lust in his eyes. His own half-sister. He even complimented Prisca's looks one time. It made her disgusted.
He had tried to kill her himself. But Prisca dug the knife in his gullet first.
Then one of her older sister's came to do her in herself. Prisca distracted her while Arakiya lopped off her head.
Her eyes were still open when her head hit the ground. She hated the thud sound it made.
She almost vomited.
But she kept it down. Instead she smiled.
One after the other, her siblings fell. Whether they be crushed by mallets, sliced by swords, drowned in sand, torn by animals, suffocated by poison, tortured and disemboweled. No one was safe. No one was exempt from a brutal demise.
Except her and Vincent.
After she killed Lamia, enjoying seeing the pathetic and desperate pleading look in her eyes, Prisca had hoped it was over. She hoped she and Vincent could rule together. That they could change how the Empire worked.
She didn't want any children to have to see blood like she did.
But then she was left abandoned. Married off from one noble to the next. Arakiya was gone, now by Vincent's side. Vincent was now ruler of the empire. He never even said goodbye.
Prisca was now all alone.
Just like before, she was alone. She had no family. Nor friends. Everyone she did care about had betrayed her, leaving her to fend for herself. Vincent was now emperor. Of course. It was too good to be true. A loving, caring brother was impossible for a girl like her to experience.
She made sure the next child she saw would be pampered beyond belief.
The unfortunate souls who dealt with poverty and sickness, she would be there for. She would become an all mighty ruler. And when she did. Everyone could have what they want. Children could play. Violence would be at a minimum. But in order for that to happen, she had to be ruthless, fearless. Prisca knew that she would do whatever it took to become ruler.
She wouldn't let anyone have an experience like Prisca Benedict ever again. No.
Priscilla made sure of that. Prisca was dead. Priscilla was born. And Priscilla would be even better than Vincent. She would take over the empire, steal it from him.
And then make everything right.
So she could look outside and see the children play without worrying, just who may have seen blood that morning.