Stolen Hearts Chapter Two:

Stolen Hearts Chapter Two:
Bulma's point of view

I watched the boy stumble away muttering excuses, I watched with silent dead eyes. I didn't even feel the sting of rejection this time; maybe I had become truly deadened. So I don't even have this anymore, not that it makes me sad.

'Am I beyond feeling sad now?' I thought with an edge of desperation.

My blue eyes, that would have been considered beautiful even if blue eyes weren't always accompanied with the word beautiful, grew dim as my lids closed over them, shutting the world away. I wasn't always like this. There was a time when the world was a song, and the song was exciting. There was a time when it all went wrong. I had dreamed when hope was high and life worth living. I was not bitter and hateful; I had been as innocent as the best of them. I dreamed that the gods would be forgiving.

There was a time when I would lay on her back staring up at the blue imagining I could be just like the trees and grown as tall and strong as I wanted with my feet on the ground and my arms in the breeze, under a sheltering sky. But I was young and unafraid, and dreams were made and used and wasted. There was no song unsung. But the tigers come at night, and they tear your hope apart, turning your dreams to shame.

Now I know all to well that there are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather. I had a dream my life would be so different from this hell I'm living. Life has killed the dream I dreamed that day when my illusions were cleared and my soul was broken into a thousand tiny slivers like a broken glass.

I was ten, dear gods I was only ten that day I wandered from the royal gardens into the forest chasing the loveliest butterfly I had ever seen. My memory of that day is patchy as if my brain is withholding things I should not know, or that it does not want to remember. I still cannot picture his face clearly.

I recall being frightened at first, but then as if I knew this was my fate I smiled. Smiled in the face of my attacker, my doom, my demise. I was more confused then worried when my dress was ripped off, I don't remember much after that but I'm sure I embraced the darkness fully for I walked away from that day with it adhered to my shattered soul. There was only pain. I was roughly and suddenly thrown into a world of darkness and pain that my young heart could not understand nor bare.

The man seemed as if he was doing business and nothing more, this was something he had to do like buying food. He looked at me disgusted and said words which I do remember clearly.

"What have you done to me you evil child? Why have you bewitched me so? What evil has spawned itself into this world in such a deceptive form? Always remember this world is not for you and all you bring to it is wickedness and sorrow you accursed creature!"

Those words sunk deep, deep into my heart and they were twisted into reality as I lay broken on the forest floor. This was my fault. That man had merely been swayed by my evil. Perhaps he was simply revealing my true nature to me so I would no longer fool myself into believing I could be blessed, saving people from the repercussions that my black soul was sure to inflict in my deception.

Whatever it was something settled inside me, something heavy and hard. It stayed there and I could not think of one think to make it go away. I came to think that heavy and hard was simply the way I was meant to live, and I carried away from that spot a deep black scar straight through my impressionable heart.

I didn't move. I felt as though I had left myself and no longer had any control of my arms and legs. When I was finally able to lift myself and stumble back to the castle it was very late and they were already searching for me. I don't think anyone knew what really happened that day. I told them I had tripped a fallen down a steep hill for I was sure they would hate me and thrown me out if they knew the truth.

They probably wouldn't be able to comprehend the idea of it anyhow. At the beginning I foolishly hoped beyond hope that somehow I could get back to they way things were, that I could just forget, but that hope was quickly evaporated my the overwhelming heat of reality.

Why run from the truth? It is inevitable, inescapable, fate. Why not embrace my dark life and let the days pass with a monotonous pain. That day was a revelation, the beginning of expressing my hatred, hostility, and anger towards the world and myself, sometimes with words, mostly with deeds. I was wicked and wild and everything in between. Everything that was wrong. Somehow I imagined that with these acts I could leave behind me, as if it were an old garment never to be worn again, my sad thoughts, my sad feelings, my displeasure with life in general as it presented itself to me.

I fit so well into my new life that if I should cross paths with that man again I should thank him. Thank him for clearing my delusions and showing me my true nature. I do not entertain the pathetic fantasy that someday I might fit in and coexist peacefully with my kindred. My people, whose smallest most natural gesture would call up in me such a rage that I longed to see them dead at my feet.

There was no going back, I knew this. My misfortune and iniquity was too vast to fight. It even poisoned those around me, those closest to me. That was the worst punishment. Yes, I know why my mother hates me. Why she can't bare to look at me for too long, for all she sees is a curse upon her life and I don't blame her. She fears to stay in the same room with me lest my evil infects her too.

Though it can't be proven I know that my siblings' deaths were my fault. My father has tried to convince my mother I had no part, saying they were only unhappy accidents and it was folly to think I had part it them. But he has given up. Perhaps he believes it too.

It was suspicious was it not? That they should all die and I be left alive. My wretched soul lingers on while theirs, so full of light and hope were crushed. Yet another amusing little cruelty of my life. It can't go long without tragedy.

I suppose some explanation of the events is necessary for one to understand of what I speak. The first was Camilla, my elder sister of three years. I was eleven at the time and was to assist her in picking the finest flowers for a festival in her honor. She was to become a Zeladonii, a third level faerie, quite an achievement for a girl her age, but the again Camilla was beyond perfection in all she partook.

Whenever my mother would speak of her I saw her eyes fill up with tears of pride, and I felt a sword go through my heart. For there was never any accompanying scene for me. I only had tears of disappointment. How I longed to make my mother love me as she loved Camilla, but no matter what I did it seemed to achieve only the opposite.

Camilla wandered away from me or I from her more likely as I slipped into one of my trances and was not shaken from it until I heard her distant screams of agony. She had been torn limb from limb by an ill-tempered mountain wolf. It was a messy death to say the least. Nothing becoming to a maiden of her stature I'm assured. And as I came upon the clearing and saw all the beautiful flowers dyed red I did not stop the morbid smile from sneaking onto my face. My dear beautiful perfect sister reduced to this all because of one grumpy she wolf. How perfect.

Oh how they would mourn. They would cling to this tragedy, fascinated by it. Wallowing in the attention and feeling of a higher importance it brought. Oh woe their poor souls, dear little Camilla was taken from them at such a young age, how horrible! We should lord over it for days and days.

Aren't you all so sorry for us? Poor pitiful us. Some who didn't even know Camilla jumped in just so they could be a part of the action. I laughed at them. Laughed for they knew nothing of true sorrow. Sorrow is not something you want to get in on.

They mistook my scrutiny and lack of shock at calamity for apathy at Camilla's untimely departure, and I was berated greatly for it. Angry eyes were turned to me and the blame was placed. 'You should have been with her, the wolf wouldn't have attacked then, where were you? Off wandering about with your head in the clouds not doubt.' And though none ever said it out loud, I saw it in their eyes. 'Why couldn't it of been her instead? Camilla had such promise, Bulma is just a waste. What a shame, what a shame.'

Psyche was next. She was a year younger then me and was a companion as Chichi was. She drowned on a summer day of my thirteenth year. We were swimming in a river just outside the palace when a strong current took her under. I did not know what was happening, or gods I would have died trying to save her, I would have. But I couldn't, I failed again, I was too late for Psyche and she is probably cursing my name in heaven.

Yet I refused to shed tears, my eyes were dry and so they would remain. My self control and acceptance of my fate were all I had, if I broke down over this I would be still trying to piece myself back together. I shut it out. I shut down.

Last was my baby brother Nisus, as if the horror of my life couldn't haunt me more. It's like all the sorrow was taken from everyone else and piled on me. My loved ones were to die, a fate I longed for but feared, and they received so ill-deserved. Nisus, poor little Nisus, heir to the kingdom being my parent's only male child, their only hope and glory, but it was so short lived. Six years old and I was fourteen. I was to watch him while my parent attended to the royal council.

My mother was wary but decided nothing could happen in an hour if we were to stay inside the castle. But oh how little Nisus longed to go out in the fresh air and play, how could I deny his sparkling blue eyes? I was powerless against them. He looked at me with unhindered admiration, and I only wished for his happiness. It was only a second I swear he got away for me for only a brief moment, but that was all fate needed. An arrow pierced his heart, loosed from an Elvin bow. A strategic move for the devils. Cut the bloodline, leave your enemies leaderless. War was lurking. Ultimate heartbreak for me.

The Elves those disgusting creatures, they stole him from me, those lurking demons, I curse them for eternity. My brother deserves as much. May the world freeze over before I look on one of them with anything but enmity.

That death was the most painful for me, and I with drew almost entirely, barely hearing the condemning words screamed at me, for it was painful for my parents as well. All they had left was me now, and it was overly apparent that I would be no leader.

I worried who would end up dead if I let them too close. No life can survive around me, so it is obvious no life can survive within. I am barren. As well should be I suppose, no one like me should ever be allowed to foolishly bring a life into this world of tears.

To have never been born I count as a death superior to a life of bitterness. Yet knowing that I will never have a child, still brings a lump to my throat. I am completely and utterly alone.

And this is the end of my Family line. For even if my parents do find the man they wish to marry me and become King to our people, I will not be able to bare him a child.
Our land will fall to chaos and the Elves will conquer. All because of me. I am ruin. They will curse my name in history. Maybe my parents should find a new more suitable daughter as well to carry on and I can just disappear into the shadows.

It seems unreal doesn't it? That one life could hold so much sorrow? Sometimes I have to remind myself that this is my life and this is in fact happening to me, it is a nightmare from which I shall never awake. It becomes utterly maddening at times, it's a wonder I have kept my wits about me this long, but I suppose a princess must work harder at achieving insanity then normal people. I salute you black winged night, nurse of the golden stars! May your terror never run dry. Close the door, all the fight is gone from this wounded heart. I am yours, a child of the darkness that fills my soul...

I find myself back in my room, so lonely and dark for I have banished the garish sun. I am writing on a piece of parchment. They are words I don't remember writing but there they are staring up at me disdainfully.

"I wish I could love someone so much that I would die from it."

As I stared at that sentence a great wave of grief and shame washed over me and the dam broke. I wept and wept so much that the tears fell on the page and caused the words to become one great blur.

As soon as I am sure I have fully accepted my doom...the longing comes back...the faint glimmer a flame that stubbornly refuses to die, perhaps simply out of spite. I am in fact my father's child. I am always reaching but I fall, and the stars are black and cold, the night is closing in and I stare into the void, to the whirlpool of my sin. I long to escape from the world, a world that does not want me. There is nowhere I can turn There is no way to go on... Another story must begin

A/N: Alright, we got through the depressing Bulma story, now we get to do Vegeta! I know it's a little extreme, but sometimes it's necessary. Thanks for reading