Expectations.
Sybil knew of how wearisome those could be, more than anyone else. She could never really live up to her parents' expectations. They were already set so high, by the time she was born, preceded by three older brothers, the baby of the family. She had been nothing more than an accident, a hiccup of fate, an unplanned pregnancy. The youngest son was already fourteen by the time she came along, and was busy with his own life—not caring at all about his new sister, a drooling baby not worth his time or attention.
Markus, the eldest brother, was the head of Luna's top manufacturing enterprise, making him one of the richest and most successful men in the country. He was extremely gifted in the art of business, taking after their tycoon father. He was almost never present in the mansion that the the Mira family called home, living with his wife, an accomplished pianist, near the company headquarters, in Dianan.
Aaron was the middle child and the pride of the Mira family. He was one of the smartest people alive, head scientist and doctor for the monarchy, and Artemisia as a whole. At the age of thirteen he had discovered a cure for rabies, which was quickly spreading all around Luna and threatening the animal population. The previously incurable virus was eradicated thanks to his genius, saving the kingdom from a devastating plague.
Nathaniel, or Nathan, as he preferred, was an inventor, his mind always running twice as fast as the norm, coming up with new ideas left and right. His massive bedroom wall was plastered with nothing but sketches and blueprints—Sybil had often sneaked into his room when he was out simply to admire his creativity, enchanted by his complicated thoughts. Her brother had never wanted anything to do with her, even going as far as treating her as if she were invisible, ignoring her whenever she spoke and just passing by without a second glance. The one time he actually caught her in his room, she couldn't hold anything in her right hand for a week, after he slammed a vase down on it in a fit of anger. A permanent lesson, he said it was.
She didn't like him very much after that.
Her parents weren't much better, always too busy to spend time with her. Her father, the wealthy and successful Josef Mira, tried to make up for this by lavishing every imaginable luxury on his only daughter, from netscreens to exotic pets and even her own ski hill, with artificial snow, of course. All Sybil had to do was ask and he would give her anything she desired—except the one thing she really wanted...
His time.
As a child, Sybil was always alone. Her brothers didn't want anything to do with her and her father would be busy working, her mother off doing whatever it was that she did. There were only so many things one could do with animals, and the servants of the mansion weren't allowed to talk to her, leaving her with no one but herself. She had a few friends around the city, but she seldom saw them, busy with their own lives, or they just lived too far away.
All that time alone gave Sybil ample opportunities to refine her talents, and although her brothers were all smarter and more sophisticated than her, she was still superior to them in one way—her glamour was much stronger than their own. Sybil would spend countless days practicing on her pets, and her gift didn't go unnoticed by her teachers. She had the most powerful glamour of all the students at her school, able to control even the most experienced professor. She had been ten at the time. The school's faculty was so impressed that they called in a royal thaumaturge to evaluate her, and Sybil made her drop to the ground the minute she stepped in the classroom, earning her a good amount of praise from the students, teachers and even the thaumaturge herself.
She was immediately recruited in the thaumaturge training program, put in the top ranks, and had even been invited to live at the Artemisia palace, working closely with the royal family. She ran through the mansion that day, with her official application letter in hand, so excited that she nearly broke her mother's prized cello, knocking it off the wall. That letter, that piece of paper, meant everything in the world to her.
Finally, she wasn't just a burden, a mistake. She was useful, and she could bring her family great honour and recognition with her gift.
Sybil had expected a celebration, her parents congratulating her, and her brothers being impressed and proud to call her their sister. She wanted to show them what she could do, and she wanted them to tell her how great of a thaumaturge she could be.
Instead, all she got was the cold shoulder from both of her parents, and nothing from Markus, for he wasn't there, like always. Aaron was—well—Aaron, always in his own head, in his lab, tinkering with his experiments and his newest research. When Sybil had told him, he simply shrugged and said that's nice.
Nathan, being the sensible and supportive brother that he was, had laughed at her.
On that particular day, he was busy playing video games with his two friends, a game called 'Zero Gravity' on the net-pod, in which they went about conquering planets and killing off aliens.
She had never really liked that game.
"Hey, Nathan! I have something really important to show you!" An overjoyed Sybil exclaimed as she ran into the room, waving her application letter about. The three boys froze and Nathan let out a groan of frustration, pressing the pause button. The screen skid to a halt and he turned around, a scowl on his face. "What do you want, Pest?" He crossed his arms over his chest, his foot tapping impatiently on the floor.
"Look at this! They've asked me to become a thaumaturge! Can you believe it?!" she squealed, clutching the folded letter in one hand, bouncing around with glee. "And it gets even better! They've invited me to live at the palace. With the royal family!" She clapped her hands together.
Nathan took the letter from her and skimmed through it, blinking once.
"Well?" Sybil rocked back on her heels. "What do you think?"
A moment of silence, until Nathan let out a snort, that before long had turned into howling laughter. "You think that this is an accomplishment?" he said between chuckles, his friends soon joining in. "You've hardly done anything worth mentioning! Do you even know what a thaumaturge is?"
Sybil frowned, puffing up her chest. "Yes, I do. They are the most important and revered servants to the crown," she stated proudly.
Nathan rolled his eyes. "That's what they say, Sybil, to keep face. Everyone knows that all they really are is a bunch of lackeys to Their Majesties, chosen for their gifts, something totally out of their control. It's something that you're born with, that you don't work towards, so being recruited because of it doesn't bring much honour." He grinned. "That's why you were chosen. Because all you've got is the gift, and nothing else—much less a backbone."
Sybil blinked, tears pooling in her eyes. "That's not true..." she whispered, biting her lower lip.
Nathan tossed the letter back to her, all crumpled, and Sybil caught it, hugging it to her chest. "It is, and you know it," he sneered. "Now go. As you can see, we're busy." He waved a careless hand, turning away from her and pressing a button on the console, the screen springing back to life. Without a second glance, Nathan and his friends got back into their game, and Sybil left the room without another sound, closing the door softly behind her.
She wiped her tears away with her free hand, scurrying down the hallway. "Whatever," she spat between sobs. "I don't need Nathan. I don't need any of them," she muttered to herself.
And she meant it.
Sybil accepted the invitation right away, and her parents left her behind at the palace without hesitation, not even saying goodbye. She remembered walking through the ominous gates, her head held high, although inside, she was drowning in her own fear and insecurities. What if she wasn't good enough? What if Their Majesties decided to send her back? She couldn't bear to imagine coming back home, rejected as a thaumaturge, to await Nathan's ridicule.
She could never let that happen.
She was welcomed graciously in palace, housed with all the other thaumaturges-in-training, fifty or so children, all with outstanding glamours, just like her. For the first time in her life, she felt accepted, and she made many friends, all the others showing her nothing but admiration and respect. She trained strong and hard; it didn't take long for her trainers to notice her exceptional power and determination, higher than the oldest recruits, and even some of the lower ranking thaumaturges.
And then there was that one day, that seemed like the best of her life.
It had been a normal training day, and her pod was running a drill on law enforcement when they had received a very special guest—His Majesty, King Marrok himself. All the children had looks of disbelief on their faces as they fell to their knees, none of them having ever met their ruler in person. Sybil could still remember the envy and respect radiating off of them as she was called up personally, walking over to the king timidly, dipping into a curtsey.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice ringing loud and clear.
The king smiled. "Sybil Mira." He nodded, hands clasped behind his back. "I've heard many good things about you from my assistant thaumaturges. You're quite the accomplished young lady." Sybil blushed slightly at that. "I hope you don't disappoint me."
"What do you mean, My King?" She righted herself, head cocked to the side.
"In order to move up higher in the ranks, you must have hands-on experience with serving the royal family, so you'll be working quite closely with us, and you'll be given quarters in the royal apartments. That is, if you want to, of course. You'd be starting this afternoon." His gaze softened. "My daughters could use your companionship."
"What?!" she gasped. Turning around, her gaze set on her comrades, most of whom looked angry, with their arms crossed over their chests, yet a few smiling with encouragement, seeming to prod her forward. She looked over to one boy in particular—Aimery Park, her closest friend. He was grinning from ear to ear, and when she raised her eyebrows, he nodded frantically.
Go for it.
Sybil turned back to face the king, a glowing smile on her face. "How could I refuse, Your Majesty?"
"I was hoping you'd say that." He turned to a couple guards in his entourage and they came forward. "Malik, Leif, please escort Miss Mira to get her things, and have her brought to the main hall within half an hour."
The two guards nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty." Malik turned to Sybil and beckoned her forward. "Come, Milady. We shall take you to your new quarters."
Sybil blushed slightly at the new title. Leif lead her out the door, Malik following, and they left the training room, heading to the dorms. They gave Sybil five minutes to pack up, and she stuffed everything she owned in a suitcase, changing from her training clothes to the finest dress that she brought along to the palace—a navy blue number with long sleeves and just a bit of ruffling on the hem. She kept her steel dog tag necklace, finding that it gave her outfit style and flair. After all, it was her new identity.
The guards—her new entourage, she discovered—lead her down the winding halls and up two floors to a much nicer, much fancier part of the palace, with marble statues and clear glass ceilings. It was much more lavish than the training floor on which she had resided for the past three months, and only got more so as they made their way further. Malik and Leif escorted her to the main hall, where Their Majesties were waiting. Sybil felt gracious of the treatment she was receiving.
She had never been escorted before, and she wondered if that's how it felt to be a princess, everyone always looking out for you.
Malik pushed the door open for her while Leif went off with her suitcase, to put it in her new room. Sybil stepped through the doorway and gasped in awe at the room she had just entered. Although it was really nice and fancy back home, the mansion couldn't even compare to the luxurious architecture of the Artemisia Palace. She bowed curtly, knowing that the king and queen were present, but as she righted herself, she was surprised to see a girl of about twelve standing before her. She was beautiful, unbelievably so—the most aesthetically perfect human being she had ever seen. Sybil flushed, recognizing the girl, and she dipped once again into a graceful curtsey.
Standing before her was Her Highness, Crown Princess Channary.
"Princess," Sybil addressed her respectfully, coming up from her curtsey.
Channary lilted her head, seeming to analyze her. After a moment, the princess held out her hand and Sybil shook it eagerly. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sybil," she said sweetly.
"Likewise." Sybil looked around. "Um...pardon my asking, but where is your sister?"
Channary's brow furrowed for a moment, before her eyes widened. She held a finger out, curling it, beckoning Sybil forward. She complied, coming to stand right next to the princess.
"Do not address you-know-who by her name when speaking to me," Channary whispered in her ear. "Trust me—she's nothing a freak. She's so weird." Sybil was about to interject, but the princess continued on. "You'll soon find out why. She isn't even deserving of your respect, to be called 'Your Highness'," Channary spat before pulling away, standing tall, her hands clasped in front of her. "She'll be here in moment," she added, out loud this time.
Sure enough, before long, the double doors opened and a maid came in, escorting a young girl. Sybil stood taller, keeping Channary's warning in mind, and she eyed Levana with scrutiny. It was nearly pathetic, the way she seemed to cling onto the maid's hand, as if for dear life, her auburn hair covering her shoulders, and how she seemed to be hiding beneath it.
As the king spoke to her, she looked up to Sybil, her onyx eyes dark and mistrusting. Sybil frowned a bit. What was her problem? She felt a pang of annoyance, and she didn't really care if Levana was a princess; she hadn't even spoken to her, so why was she giving her the evil eye?
Once Their Majesties had left, Levana had offered her hand, Channary narrowing her eyes, as if warning Sybil against her. The girl came forward anyway, willing to give Levana the benefit of the doubt—until her glove slipped off, revealing her metal hand, her cyborg nature. Sybil had recoiled, disgusted, remembering what her parents had always told her about them, that they were hideous, purely artificial creatures that were not to be trusted. At that moment, she had understood what Channary had meant when she called her a freak.
Because of this, and because she wanted to stay in Channary's good graces, she went along with whatever the princess told her to do, and all the cruel pranks they would play on Levana. If she was completely honest with herself, she actually enjoyed it, the thrill of being able to have power over someone else, but the novelty lasted for about a week, once Sybil had finally seen how truly twisted Channary was. Playing jokes and picking on Levana was one thing, but the thing with Letumosis...poisoning Levana's birthday cake...
She had gone too far.
She knew it was a bad idea from the start, but she went against her better judgement, tuning out her conscience; she was so desperate for acceptance that she went along anyway. It was actually quite a rush, sneaking into royal kitchens and playing lookout while Channary did her thing. It even seemed like it'd be entertaining, until the symptoms showed up, and she saw how much pain Levana was in. Because of her.
It didn't matter if she was a cyborg, a freak, different. The poor girl had done nothing to deserve it.
When they had visited her in the hospital the next day, Channary had just taken the opportunity to taunt and make fun of Levana over the room's microphone, and Sybil was flooded with sadness as she watched Levana curl into a ball, holding a pillow in her face while letting out whimpers of pain, trying to block Channary out. Once the princess had grown bored of torturing her sister, she left Sybil alone, and the girl started to cry, holding a hand to the glass.
"I'm so sorry..." she mumbled, her eyes shut. She pressed her forehead against the glass, Levana not even moving.
Sybil sniffed once, before getting up and leaving the room, lest she broke down completely. She retired for the day, and spent hours sobbing uncontrollably, lying on her bed, a pillow pressed to her face.
She had never felt so evil, so monstrous.
Levana wasn't the real freak, the real monster. It was her. How could have done such a thing to another human being, especially one who had never done anything to her? Why had she been so eager to listen to Channary, to do anything to stay on her good side?
Nathan's words had finally started to make sense. To her horror, she realized that he was right. She was nothing but a lackey. Being a thaumaturge wouldn't bring her or her family honour—but would only destroy her otherwise good name. She gripped her necklace in a clenched fist, the dogtags—because that's all she was; Channary's dog. Be good to her master, and she'll be rewarded.
Sybil now knew why the real reason she was chosen. She was a bad person. No one decent ever got that much power on Luna. It just didn't happen.
She was the worthless one...not Levana.
That night, she was the first person who had ever cried for the youngest princess of Luna.