There is a place known by many names in different places, tucked away in the hearts of all worlds like a secret resting in the soul. To the people who call this place home, they only know of it as Kingdom. And although you may have never seen or heard of Kingdom, one day you might find it, for it is the place where light and dark first met, and the souls of the wondering lost seem to always find it’s gates.

If you have heard of it, then you have listened to the stories of this place. The story of an Empress and her seven condemned sons, or the whispered mentioning of a bell in a courtyard. Bards sing softly of the people who once wore bracelets of light, then hum the tragedy of the perfect dark. And if you listened long enough to the silence after the lay, you might feel the fear in the hearts of the people who lived there, or the sadness that drifted down the streets at night like the melody of a broken-hearted violinist.

There is a fable that many years ago, on the day the Empress’ sons were born, all light was stolen from their world. There were no shadows, no stars, no moon. There was no warmth, no kindness, no love. It was as if on that very day, all the light had been frightened away, and soon after came the birth of the seven sons.  

The light did return, but it was never the same. As the sons grew older, the people of Kingdom began to notice the days of their world growing shorter. It was whispered that the seven sons were born with a unique affliction; that each one had brought a piece of the darkness home on that lightless night so long ago. Then one day the sun rose no more, and the only light from Kingdom came from the bracelets of the people who hadn’t already left its gates.  

The people of Kingdom soon came to find that the tales of the sons were more than just a fable. The Empress, more so than any other, knew of the evil that lived within her sons, though each one had manifested into its own peculiar, twisted form. Because of this, the Empress spoke out to Kingdom, her fears exposed, her heart sad and broken.

She declared that if anyone living in Kingdom could cure at least one of her sons, that by the power resting in her as Empress, they would be granted one wish. They watched as she held up her bracelets for all to see. They were beautiful and luminous, and gone. Shattered. The people of Kingdom watched as the broken light rose higher, becoming the only stars in a midnight sky.
But as the people of Kingdom listened, they could feel the fear and desperation in the Empress’ voice poison their hope, and each watched as their own bracelets began to fade away, like a strong breath blowing out an ocean of candles. The stars in the sky grew faint and dim, until they could hardly be seen at all, and it was that night the tragedy of the perfect dark was first hummed.

A bell was soon hung in the central courtyard of Kingdom. It was announced that if one were to ring the bell, they would accept the request of the Empress, and come to the aid of her sons. Days passed, then months, then years, but the bell was never rung. The nights began to grow colder. Some people believed that if the sons were to pass into adulthood without being saved, Kingdom would never see the light again. Tales passed through the hopeful lips of those who hid behind their own cowardice, and stories of the one known as the Valiant came to be. But the bell was never rung. And the years passed once again.

The people of Kingdom grew more and more fearful over the years, and things such as kindness, loyalty and courage, were slowly swept under the shadows. The city, once bright and beautiful and majestic, grew dirty and cold and angry. More and more people lived in the slums, and there were certain days where not a single person in Kingdom smiled, or laughed.

In the depths of the slums lived a girl named Sol. She was a quiet girl, with not a single friend to her name. Each and every day she would pick what little flowers could still grow, and attempt to sell them on the side of the street. It was an odd thing, for the flowers seemed to only grow in her nook of the slums. On a good day she might have made a few pennies, but a flower could sometimes pull a smile from even the saddest of people, and it were those moments she lived for.

Sol’s mother was a whore, not by choice, but forced into by the iron fist of her father, who used that same fist to beat them both when he drank. She lived in a broken home, at the end of a broken street, with a mother who had a broken heart.

When Sol was still a young girl, she had accidentally knocked over a candle, starting a fire in her house. She had watched her mother take the blame as the fire spread, screaming at her father as he struck her over and over. Sol remembered the sound of her mother’s voice, pleading for her to run, the sound of the wooden walls caving in to the flames, capturing the lives of both her parents.  

She didn’t know how long it was that she sat in the ashes outside her burnt house. It could have been days, as time seemed to have lost all effect on her. Eventually, someone did find her, and before she knew it she was living in an orphanage, where she found little fleeting moments of joy with the flowers in the garden. It wasn’t long before Sol, being the quiet young girl that she was, was adopted by a family.

By this point in her life, Sol knew better than to hope for the best. She merely smiled when necessary, and did what she was told. But the life she was brought into ended up being worse than what she had come from. The children adopted by this family were treated as slaves, and then when they were old enough to lay with a man, sold to the highest bidder.

Thus, Sol grew up graceful and beautiful and miserable, and it was not long before she was sold to a plump, hawk-eyed man, with a heart that could have only been made of coal, ash or ice. And despite all of this, Sol had a certain courage to her, though it came and went. She found that courage one night when she secretly stole one of the knives out of the man’s kitchen.
​
She made her way onto the balcony. It was dark, the stars barely a presence in the sky. She found herself crying before them, her tears falling one after another onto the wood by her naked feet. The stars had become even dimmer than before, and their lack of light only brought on a stronger desire to leave her world forever.

She lifted the knife as she wept, but a sudden hand took her by the shoulder. In her surprise and fear, Sol spun around, the knife slashing a gash in her master’s cheek. He staggered backwards, crying out at first in fear, and then wrath. Sol panicked, so she ran. Down the stairs, out the door, and into the streets.

Rain began to pelt down from the sky above, as if the heavens were crying for the girl who ran for her life. She did not know where to go, or who to turn to. Those who watched her running turned their heads away in shame. Before she knew it, she was in the courtyard with the bell.

Stumbling and tripping as she ran out of breath, Sol crawled up the stairs of the podium, then turned to see her master take the first step. He cursed at her under his breath, swearing that he would not kill her. But the way he held the knife, and the look in his eyes, left her unconvinced and full of terror. Despite the fact that she had been more than willing to take her own life, the thought of this man taking it from her turned her soul to despair.

She reached the top of the podium, with the great bell hanging above. The man walked up the stairs. The rain continued to fall. And just as he came before her, Sol realized she did not want to die. Not like this. Not from this man. Scrambling to her feet, she did the only thing she could think of. She ran to the rope hanging from the bell, and pulled as hard as she could.

The man froze as the great bell rang loud and true. It was as if all of Kingdom had been turned into bells, and they had all been rung together. Tears still racing from her eyes, Sol rang the bell again and again, each ring of it forcing the man back a step. He dropped the knife.

A lantern lit on the side of the courtyard. And then another on the other side. Sol watched as a line of lanterns started illuminating as if by magic, creating a path of light all the way from the courtyard, to the castle of the Empress and her seven sons. It wasn’t long before dozens upon dozens of people were gathering, each of them bearing witness to the rain-soaked girl on the podium, desperately ringing the bell as if it were the only thread left connecting her to this world.

Soldiers soon appeared. Sol found herself being taken with them. The world was a blur as she was led towards the castle. What was happening? It didn’t matter. She was safe now. How was she safe? Everything began to piece itself together in her fragmented and broken mind, but before she could quite understand the severity of her situation, she found herself standing in a beautifully decorated throne room, staring up at the Empress of Kingdom.

 “So, you are the one I have been waiting for,” said the Empress. Taking in the full sight of her, Sol could barely recognize her. The color of her hair was worn and tired, her eyes lacking their usual brightness. Her dress was spun of the highest caliber, her jewels one of a kind; but she looked like an old woman wearing the raiment of a younger, more elegant lady.
The Empress forced a weak smile. “I have been waiting a very long time for you, my girl. It seems the stars have finally seen fit to answer my prayers.”

Sol struggled to catch her breath as she realized what was happening. “I, y-your highness, I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Her voice was feeble, weak and shaking. “I am not the Valiant . . . but this man was chasing me— he had a knife, h-he—,” The Empress held up her hand, stopping her dead.

“If you are not the Valiant, then why have you rung the bell?” The tone in her voice shifted dramatically, poisoning the very air between them. “It has one purpose. Only a fool would consider otherwise. And if you are not who you say you are, then what are those bracelets of light around your wrists?”

Sol looked down at her wrists to find solid beams of light wrapped around them. She turned them over, at first in fear, and then in awe, and then in fear again as she realized what she had truly done. She had not seen light around her wrists since the passing of her mother so many years before.

“I’m s-sorry,” said Sol again. “It cannot be me, I-I—,”

“Enough,” snapped the Empress. “You will be the Valiant, and you will cure one of my sons before they come of age, or I will make sure you are shown an even more miserable existence than the one you knew before ever ringing that god-forsaken bell.” The Empress met her eyes and held them. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, your highness,” said Sol, a single tear sliding down her cheek.

Sol was shown by the guards to her chambers, the most luxurious room she had ever seen. But once she was inside, she didn’t light a single candle, only sat in the corner of the closet and wept until she had no more tears left to cry. Until her stomach hurt, and her heart was cold and empty.  

She had no idea how much time passed while she hid in the closet, but at one point she heard something from the other side of the room. There was the faintest beam of light shining in through the window, and what sounded like a distant violin. She crept towards the light and looked out the window. The stars had not moved from their place in the sky, but seemed a little brighter than usual.

She could hear the lament of the violin more clearly from the window. She closed her eyes, feeling the sorrow of the music resonate with her soul. The notes clung to her like the memories of those passed, like the feeling of a heart-broken lover. It was the playing of someone who knew the same grief as she, the same loneliness, and she opened her heart to the misery singing its way into the night.

She felt a strange warmth on her wrists and noticed her bracelets were shining brighter, as if the music had briefly awakened something within them. She aimlessly looked back into the night, listening to the song, and began to weep.

And then she felt it. Someone’s arms were wrapped around her shoulders, comforting her. But she could see no one there, only feel them. She could hear the faint whisper of a familiar voice, telling her to be brave, to not give up. She wondered if she were going crazy before realizing who the voice belonged to. Her mother. And then the music was gone, and with it, the warmth. She was alone once again.

She awakened in the closet the next morning to find the bracelets of light still on her wrists. They were a reminder of everything that had happened the night before; with the Empress, and with the man who had tried to kill her. Everything had been real. Dresses were laid out on the bed for her. Outside her chambers waited guards, ready to take her to the first of the seven towers, for each of the sons lived within one of them.

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It wasn’t long before she was standing before a grand wooden door inside the first tower. Carved into the face of it was an insignia she could not recognize, but before she could ponder it’s meaning, the door opened, revealing a luxurious room under faint lighting. She walked into the room, surprised by how large it was, and kept walking towards the back where she found several large, comfortable looking sofas, a chandelier of candleflame, and one of the princes lounging in one of them.

On the table in front of him must have been over a hundred bottles of different alcohols. Trays after trays of ash from the tobacco could be found all around the room. The prince looked up at her, a bottle of dark liquor in one of his hands, dimly lit tobacco in the other. He grinned at her before finishing his drink, tossing the bottle onto the ground, and opening a new one. He drained half of the bottle, then took a large puff from his tobacco. As if suddenly finding his manners, he motioned for her to sit, then placed his drink on the table, and tossed her a bottle.

“Craven,” he said to her, then rolled his eyes. “That’s what they call me. Can’t even remember my own name at this point.” She looked the bottle over once, then went to set it down.

“Whoa,” he said, a slight tension in his voice. “Don’t make me seem like an ungrateful host. Go on, it’s not going to kill you. I’ve been trying for years.” He smirked, then laughed a wild laugh before grabbing his bottle and taking a hearty swig.

Before Sol could say a single word, she heard the bottle crash into the ground. Craven had both hands over his eyes, and he was trembling. “I’m not a coward . . .” he whispered. Sol felt her stomach knot as he looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Is that you what you think?”

“No, I—,” Sol stopped, hearing his boot crunch down over the broken glass. He reached down and picked up one of the fragments, then held it to his neck. “They told you, didn’t they?” He asked, a trickle of blood dripping down his throat. His eyes narrowed. “You laughed with them about me, didn’t you?”

Sol was too scared to say anything.

She jumped as he smashed his arm through the line of bottles on the table. He turned again to her, this time with anger in his eyes. “Drink!” He screamed at her. As if recoiling to the sound of his own voice, he slumped back onto the sofa, grabbed a different bottle, and finished it.

“Just kill me,” he finally said in a morbid tone. “I couldn’t do it. No matter how hard I try. All my brothers say I have no balls,” he started to raise his voice, looking up at the walls. He laughed. “Maybe I don’t have any fucking balls, but fuck you all, one day I’ll be dead. Miserable fucks, then I’ll finally be free of this torture . . .” He grabbed another bottle, but before he could start drinking, he began to cry, softly at first, and then harder. “Maybe I’ll be happier then,” he said, then looked at Sol.

“Drink!” He screamed through his tears.

Sol thought for a long moment before considering she would undoubtedly die in this place no matter what, then opened the bottle and took a little sip. Her nose scrunched up immediately, but before she could react further, Craven had moved closer to her, holding up something for her to have.

“Take this,” he said, his voice surprisingly quiet and still. Sol took the tobacco, he lit it, and she took a drag. It did help numb the taste of the alcohol. Only silence and time passed as the two smoked and drank. She began to feel the effects of the alcohol weave through her body like a sixth sense, softening her heart to the sorrow within Craven.  

“I’m the youngest,” said Craven quietly. “Sometimes when we’re all together, they use that against me. They say I have no courage, no strength, no—,” Tsk. Craven’s expression hardened. “They said I could prove it by not drinking or smoking or doing anything for a whole day. An entire day, mind you.” He took another big swig.

“I say I do that all the time. It’s always fucking night.” He grinned at his own joke.

“But what am I a fucking idiot? How would that prove anything? I told them I would do them one better, something none of them could do.” He clenched his jaw so tightly Sol thought his teeth would shatter. “And they laughed. They don’t believe I can do it. Bastards.”

Sol took a deep breath. “I mean no disrespect, but couldn’t there be another way?”

Craven threw back his head and laughed, then stood and began applauding. “So, you’re the chosen one who’s supposed to save one of us,” he leered, unsure if he liked the joke or not. “I’ve been telling that wrench of a mother for an eternity already, all of us are fine. I just like to have a few drinks here and there, amongst other things, and there’s nothing wrong with most of us, especially me.”

“But you just said—,” said Sol.

“Did I say you could fucking speak!?” Craven yelled, standing and shaking his bottle. In his drunken stupor he lost his footing, then fell to the ground. He began to scream and laugh, rolling around in the glass, and then he went silent.

After waiting a good amount of time without him moving, Sol attempted to stand, but her head was spinning. She looked down at the bottle in her hand. Half gone. She dropped it, then stumbled towards the door without looking back at him. Once she was in the hallway, she tried to run. 

Turning the corner, she slammed into someone and tumbled to the ground. Having trouble finding her feet, she looked up to find another son, similar in appearance to Craven, and standing with his hand outstretched to her.

“Come,” he said, smiling. “You’ll feel best if you do that.” He had a handsome face and bright eyes.

“You must feel awful after spending more than ten minutes with Craven. I’ll make you some tea.” She dubiously took his hand, the alcohol smarting her better judgement, and she began to follow him down the hallway. What could have been minutes or an hour later, she found herself staring up at another grand wooden door, though this time it had a different insignia on it, one she could still not understand.

They entered the room to find it quite similar to the first. However, in the back of the room was the biggest bed she had ever laid eyes on. He walked her over to it, motioned for her to sit, then left the room.

Still feeling herself spinning, she tried to make sense of where she was. Dozens of paintings lined the walls, each of them beautifully done, and all of them depicting a naked woman in some kind of elegant pose. The more she looked at them, the more she realized that each girl looked as if she were painted in the room she was in. For some reason she could not bring herself to focus on their faces.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said the prince. His voice was soft and sweet, and just the sound of it made her feel more at ease. She hesitantly looked up at him, who was holding out a cup of warm tea for her to take. “This will open you up a little bit,” he smiled. “I’ve been waiting to see you ever since you got here. Was hoping for your sake I’d be the first, but it would seem you haven’t had the best of luck. Well, not the worst either.”

She took the tea and stirred it, taking a small sip. Almost immediately she felt her head begin to calm, and the spinning slow. Despite her bizarre encounter with Craven, she was beginning to feel a little better. Though something inside her said otherwise.  

“What’s your name?” She asked pensively.

“I doubt you’ll remember in the morning,” he answered, then sat down on the bed next to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “But I assure you I am not the worst of the seven. The others have their selfish desires, I only wish to be rid of my curse. I believe you’ve come to help me with that,” he looked her in the eyes, “Haven’t you?”

Sol was deadly quiet. She tried to put the tea down, but the motion of his hand stopped her. Something was wrong. The effects of the alcohol were gone, but she was feeling different. Dizzier, or warmer, somewhere between comfortably tired and . . . She watched as he took off his shirt. There were dozens upon dozens of silver scars across his chest.

“I can’t h-help you,” she mumbled. “Can’t I?”

He smiled warmly at her, then reached out and ran his fingers through her hair. “I think you just might be able to.” She tried to pull back, but found herself oddly welcoming of the motion. The feeling of his hands on her back was a strange sensation, and a shiver ran down the length of her legs and into her toes. She tilted the cup of tea upwards, taking another drink.  

Something in the back of her mind was nagging at her, like someone scratching at a wall in another room, but she brushed it away. That feeling grew tenfold when she didn’t get nervous after watching him pull out a knife. She only leaned back on the bed, staring up at him.

She watched as he took the blade and cut himself down from the shoulder and across his chest, his neck arching pleasurably. The blood dripped smoothly down the pale lines of his body, and he began to smile wildly, his eyes curious and eager. He was soon beside her, his fingers beneath her dress, and she felt a warm haze come over her body as she drifted away into the feeling of his embrace.

Sol woke suddenly. The room was dimly lit and empty, but not silent. She could hear the soft moaning of a woman coming from somewhere. Sitting up, she realized she was not in her chambers. Her heart nearly stopping in her chest, she tried to remember what had happened. She had been with Craven, then left and met one of the other princes. She pulled off the blankets and nearly screamed. There was blood everywhere. All over her naked body. Her heart pounded in her chest as she began to tear up, desperately searching herself for injuries. There were none.

She pleaded with herself to not break down, to not start weeping on the spot. Reaching deep within her soul, she found what little was left of her courage and tried to breathe. Too fast. Slower. Slow.

Forcing her eyes up, she noticed an easel with a painting next to the bed. Horror filled her heart as she stared at it. It was her. Despite the bloody visage of it, it was the expression on her face that tore at her soul. She vomited off the side of the bed and tried to calm her trembling heart. With the raw desperation of someone fighting for their life, Sol lifted her eyes. Dozens of paintings lined the walls, but they were not how she remembered them. Each of the women in them was covered in blood, their faces twisted into horrific expressions.

She heard the noise again. People. Several. Moaning.

Pulling the sheets around her body, she cautiously made her way towards the sound. Creaking open the door of the bathroom, she watched the prince from the night before making love to several maids. Blood soaked each of their bodies. Losing her breath, she ran back to the bed, threw on her clothes, and slipped out of the room as hastily and quietly as she could.

Sol ran and ran, not wanting to think for a moment that she had been drugged and raped by such a psychopath. She wasn’t running for her chambers. No. She would never return there. She would leave the castle, leave Kingdom, leave this place forever. Or die trying.

Just as she pushed open the doors to the courtyard leading to the castle’s gates, the guards caught up to her, grabbed her, and held her to the ground. Within minutes, she was standing before the Empress.

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“I thought I was clear the first time we spoke,” the Empress asked, her voice cold and irritated. She lifted an eyebrow at the sight of blood on Sol, then smirked. “I thought you were supposed to be helping my sons, not encouraging them. Did you find your painting to your liking?”

Sol looked up at the Empress, trying as hard as she could to hold back the tears in her eyes. “I do not fear death anymore,” she said, her voice oddly firm. “Kill me if you must, but I will stay in this place no longer.”

The Empress caught her eyes and held them for a good, long moment. She motioned to one of the guards. “Bring him in,” she said. Sol looked at the door the guard walked through, and waited until he returned with a man. She felt her heart fall out of her chest as the plump, hawk-eyed man who had once bought her, walked in with the guard.

“T-this man tried to kill me,” said Sol with a shaky voice, her courage felled.

“I know of everything that has happened to you,” said the Empress, a delightful look in her eyes. “I was intrigued after all, what kind of person would ring the bell. I wanted to bring this man here to present you with your two choices, being as it is that you are the Valiant, you should be treated as such.” The Empress’ lips curled into a sneer.

“If you would abandon your duty as the Valiant, as the one who is chosen to heal one of my sons, then I will formally marry you to this man, the same man who once tried to kill you in cold blood. You will be married to him for all of Kingdom to see, and kept far away from anything that you might use to . . . hurt yourself.”

Sol found herself trembling. A tear slid down her cheek. She felt lower than nothing. The plump man eyed her the same way a sailor stares at a whore. Looking around the room, she almost expected someone to say something, anything. But there was nothing. The guards would not even look in her direction. High above on the balcony, she met the eyes of what must have been another one of the Empress’ sons, and she felt deep disdain at the sight of him. He held her eyes and said nothing, then turned away and walked out of sight.

“What will it be?” The Empress asked, tapping her fingers steadily on the armrest of her throne. “I suppose we couldn’t stop you from biting your own tongue and drowning in your own blood, though I don’t think I would mind such a terrible end for you. So be it. Those are your choices.”

Sol swallowed and looked up. “I will remain.”
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The guards brought Sol to her chambers and left her alone. She wanted to lay on her bed and cry. She wanted to believe that there was something good for her left in this world, but she could do neither. She made her way to the window and opened it, looking out at the several hundred-foot drop to the courtyard below. Grabbing the side of the window, she pulled one leg through.

“Thought I might find you here,” said the voice of a stranger.

Sol froze, thinking that someone had come into the room behind her, but when she looked, she saw no one. Looking out the side of the window, she found the same prince she had seen in the throne room with the Empress, the one looking down at her from above. He was sitting on the edge of the wall, his feet dangling over the edge.

“Just thought I would give you a little company, if you do decide to jump,” he said. “But truth be told, I would prefer you didn’t.” He turned to look at her, and despite her every instinct telling her to not believe a word he said, something told her he spoke the truth. She took a seat on the side of the windowsill, looking out into the night.

“What do you want?” Sol asked, her voice cold. “To torture me like the rest of your family?”

“I don’t want to torture anybody,” he answered, “and I would apologize for them, but let’s be honest. It wouldn’t mean anything at this point, would it?”

“It’s not worth anything,” she said angrily. “None of you are.”

“True enough,” he said. “I can’t argue with that.”

“Why are you here?” Sol asked angrily, irritated at his nonchalant demeanor. “Why do you care if I jump or not?” In some small dark corner of her mind, she saw herself pushing him off the ledge and watching him fall. She looked away from him.

The prince shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t explain why I don’t want you to, I just don’t. You’re different from all the people I’ve met. You have something I’ve never seen before. I want to understand that, I guess.”

Sol was silent at his response, unsure of what to say.

“So, I decided I would show you something, if you did decide not to jump,” he said. A moment passed in silence, but before she could say anything, he spoke. “Look,” he said, pointing. “It won’t last long.”

Sol looked up to see a shooting star. Then another. Each one was bright and warm, leaving scars of light across the sky. It wasn’t long before there were no more, only trails that faded and dimmed until nothing remained.

“I think they are the hopes and dreams of the people,” he said. “A long time ago I would see them here and there, but then they stopped. It wasn’t until you rang the bell that I began to see them again. Whether you believe it or not, there are those who believe in you.”

Sol could only feel exhaustion as the weight of his words sunk in. She leaned her head against the side of the windowsill, her eyes heavy, thinking of all the people in Kingdom, of the few who had bought flowers, of the simple smiles . . .

Sol woke in a startle. She was in her bed, but her window was still open. Had everything been a dream? She sat up, lit a candle, and found a note on her bedside table.

               Dear Sol,
It was an honor and a pleasure to meet a most unique individual such as yourself. I live in the eastern-most tower, closest to where the sun once rose, and will be waiting for your presence there. If indeed you do wish to see me again, as I do you, please come.
               Hoping,
               Nv

Sol hesitated for a good, long moment. She knew deep down that good things never came to her. She also knew that each of the Empress’ sons were evil as could be. She could not trust him. It would be foolish to believe that his interests were for her own well-being. But despite all of that, some piece of her wanted to see him. He had been the only person who had been there for her in so many years, that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone looking out for her.

Deciding that she had nothing left to lose, Sol put on one of the dresses arranged for her, straightened her bracelets of light, and tucked the note away into one of her pockets. Taking a deep breath, she opened up the doors of her room, and walked out of her chambers.

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“Well, well, well,” said an intrigued yet curious voice. Sol turned to find another one of the Empress’ sons, leaning against one of the walls of the corridor. She had yet to meet this one, who was flamboyantly dressed and clean cut. He was flipping a gold coin in his hand, up and down, over and over.

“Someone got a little dressed up today, haven’t we? Going back to see Lustis already?” He sneered, pocketing the gold coin. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m going to need you to come with me for a little while. No need to worry, I don’t intend to harm you, but I do have something important to talk with you about.”

This was not a request. She could feel it in the tone of his voice. It had the lining of an invitation, but the meat of it was pure command. Sol stood still before quietly nodding her head, then proceeded to follow him down the corridor.  

It wasn’t long before she was staring up at another grand wooden door. The insignia was different, as she by this point in time had already predicted. He led her into the room, though a room is probably not the best word for what she entered. It was more akin to a ballroom, or a house with many rooms that had no walls separating any of them. The stairways were there, but she could see the entirety of it, as if someone had cut a doll house in half, revealing all that was hidden within.

“Come,” said the prince. He walked over to a bar. Standing behind it was a polite looking old man with a curt smile and a mustache. He was shining a glass and gave a slight nod of the head. A vase of roses sat before him.

“Please, excuse my manners,” said the prince. “You can call me Avarice. Would you like a drink?” He asked, turning to her. Sol stopped dead in her tracks, shaking her head.

“Ah,” said Avarice, smiling. “I’d nearly forgotten you’ve already met my gutless brother Craven, and that other small fragment of insanity I unfortunately have to call family. Though you will undoubtedly not believe me, I am most certainly the first person in this castle offering you something out pure kindness.” He grinned. “Or something like that.”

Sol did not answer. Instead, as he was speaking, her eyes had shifted to the different open rooms within the room. She could see many different women, each as dissimilar as could be. One was upstairs in a room wearing a red dress and playing piano. The second was making love to another woman in a room lined with gold, treasure and jewels. But it was the third room that had completely drawn her attention. Inside were dozens of women shackled, naked, in a room that could only have been a cold iron cell.

Avarice followed her eyes. “Ah,” he said. “You must have questions.” The bartender placed a neat copper drink on the counter that Avarice picked up without looking, as if he knew it would be placed there at exactly that moment.

“To make things short,” said Avarice. “That is my wife. They are my mistresses. And those are my slaves.” He motioned to a chair. “Now take a seat, we have much to discuss.” Sol reluctantly took a seat.

Avarice pulled a rose from the vase and stirred his drink with the stem, taking in the full sight of her. “I have brought you here because I believe we have similar interests,” he began. “To put it simply, I loathe my mother. I wish her dead. I wish her dead several times, in different ways, in different places, by different killers.” He took a drink. “In the best reality, I would be one of those killers.”

Sol listened, trying hard not to stare at one of the naked girls chained in the iron room. She knew the look on her face. She had seen it in the mirror so many times before.

“I am the rightful ruler of Kingdom,” said Avarice. “And as I very much suspect, you also wish my mother dead.” He raised the tone of his voice at the last word, indicating a question.

Sol’s body tensed, then she shook her head. No. It was a trap.

“Come now,” said Avarice. “The woman is a vile, despicable creature. You mustn’t hide your feelings. This is no trick. I can assure you,” he said, catching her attention. “She will be dead sooner than you could hope.”

“What do you want from me?” Sol asked. She tried to make her voice strong, but it came out as fragile and weak as could be.
“Ah, the golden question,” said Avarice, pulling out his gold coin. “I would have you become my wife. We will go to the Empress, and show her that you have healed the darkness in my heart. Love. It is the only way, after all. How storybook. How quaint.”
Sol didn’t say anything.

“I want to see the look of gratification on her face when she believes her idea for the bell and courtyard actually worked. She will see herself a hero, having saved Kingdom by cleansing one of her evil sons. It is true that she hates you, and wishes it was someone else who had rung the bell. That is why it will be especially pleasant when she finds out it is all a lie. Imagine the look on her face! Splendid! Splendid!! I want it! You can watch me murder her. Don’t you want to see?”

Without thinking, Sol glanced over at the lady in the red dress playing piano. Avarice noticed. “Oh, my other wife,” he said. Sol tried to protest but he cut her off. “She can join my slaves in their chambers. Too much time with that one. I’ve grown bored of her. I could use something new.”

Sol tried to think of any way that she could escape the situation. Avarice seemed to notice her body language, and took a larger sip of his drink. Then pulled out the rose and pricked himself on the finger with one of the thorns.

“If you do this for me, I will give you three things,” said Avarice, lifting his finger above his glass. “One. I will not kill you.” A drop of blood fell in the glass. “Two. I will free you from this castle.” A second drop of blood. “Three. I will make you rich beyond imagination.” He squeezed his finger, and Sol watched a third drop taint the copper color of his drink. Avarice watched her for a moment, tactfully letting her absorb the information.

“What do you say? Do we have an accord?” He held up his glass to her.

Sol was tense in her posture. Her hands were a cold sweat in her lap. This was it. Her freedom was being offered to her on a silver plate. And even the Empress would be punished for her heinous actions. Thoughts of Nv sitting outside the window came unto her mind. She shook her head, pushing them away. Freedom. She could be free again.

“You’ll die here you know,” said Avarice. “You haven’t met the worst of us, but I assure you, he does not want to play with you. You might as well have committed suicide by not seeing him first. Ah, the firstborn son. So proud, so stubborn.”

Flowers. For some reason, all Sol could think about were flowers. The smiles on people’s faces were a memory she would never forget. Her thoughts twisted and shifted until she was imagining the girl in the red dress, shackled and chained in the iron room with the other slave girls.

Sol looked up and met his eyes. “I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”

She didn’t see it coming. But she felt it. The hard slap of his palm striking the side of her cheek. The room fell into a haze as she tried to lift herself to her feet. She heard the gold coin hit the ground and roll away on the wood. His foot struck her back. She thought she could hear laughing.

“It’s a win, win situation for me,” she heard Avarice say. “I want both. To see him kill you, and to destroy the hopes and dreams of my mother before killing her.” His tone shifted. “Why can’t I have both?” He took his foot off of her. The glass he had been drinking shattered next to her head. She watched the blood twist through the alcohol as it ran towards her face.

Sol laid still for a long time, holding her hands over her head. When she finally looked up, she wished she hadn’t. She looked towards the slave girl, the one with the same look in her eyes as her own. Avarice was in there with her. She was crying. He was screaming. The other girls were huddled together with their hands over their heads, undoubtedly silent and weeping.

Sol ran from the room.

As she ran down the hallways, she realized that she wasn’t running in the direction of her chambers, nor the entrance of the castle. She was heading eastward, towards Nv’s tower.  

Before she knew it, strong hands took her by the shoulders. She screamed and kicked and fought. Guards. They were pulling her somewhere, trying to tell her something. Something was wrong with Craven. He was going to kill himself. She was the only one who could save him.  

She was thrown into a room and looked up to find Craven. He was pacing the room, stumbling in the same manner he had the first time she saw him. When he looked at her, he smiled.

“You’re failing,” he said, holding up a broken bottle. The glass looked sharper than the tip of a knife. “Yet you are still here . . . After everything that’s happened to you, you still try? How? Why!?” He scoffed. “You must have bigger balls than I do . . .” He stopped pacing and faced her. “But there’s one thing I can do that you can’t. If you could you would have done it already.”

Sol was quiet as she watched him. Deep inside her heart, she wanted to say something. Anything. But she could not. She could not utter even a single word. She clenched her fist at her side, battling with herself.

“Nothing to say?” Craven asked, his voice turning angry. “You’re just like the rest of them. You think I’m full of shit, don’t you!?” He walked towards her and stopped, then looked her dead in the eyes. “You think I don’t have the balls to do it. But you’re wrong.”

Sol went to raise her hand, her voice failing her. She watched as Craven laughed, then jammed the broken bottle into his throat. Blood sprayed. Sol screamed, then cried, then curled into the fetal position and didn’t move, her eyes wide open. The blood was warm and comforting in the dark.

It was a mystery how long she laid there until she heard a voice.

“My mother is not going to be happy about this.” It was Avarice. She could feel the delight in his voice.

The silence continued.

Sol felt a blanket fall over her shoulder. The arms of somebody reached under her legs, lifting her up. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. If they were going to kill her, so be it.

                                                                                                 –       –       –       –

Sol opened her eyes. It was dark. The room was not her own. She could hear the sound of violin drifting through the doorways. She made her way out of the bed, following the rhythm of the bow’s lament. It was the same violin she had heard from her window the first night she had stayed in the castle.  

A slit of light illuminated the doorway from which the music came from. She pushed it open. And there, standing before an open window, was Nv. He was shirtless, with little beads of sweat running out of his hair. The music was a trance that led her to him.

He stopped abruptly upon seeing her, but said nothing. She searched for something to say, but found that the words did not come. She watched him place his hands on the edge of the window, looking out into the night.

“I’ve been watching you,” said Nv, finally. “Even as far back as when you were selling flowers on the street. You wouldn’t know, but I had the guards make sure the flowers would grow in your shadow of the slums.”

Sol watched him apprehensively, surprised by his words. “Why would you be watching me?”

“Why would you be selling flowers in a place such as Kingdom?” Nv answered, turning to her. “How is it that you are able to be who you are?” He raised his voice slightly. “I know for a fact those flowers could not support your life, and yet you sold them anyway, even though it was fruitless. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t fruit—,” Sol tried to contest softly, but he cut her off.

“I know what you’ll say!” Nv spit. His fingers gripped the windowsill tighter. “What I want to know is how you can say it? How you can believe that?” He stopped and lowered his voice. “I have been watching Kingdom for so long.” He looked at Sol. “Do you know how many people took the time to do what you did? None. Not a single person.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Sol asked.

Nv went silent. She could feel the tension from across the room. She moved towards it.

“Why did you bring me here?” Sol asked, once again. She was within an arm reach of him.

Nv’s posture stiffened at the closeness of her. “I—,” he began. “I want to know what makes you, you. What is a flower? It is a thing that lives and dies. It is nothing. Irrelevant in this cold world. And it is in this cold world that I have lived, searching for a smile, searching for some small fragment of happiness that has time and time again, eluded me.”

“What of your music?” Sol asked.

Nv smirked. “My music? What of it? I once saw a traveling musician smiling and believed that if I learned to play, I would feel the same way he did. I should have known better. Everything I pursue leads to nothing. It is like smelling the aroma of a meal in a distant place, pursuing it to all ends, then savoring the first bite. But every bite after the first becomes blander, more distasteful, until they all taste like ash upon my tongue.”

Sol noticed for the first time the room lined with bookshelves. Instruments of every kind were hung on the walls. Swords and axes and daggers and knives were displayed at their sides. A piano sat quietly in the corner.

“There is nothing,” Nv continued, taking a step away from her. “I have had it all. Women. Feasts. Music. Riches. Experiences. Success. Failures. Hope. Loss. All of it leads to the same dark room. To the same cold place. I have come to know it as home.” He looked up at her with stricken eyes. “You know this place too, don’t you?”

Sol felt a tear slide down her cheek and nodded her head. “You play of this place in your music. I know it all too well. But it needn’t be so,” she said. She stepped closer and placed her palm over his chest, over his heart. “Have you tried listening to your heart? Have you tried asking what it wants, what might bring it happiness?”

Nv recoiled, but she kept with him, replacing her hand. Sol did not understand why she had the sudden urge to help him. Maybe it was the music. The song that could have been the ballad of her life. It had felt like a piece of her heart singing, crying, as he played.

Nv stopped, allowing her palm to rest on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat.

“Ask your heart,” she asked. “If it’s there, with you.”

“I refuse,” he said adamantly.

“What do you have to lose?” Sol asked. He turned his head to the side, then let out a sigh. “Heart, are you there?” She felt a slight twitch in his heartbeat and Nv’s eyes widened. Sol smiled, then pushed a little harder against his chest.

“Have you ever tried doing something for someone else, instead of yourself?” She asked quietly.

Nv’s eyes narrowed and he pulled away. “Don’t be a fool,” he said. He turned his back to Sol, then walked over to the windowsill. Before Sol could take a step closer, he spoke. “You have been sentenced to execution,” he said. “After the Empress found out about Craven’s death, she blamed you.”

Sol lost her breath.

“The guards will be here soon,” said Nv. “It’s a shame.”

The door to the room slammed open, and Sol heard the footsteps of many guards entering.

“I would have liked to talk with you more,” said Nv, reaching down and picking up his violin. Sol screamed and kicked at the guards as Nv began to play, the same melancholic song, once again.
​
                                                                                                 –       –       –       –

Sol was brought before the Empress, but could barely remember a word she had said. The only thing that stayed in her mind was the memory of her wicked smile, and the raise of her hand as she had the guards drag her out of the throne room.
She was dragged to the upper reaches of the castle, and imprisoned inside a cage of iron bars. It was a cold prison, tucked away on a lonely roof, at the end of an unwalked bridge. There was no one. No light. No warmth. No sound. Even her bracelets were faint and dim.

Sol couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the moon. It had stopped coming out when she was a little girl. But that night, as she sat against the cold iron bars of the cage, she thought about the moon, and wished it would return. She thought about Nv as well, and almost believed she could hear his distant violin playing out and into the night.

Footsteps could be heard. Sol turned and stood. It was him.

Sol smiled as she saw the shadow approaching. But her smile quickly vanished as she realized the figure of the person who approached could not be Nv. How could she be so foolish. He would not come for her, he let the guards take her away without a second thought.

“Hello, my dear,” said a familiar voice. The shadow was plump and wide, and with the faint light from her bracelets, she could see the evil in the eyes of the man who had bought her long ago.

“The Empress encouraged me to spend one last night with the woman I love,” he sneered, opening the cage and letting himself inside. She watched him strip off his pants and stalk towards her. Her heart was weeping but she could not bring herself to cry.

She felt his rough embrace take hold of her. The Empress had sent him here. The same woman who would have made sure she could not even take her own life. She felt his fingers clenching into her back, then felt his hands making their way up her legs. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth, and without thinking, she bit down as hard as she could, making sure she had the meat of it.

Ripping as hard as she could with a twist of her neck, Sol bit off the man’s tongue. His screams could be heard into the night, and would be spoken of throughout Kingdom for many nights to come. She felt the warmth of his blood soak her mouth as he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Sol ran past him, left the cage, then slammed the iron bars shut.

The tears finally came. She leaned her back against the cage and listened only to the whimpering of the man who had tried to rape her for the last time. Eventually, her tears stopped and the man quieted. Rain began to fall.

“I waited for you, but you never came,” said a random voice from the shadows.

Sol lifted her head, staring out into the darkness. The silhouette of someone was approaching. He held something in one of his hands. It was a knife.

“I heard that the Valiant had rung the bell,” the voice continued. “And I waited patiently in my tower for you to come. I believed that you had come to save me.” He walked closer, the rain cloaking the sound of his footsteps.

“But you never came. In fact, you openly disrespected me by not seeing me first. Out of all my brothers, you decided to insult me? Do you have any idea who I am? How important my blood is? My presence is a gift to all things, breathing or dead. Don’t you think I deserve to be saved the most?” His figure was a silhouette in the night.

Sol had no strength left within her body. When he reached out his arm and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her up against the side of the cage, she was helpless to react. What was the point? No matter how hard she fought, no matter how hard she tried, she was fated to die. She was finally certain of that. Avarice had warned her of him, and she knew he would eventually find her.

He raised her up until she was at eye level with him. “Look at me,” he growled. “You have made a most grievous mistake ignoring me. I, the firstborn son of the Empress, the heir to the throne of Kingdom, am not to be disrespected by some rat from the slums. And for that you will pay, first with your dignity, then with your life.”

“Kill me,” Sol said, her voice quiet yet strong. The moment she spoke, she met his eyes with her own and felt a certain strength kindle her soul. “You don’t deserve to be saved,” she spit. “Who are you to believe you are better than anyone else?”  

The prince’s expression turned aghast. “How . . . dare you!?” He flipped the knife in his hand and thrust it towards her stomach.

Sol felt the warmth of blood coat her face. But there was no pain.

Sol opened her eyes to see a blade protruding through the neck of the prince who had been holding her. His grip softened, and he slumped to the ground. Behind him stood another, his eyes still and calm. It was Nv.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand. She took it. They ran. But not before Sol pried the knife from his cold brother’s fingers.

Together they fled across the bridge, through the corridors, down twisting stairs. They didn’t speak, but Sol felt a certain comfort in the holding of his hand. They turned a corner and entered a large bright room, the throne room of the Empress. Sol stopped and gasped, covering her mouth.

Hanging from the candle chandelier in the center of the room was none other than the Empress herself, a noose wrapped tightly around her neck. And walking around the lifeless, hanging body was Avarice, placing hundreds upon hundreds of rose petals around her. He was humming the tragedy of the perfect dark quietly, until he looked up and saw them.

“Come brother!” Exclaimed Avarice, holding up his arms. “Tis a delightful day! I have finally killed mother! We are now free from her cynical and dark rule. We are released from her grasp, to do with this world what we please!” He spun around laughing. “Splendid! Splendid!!”

Sol took a step back, then noticed a different son she had never met sleeping on the throne. He was completely naked with the exception of a single sock. One of his legs was kicked up over the side of the armrest. He was snoring loudly, and one of his arms was hanging off the side, nearly touching the floor.

“Oh Nv,” said Avarice, walking towards him. “I see you looking up at our brother asleep on the throne. Do you wish it was you? Do you believe it might . . . make you happy?” He sneered at his own words, and Sol felt Nv’s grip tighten on her own hand.
“I don’t know,” muttered Nv, looking away from Avarice. He looked back at him. “But I don’t think so.”

Something moved in the shadows, and only the flash of silver could be seen. Sol froze as Avarice’s head rolled across the ground, his blood bleeding into the color of the roses. His head rolled to a stop a few feet away, his eyes looking up at hers.
“I’ll take it,” said the severed head of Avarice.

Sol turned to face the last of the seven sons. He had a fire in his eyes as he glared at her, and held in his hand a sleek, silver sword that dripped with the blood of his brother. Sol was surprised when Nv stepped between them.

“This was Avarice’s doing, of that you must know,” said Nv cautiously. “This girl had nothing to do with mother’s death, Raythir. You must believe us.” Sol watched as Raythir eyed them, then walked towards them, the sword trembling in his right hand. Directly above him hung the dead body of the Empress.

“My poor brother,” Raythir spit. “You believe that this girl is not at fault? If she had not come here, our family would still be alive.” He shook his head. “No, I believe this is most certainly her fault. I even spent several days contemplating the situation, as I knew you would have asked of me, but my rage was only confirmed. She provoked Avarice, insulted Narcis, ignored Naps, killed Craven, laid with Lustis, and has seduced you, the quietest and softest of us all. It is for this reason that the girl must die. She has invoked a most painful wrath within me, and I must be rid of it. It must be done by my hand. I deserve to be the ruler of Kingdom, now that mother has left this place for good.”  

“This isn’t her fault,” said Nv. “Craven was the most despairing of us all. In a sense, the girl might have given him the courage to leave this place. And the painting Lustis made of her is the only one he has ever done where the girl sleeps peacefully. I have seen the stars shooting at night. There is a hope within this girl, you must feel it.” Nv looked down at his own hands. “Even I, feel different. I have killed one of my brothers, but I have saved a life as well. I have done something . . . for someone else.” He looked up at Raythir.

“My mouth doesn’t taste of ash,” Nv said, almost unbelieving of his own words.

Raythir cracked his neck. “You killed Narcis?” He spit on the ground, then lifted the sword up. “You are not fit to walk the grounds of this castle. You despicable, pathetic, bastard of a brother. I will kill you and bathe in your blood, then drown your miserable slum rat in it.”

Nv looked Sol in the eyes, then looked back at Raythir. Without turning his head, he spoke. “Run. And do not turn back.” Those were the last words she heard him say. Before she could react, Raythir was charging Nv. Everything seemed to slow down, then grow quieter.  For some strange reason, all she could hear was the sound of his violin over the clash of steel. She remembered the eyes of her mother before the fire swallowed her. She could taste the blood in her mouth.

Guards rushed into the room. Many of them froze at the horrific sight before them, but several of them rushed towards Sol. Just as they did, she watched Raythir stab Nv through the stomach. She felt her heart sink, and just as the guards were reaching out to grab her, she ran.

She ran through the same corridors she had come to know. Past her own chambers. Out into the night. Into the courtyard. Through the gates. Flashes of Nv playing his violin by the windowsill were all she could see in her mind. Tears streamed off the side of her cheeks. But still she ran. Straight into the courtyard. The same courtyard with the bell and the podium.

She slowed and walked up the stairs. Reaching the top, she came towards the rope hanging from the bell, and wrapped one of her hands around it. In her other hand she still held the knife that Narcis had tried to kill her with. The bracelets on her wrists were luminous, casting a sheen of light against the golden bell. She turned her eyes to the night above, to the perfect dark, and knew Nv to be dead.

Looking up at the stars, Sol saw a single shooting star, bright as a comet, and remembered the distant promise of the Empress from so long before, of the night when all bracelets went dark. The promise of a wish, and even though she knew herself to be a failure, she fell to her knees, and wished upon a star.

Opening her eyes, Sol lifted the knife to her throat, placed the edge against her warm skin, and pulled.

But her arm did not move. Turning around slowly, she found Nv staring back at her. He cautiously took the knife from her, and threw it to the ground before collapsing beside her. Blood coated his entire stomach, his breathing heavy and broken. The bracelets on her wrist began to brighten as the two of them sat in the dark.

“You did it,” said Nv, his voice weak. “I feel . . . full. Like playing a different kind of song . . . maybe one that could make you smile. I think . . . that would be . . . lovely.”  

Sol could hear footsteps in the dark. Looking up, she could see the figure of Raythir making his way up the stairs of the podium. In the blur of her peripherals, she thought she could see little lights making their way into the courtyard. But she was too tired to care, too sad to look. She was ready to die.

She felt Nv’s hand touch her arm for a moment, then felt a little of the weight from the rope lessen. Flashbacks of her desperately ringing the bell in the courtyard felt like distant memories, like a different reality, a different life. She felt Nv’s warmth next to hers. She wasn’t alone this time. Raythir held the tip of his blade to the back of her neck. She could feel the sharp of it piercing her skin.

She smiled softly.

Together they pulled the rope. Nv’s hand fell gently to the ground.

The sound of the bell rang loud and true, as if all of Kingdom had been turned into bells and rung at the same time. She closed her eyes and embraced Nv’s body.

It was distant and far, but she thought she could hear the sound of Raythir screaming and yelling. She felt the presence of the blade that had been poised at the back of her neck gone. The sound of violin played through her heart as she wearily opened her eyes.

Light. Warmth.

It was flooding the courtyard. Hundreds of people stood silently, each of them staring at her as she laid over her dead lover. Sol’s eyes opened wider as she saw where the light was coming from. Each of the people standing before her, every single one of them, had bracelets of light around their wrists.

One of them walked up the podium, placed what Sol knew to be Raythir’s sword down next to her, then held out his hand for her to take. But she would not take it, she would not leave Nv’s side. As she looked back at him, the bracelets on her wrists shattered into broken light that rose up toward the stars.  

A warmth could be felt from the distant horizon, and like the coming of an old friend, the sun peeked her face into existence. Sol turned to face the rising sun, then laid her head on Nv’s chest. A tear slid down her cheek, falling onto him.  

Sol felt a familiar hand touch her arm, and smiled.
   

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​Author’s Notes

First off, if you’ve made it all the way down here, I want to thank you for taking the time to read this story. It’s the first tale I’ve ever written with so much pain in it, and I think possibly the first time in my career as a writer that I was able to fully capture my own recent suffering and translate it into a story.

A long time ago I saw a movie called Memoir’s of Geisha. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. It is the story of a girl who perseveres through one of the most painful lives I’ve ever seen. But despite all the terrible things that happen to her, she still continues on, she doesn’t give up. Sometimes she feels like she will, but in the right times, and with the right influences, she pushes through.

I’ve always wanted to write a story about a girl who goes to hell and back, something with so much pain and suffering that no matter who was reading it would be forced to feel something in their heart. I believe artists are born with gifts, and those are the gifts of emotion. We can give people sadness, or pain, or anger, or happiness. We can bring inspiration, thoughtfulness, and action. I believe that artists have the tendency to remind people of their humanity. Maybe it isn’t a tendency. Maybe it is a purpose, or maybe it is just senseless paint on a canvas, or ink on a blank page.

I hope this story was able to touch you in some way. And if it did, please don’t be afraid to let me know. I love to hear the thoughts and feelings invoked within those who read my stories, or any other at that.

Also, if it’s not too much to ask, I hope you might share this story with at least one other person, someone who you believe would enjoy it.

Once again, I thank you, for letting me bare my open soul.

~ Bodhi

PS: My IG link is below. That’s the best place to reach out to me. If you don’t use it, I’ve also left an icon for my email. I would be more than happy to hear from any of you through either. Cheers.