Mia

I’m trapped in another nightmare, it's always the same. Four people; three women and one man. They're hands connected and standing in a circle; no not standing. Floating in a circle. Their eyes glowing bright purple.

Their formation was supposed to make them invincible for twenty-four hours, but it just made them an easy target.

Then it happened.

The boulder that had been floating over their heads without them realizing it suddenly plummeted toward the ground, and them…

I awoke with a start. I was covered in sweat, and was gasping for breath.

“It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.” I whispered— so that only I could hear it— to try and comfort myself. It works as much as  you can comfort yourself after almost reliving your Mum’s death.

I can’t. I can’t go back to sleep.

I feel hopeless alone when there's a soft knock at my bedroom door just before Valorie lets herself in.

“I figured you would be up.” Valorie said as she came in. She was wearing a white robe, and her short black hair was wrapped in a blue towel.

“Sorry if I woke you.” I say not looking up my covers, I don't want her to see me like this.

“Don’t apologize dear.” Valorie says, truthfully. “Why were you up?”

“I had a lot of stuff to do.” I lied.

“You had nightmares again, didn’t you. You don’t need to keep it a secret.” She said, in a sincere voice.

“Yeah I did.” I admit, not having the energy for a lie.

“I’m sorry.” She said in a sweet voice, but for some reason it made me angry. She was so sweet, and tried to help as best she could, but that didn’t make things better.

Our parents had still been killed, and it was still my fault.

Writers find audiences,

Prove they can

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I used to be scared of dogs,

Now I’m scared of the person behind,

A stray sound,

A footstep,

And my mind snaps to the worst case scenarios.

To the what if’s

What if I’m gone tomorrow,

Who would grieve,

Who would look for me,

If anyone would care.

What would happen to my book,

My room,

My stuff.

I’m scared of the before,

The during,

The after.

What comes next?

Isn't that the big question?

So I keep looking behind me,

Checking for my phone,

Hiding it from view,

As a last resort.

My mind running through what to do,

Call a friend,

Or duck into a building,

Hoping there's someone to help,

Running,

keeping distance,

Keeping my wrists far apart,

and my neck protected.

How to get out of what happens next,

Grabbing anything I can find before I leave,

A sharp hair clip,

Scissors,

Even just to walk by myself,

Always checking behind me,

Clocking those around,

Checking,

Checking,

Checking.

Never another peaceful walk,

Always watching,

Careful not to slip up.

I wish to meet the girl that is isn't scared of the dark,

Not the dark like. kid is,

Where nightlights are the answer.

The dark behind me,

The emptiness,

The abyss.

Where the answer is a thing of pepper spray,

Self defense.

I used to be scared of getting trouble in school,

Now I’m scared I’ll die there,

From a stranger,

Holding my life in their hands,

Going from a math class,

To sheltering in a corner.

To then acting like nothing happened the next day,

When the school’s incomplete,

And my peers are hurting.

This isn't normal,

But why do we normalize this?

Why do we normalize the announcements,

The 'we're here for you,'

The councilor support,

Trying to help those still standing,

Rather than cutting it off at the source.

I wish I could go back to when lock down drills were just a moment,

A chance to read.

The rare quiet in the day,

When I never actually thought about what it meant.

Back when everything was easy,

When my biggest worry was a papercut,

Or an annoying neighbor,

A homework assignment worth nothing,

When I could enjoy the moments,

The time,

The sweet gifts,

The toys I begged for,

Making some empty promises,

saying I'll do this and that.

And not worry if it’s my last words,

Or if I’ll ever see my friends again,

Or if that project I've put off will remain unfinished,

Collecting dust in the corner,

A waste of money,

A waste of space,

I wish I could just go back,

When everything was easy,

If I could have never changed,

Enjoying every thing with bliss,

The unbridled joy of kids.

Like the world was perfect.

I wish I hadn’t changed,

And gone and grown up,

Ruining everything.

Why can’t I enjoy this time,

Why can’t teens catch a break,

It’s just one thing after another.

From grades,

To stress,

To relationships,

To social media.

Why can’t society see that we're crying out for help?

Water like a dance,

Moving with a rhythm and grace,

achieved by no other.

Burning with a rage,

fire glints and gleams in the light,

Natures strongest force.

Strong, stable, and shifting

Earth, lasting eons, racing time,

Changing over time.

Air is light and sweet,

a secret strength you watch out for,

The forgotten element.

You left me standing there alone,

The rain soaking through my dress,

The regret of trusting you burning at my cheeks,

The regret of trusting you again,

How can I fall for this again?

Your dreamy act,

Pulling me in with gifts and love and false promises,

Just to leave me,

again.

Filling my heart with the poison of heartbreak,

Filling me with stinging pain,

And humiliation,

And regret.

You burned me,

Again and again,

Just to end up back together again,

Staring up the deadly cycle,

Over and over again.

So please don't send me flowers,

Just to lead me on with more lies,

Please don't send me flowers,

Just to fill me with pain,

Please don't send me flowers,

Just to leave me,

Standing alone in the rain.

“What’s all this?” Luke asks, gesturing to the mess on his desk (to which I claim no responsibility).

“Minutes,” I answer, flipping through the pages casually.

Okay, so maybe I claim some responsibility.

“What are you a secretary?” He jokes, sitting down in his chair as he takes a sip of stale coffee.

“You’re all the roles when you run your own detective agency,” I answer plainly.

He sets down his coffee with more force than needed.

“I thought I told you that was a bad idea.” Luke says, only a hint of anger seeping into his even tone.

“And yet I did it anyway,” I say, letting a dash of humor into my time just to spark his rage.

I’ve known him for a month and this has become my favorite hobby.

He was the one who found me, after the accident.

He says I was in the woods, unconscious. Although the idea of a cocky businessman wandering through the woods seems a bit…

Fabricated.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, subtly hinting to Luke.

He lets out an annoyed sound before checking his ancient watch.

“Oh,” He gasps, sounding like it took all of his ego. “I do actually.”

He leaves his mug on the desk.

Will he be back soon?

Not that I want him to, but he did choose to leave a hot liquid.

He exits the office with little ceremony, I’m already at his desk by the time the door closes.

I pull a pencil from the mess of paper on the desk, as I read through my list.

I don’t have that much to go on. While Cleese gave me a lot of information, it was scarcely useful.

The biggest one worth following being a possible lover.

But where to begin?

Investigation of Diana’s flat would require informing Cleese.

And while this will be a necessary step, I'd rather that for a later time. I’d also be lying if I say that Cleese was not a possible suspect.

For one thing, she waited a month before attempting to find her friend.

It could be nothing, or it could be everything.

…

“Name,” The receptionist asks, peering at me over her glasses. She’s in a purple dress which is pale from age, and her gray hair pinned back in rolls. All of which extenuated the frown lines framing her face.

“Lyhn Reed,” I lie.

While using a fake name was not internally necessary, what’s the fun of being a detective if you don’t use your resources.

“You’ll be on the second machine. Shadowing Ruth for the first month, followed by an evaluation of workmanship.” She drones on, handing me a small slip of paper.

Clearly, I have no intention of working here for a month, but there was no other way to gain access to the work floor.

“Through the door on the left,” She says, her eyes fixed on the girl behind me. “Next,” I hear her say as I walk through the door.

That wasn’t too hard.

I walk down the rickety stairs, to the busy floor. There are about 30 girls here, scattered around 3 different printing presses.

They’re large, taking up around ten feet with nine girls surrounding one. There’s a large roll of paper on one end, streaming through a series of gears.

It’s a massive piece of equipment, and I find it hard to picture Diana working one of these. With the way Cleese described her, it seems doubtful that she would risk ruining her outfits.

Ink would never come out, so why would she work here?

I pull out the small scrap of paper and pencil I’d hidden in the pocket of my skirt.

Oh the joys of pockets in women’s fashion, I hope they never dispose of them.

I write down a brief note.

Why here?

Was there a choice factor?

Could the Boyfriend be connected to this place?

These being an example of notes that are of use to me.

“Are you payed to take notes or to work?!” a man jabs from behind me. I turn to see a man dressed far nicer than anyone working on the floor could earn in a lifetime. With white hair peeking out from his hat.

The foreman.

An important figure to identify, he could have information about her. Although I doubt he’s a candidate for a boyfriend given his age.

Which is odd given his age and wealth. He could waste this much money on an outfit, why keep working into retirement.

Is he less rich than he appears or his greedy for more?

“Sorry, sir,” I say, hating every word. Although he’s not wrong, I need to find Ruth, apparently.

I walk over to the machine that seems to be the second, which like the others is surrounded by girls. Although one stands out, she has a swarm of other girls around and seems older.

18 or 19.

She has brown hair and skin pale from long hours of work. A stained and yellowed apron protecting a pale pink dress, both look as though they’ve been worn for years. Her tired blue eyes fixing on me.

“You new?” She asks.

I nod.

“Come here,” She gestures, tossing me an apron. “We’ll start with replication.”

…

We have a 20 minute break for lunch, all 30 girls lined up, waiting for food. I’m towards the end, next to a small girl, around 7 or so.

So far this attempt has resulted in nothing more than a soiled dress and a waste of time.

Unless, I plan on interviewing a 7 year old, nobody here would know about Diana.

Assuming she even worked here.

Ruth walks past, something hardly passable as food on her tray.

Or, maybe there is somebody.

“Ruth,” I say, just before she’s too far away.

She looks back with little interest.

“What?” She asks, seeing no need in hiding her annoyance.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, her loathing eyes now making this seem like a bad idea.

“Aren’t you all ready,” It's not a question.

“Who’s Diana Canmore?” I ask, watching her expression closely.

It remains blank.

“She worked here,” I add.

Her expression quickly changes, into one of recognition and shock. Then very very quickly confusions, her eyes locked on my face. All this before it turns back into a blank mask.

“Never heard of her.” She claims, with more conviction than she needed, before she quickly walks away.

A small smile hides in my expression at the unsaid information.

Ruth- knew her.

Withheld information.

Diana worked at the print shop.

Why?

I write with an arrow pointing to Diana’s name, this seems like less of a waste of time now.

Diana, where are you?

I stare at the photo of myself hanging from the window of a store.

Jane Dea,

Master detective.

The text and my appearance distorted by age. My blond hair depicted by ink strokes.

I take note of the intake bottom, where I provided my contact information.

No takers.

Okay.

It’s only been a couple weeks, I don’t know what I expected.

A single call would be nice.

What business do I have starting a detective business?

“You can’t even find yourself, how could you find someone else?”

Thanks Luke, what friendly advice.

I turn to leave, I should get back to work anyway.

Even I know not to quit my day job and I don’t even know my name.

Before you point it out, yeah Jane Dea.

Jane Doe.

Jane D.

A not very creative alias.

“Oh Jane,” A woman says, a surprised look on her face. It’s Cleese, she’s my…

We’re…

Acquaintances,

Yeah, acquaintances.

We work at a printing press together, hence how I was able to print posters.

Her green eyes lacking the spark of joy, the curiosity. Her normally well set curls dull and blackened with soot.

It’s impossible to wash that all out each night.

Her dress is gray, stretching down to cover her ankles, black heeled shoes peeking out from the bottom. Her puffed shoulders looking wrinkled and bare in a way i’ve never seen them before.

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

“Jane, I need your help.” She says, emotion seeping into her voice.

We’re in my office.

Well, we’re in the office Luke doesn’t know I’m using.

This is what friends are for.

A free workplace.

The place isn’t that nice. There’s a single room with over the top wallpaper peeling off the walls. An iron desk is placed int he corner, three chairs surrounding it. There’s a counter in the corner with a coffee maker on top, sending a stall aroma through the room.

“What happened?” I ask, handing her a cup of coffee.

“My flatmate, Diana, is missing.” She says.

Diana.

A flash of familiarity jolts me.

A face filling my mind, a girl with red fiery hair.

I don’t know her.

Or at least I don’t remember her.

Although I don’t remember anything.

“Jane?” Cleese says, the worry making her much paler than before.

Her voice snapping me from my spiraling thoughts.

“Huh?” I ask with an embarrassing sound.

“Are you alright?” She asks, as she were repeating herself, which I suppose she probably did.

“Yep,” I say, pulling on a sweat physique. “Quite all right, you however are clearly not.” I say pulling the conversation into comfortable area and away from my past.

Or lack there of I guess.

“When was the last time you saw, Diana?” I ask, a pause before the name. Unsure.

“She was coming from work in a rush, something sended wrong.” Cleese goes on, settling down in the creaky armchair across from my, Luke’s, desk. ”She wasn’t there for long, a few minutes tops. And she left with a large carpet bag that I’d never seen her use before, filled it to the brim too.”

Not what I asked, but the more information the better when solving a crime.

At least I hope that’s the case.

“This was about a month ago.” She says, finally.

And there it is.

“A month,” I ask, frantically writing it down a piece of paper atop the desk. “And you didn’t contact a detective before.” The perfect blend of a question and statement although only three words making it onto the page.

Didn’t contact detective.

I underline and circle it twice, a bit much I’ll give you that, but it’s important.

Important and suspicious.

“I thought that she was just on vacation with some boy or another.” Cleese goes on. “She was rather popular.”

Didn’t need that.

“Any why me?” I ask, shifting the conversation before she can continue.

Although I will say, secret boyfriend doesn’t look great for Diana.

I write this down, begrudgingly.

Secret Boyfriend!

Adding emphasis in another way, if everything’s important this should be easy.

Although if everything is important, if anything really?

“What does she look like?” I ask.

A rather important question in finding a missing, wouldn’t you say?

“She has brown hair, unnaturally dark although she claims she doesn’t dye it,” I give her a look. Wordlessly telling her to focus on the question. “And the prettiest skin, almost the same color as chocolate.”

I write down the description.

Swiftly ending the long conference, and officially taking my first case.

Jane Dae,

Master detective.

afraid,

To give the gift of laughter,

There is no shopping,

Just a sweet prize,

The the sky is the limit,

It could be thick,

Heavy,

Or smooth as butter.

Gifted in a box,

The origins of a clown gone horse.

Or a photo taken just after,

Say cheese,

And the warm voice.

Stinging together a young memory.

Built as a moment to be caught by camera,

The subjects,

Unafraid and whimsical.

Wrapped in a bow and gifted,

The sweet prize of laughter,

Of joy.

Rule #1-

Never doubt the Golden

Rule #2-

The Golden are always right

Rule # 3-

The Red are inferior

I read from the list on my mirror, just as I’ve done every morning since I learned to read. Everybody does, ever since the Oriane Empire was founded 50 years ago.

I can’t help but imagine my pale skin with golden ink gleaming across my neck, and a crown in my honey blond hair.

Those who are deemed Blue are high class, the superior. Everybody only dares to wish to be Blue, but I want something better.

The Golden rule over Oriane as a group of kings. There are currently twelve, and never before has there been a woman as a Golden.

I belong with them.

I will be the first.

“Cleo!” My brother calls from outside. Luke, the son my parents always wanted. Their favorite to say the least.

The golden child, if you will.

I unlock my bathroom door, heading into my small bedroom, ignoring my brother. The bed shoved into a corner with an overflowing desk next to it. There’s a small rack of hand-me-down clothes acting as the only decoration.

“Cleo!” he yells again.

“What?” I reply annoyed, walking over to the rack, pulling out an oversized red shirt advertising one of the only bands the Golden granted a permit.

I can hear their screaming through the thin wall between Luke and my’s rooms.

They’re not good.

“Did you fill out the entry form?” He asks through the door.

Did he seriously not do it?

You need it for the Prism.

“You need it for the Prism!” I call out.

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but he always does this with school work.

How am I twins with him?

The top student and the failing one being related is surprising, but being twins is downright embarrassing.

At least for one of us.

And yes, Luke being born seven minutes earlier than me qualifies for hand-me-down clothes.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” He tries, “You’d do anything for me.”

“Since when?” I mutter.

“Luke! Breakfast!” Mom calls from downstairs.

“Cleo. Breakfast.” I say to no one.

I sit at the couch, reading and eating a granola bar, while Luke eats french toast at the table.

“Are you ready for the Prism?” Mom asks, my head snapping up.

The Prism, the day our role in society is determined.

Every sixteen year old undergoes it on the nation’s anniversary.

“It’ll be easy.” Luke replies, his mouth full of cereal.

“This decides your future, I don’t want you throwing it away because you were cocky.” She says, the striking blue gleaming on her neck. “We can't have a Red as a son.”

Red, the ones who failed.

I will never be a Red.

I refuse.

“Honey, come here. I have a thought.” She says sweetly. Luke goes to her, still holding his plate. She whispers something in his ear, his eyes glint with shocked betrayal. A sad look settling in as he looks at me.

Worry blossoming in my gut.

“Are you really not nervous?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

How could he not be nervous?

He lets out a sigh that sounds like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

Though, more accurately, it’s a jacket he’s holding.

A Golden issued jacket.

It’s seams are painted in blue, etched along stiff black fabric.

Were in a room, awaiting the prism.

It’s small and more bare than my bedroom. The walls a dull gray, the chairs cheap metal. There are two partitions propped in opposite corners.

The only thing of note being the prism shaped chandelier, decorating the wall with rainbows.

Okay, maybe my room is actually more bland.

“You never answered my question.” I say, looking at Luke. “Are you nervous?”

He looks away.

Fine, be like that.

See if I care.

I turn and walk into one of the changing spots. There’s a large mirror leaning against the wall, and an outfit hanging from the wood. The pants a perfect match to the jacket, and the tank top a shade match to the wall.

Putting all of my nerves into pulling the shirt up, over my head.

“This is the most nerve racking thing I’ve ever done in my life.” Luke says, just as my shirt gets caught, half over my head.

“What?” I ask, as I engage in battle against my shirt.

“If I mess this up,” He lets out an exhausted sigh just as the collar slips off my head. “I mess everything up.”

“Then why act like you don’t care?” I ask, genuinely confused.

I’ve never been one to hide my feelings, wearing my heart on my sleeve ever since I was a kid.

And no this is not some attention seeking method, patented by the forgotten twin.

Oh wait…

“You wouldn't understand.” I can picture his look, a mix of his ego and his fear.

“Try me,” I mutter, pulling the tank top on, it goes on without a fight.

“They expect so much from me,” He says, sounding woeful. “I can’t mess this up.”

This stirs something in me.

Has this been an unconscious motive for me?

No, that would be far too cliche.

“Why wouldn't I understand that?” I ask, emotion finding its way into my voice.

Don’t even.

“They adore you, you're their favorite.” He says.

I laugh.

I laugh at this ridiculous lie.

Me, their favorite?

That’s ridiculous.

“Anyway, I should go,” He says.

“They hate me.” I say, changing into pants. I hear the door behind him. “You hate me.”

“All participants are bound to the rules of the Prism, all cheating will result in an immediate ranking of Red,” the proctor says. I do my best to shove all thoughts of the previous conversation from my mind.

I have to focus.

“We will begin with the physical test.” She says again. Her hard green eyes landing on me.

We’re split into three groups before they take us into a dark room one by one.

We’re all required to wear the Golden issued uniform, consisting of a jacket with blue streaks across the seams.

I enter the room, one of the first to do so.

Three glowing streaks being the only source of light.

I had no clue what to expect, they change the test every year, and I admittedly still don’t know.

“The Golden are not responsible for injuries or death,” the woman says over the loudspeaker, ominously. “Good luck.”

My nerves spike at her words.

I wonder why, I think sarcastically.

My heart is in my throat when the lights flick on. Revealing a large room, a set of Monkey bars suspended over a large pit.

It’s terrifying and surely deadly.

It’s beautiful.

Beautiful and deadly.

“You have three minutes starting now.” The voice says again. “Your future depends on this, good luck Miss Magnus.”

My heart races with her words, my eyes fixed on the gleaming rungs.

I climb up the ladder to reach, grabbing the sides to steady myself.

A startled, embarrassing, sound escapes me when my skin meets the metal.

It’s boiling hot.

Okay, this complicates matters.

My fears keep rising.

My life is staked on this,

Everything is staked on this.

I need to think this through.

Okay so what do I have? I ask myself, making a list in my mind.

A Golden issued outfit

Three minutes

And a flaming set of Monkey bars

That would be the name of my band if I had any musical talent.

An image of me in a leather jacket and teased hair fills my mind.

Wait, the jacket.

Could I use the jacket to protect myself?

Yeah that’s my best option.

I slide the jacket off, the blue seams acting as a pattern to tear along. As I do, my eyes fall to the clock.

Two minutes left.

Where has the time gone?

I frantically wrap the destroyed sleeve around my palm. Pulling the jacket back on, it could still be useful.

I climb up the ladder again, having taken over half the time to end up at the same spot.

I have to hurry.

I grab onto the first rung, digging my teeth into my cheek to stifle a groan.

The pain will all be worth it when I’m in a crown.

I skip the second rung as the clock ticks down.

“60 seconds, 59,” The proctor says from the safety of another room.

Seriously!?

I skip another rung, only three left.

“46, 45,” The lights shine red.

This can’t be good.

I grab the next rung, not having enough time to ponder the meaning of the red lights.

It’s probably nothing.

I grab the next rung, just as I do it slides free. Swinging to the right as my hands slip off.

NO!! Definitely not nothing!

I’m so close.

I desperately flail my arms out, hooking onto the vertical support.

A shout of pain escapes me as my bare flesh sears.

“25, 24.”

Not helpful!

I’m at the end, I just need to escape this deathtrap.

First, I have to turn around so I’m facing the platform.

“20,19.”

I swear she’s skipping numbers.

My heart speeds up as the time ticks down.

“13,” I put my foot on the ladder. “12,”

I spin around grabbing for the other side, my forearm burning.

“The Golden are not responsible for injury or death.”

Yeah, that makes sense now.

“6, 5.”

No!

The lights dim to black.

No, No, No…

My heart picks up to a pace I didn’t think possible.

“3.”

I jump into the inky darkness, falling to my knees when I hit the ground.

“Physical challenge.” She pauses. “Pass.”

I stumble to answer questions about Oriane’s history in the written portion of the test, bandages wrapped around my arm and hands, the stinging fading in and out.

The rest of my group has finished with the physical challenge, all with varying degrees of injury. Luke has a large burn across his face, I don’t even know how he did it.

Nor do I know why he’s avoiding my eyes.

“Pencils down,” the woman says just after I mark my final answer.

It was easier than I’d expected.

She pulls out a device.

“We shall begin grading,” she says, walking over to me in the front row.

My heart picks up.

She holds the familiar machine by the handle. It’s small with a camera at the bottom and a sensor at the top.

It’s an automatic grader.

She lines up the lens with my paper, her expression giving nothing away.

She grabs my hand roughly, bringing it close to the machine before she pricks my thumb on the needle.

Sixteen years of this, and I still can’t look at it.

She flicks her hair back, revealing the metallic blue.

The goal.

She reads the screen carefully before speaking.

“Cleo Magnus, it’s been determined.” She pauses before running the device across my neck, marking me.

My heart beats wildly.

This is it.

“You are a Red.”

My heart drops.

Red-

In a group of 30 people, 4 people were Red, 25 were Blue, and 1 was Golden.

Guess who it was.

“My baby, a Golden,” Mom says, hugging Luke, sending bile into my heart. “We knew you could do it.”

I dig my fingernails into my skin.

They’ve been like this all day.

I can’t deal with it any longer.

“I’m getting some air,” I say while standing up.

“Have fun, Clementine.” My dad says not looking up.

Cleo, it’s always been Cleo.

I close the door behind me, their full attention on Luke again.

I sit on the small railing of our porch. A small tree and a few rose bushes being the only real things about this place.

This can’t be real.

I’m meant to be the Golden one, the Golden shouldn’t make mistakes.

“Tough luck,” a voice says from next to me.

I almost fall off the railing in fright.

Who would scare someone who is clearly wallowing while sitting on a thin railing?

I look and see Ronan, the neighbor I’ve known all my life. His hair is hidden in a black beanie, his collar high to disguise the color ranking, no doubt intentional.

My heart would be skipping beats in front of Ronan had I not been so miserable.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, slipping over the railing separating our houses, “you were screwed from the beginning.”

“What? No, the test is always right,” I say, no doubt in my voice. “Rule #1 - the Golden are always right.”

“They're frauds,” he says, leaning against the pillar. He sounds so casual like we’re talking about the weather.

“Rule #2 - Never doubt the Golden,” I say, frantic.

“You still believe them?” he sounds genuinely shocked.

“Don’t you?”

How could I not?

“I was trying to comfort you, but I guess you’d rather believe their lies.” He walks off through the gap in the fence, of which we’d both ignored until now.

I don’t want him to go (whether from curiosity or his strangely attractive bad-boy vibe, I’ll never say).

“Wait,” I say, standing up by habit. I fall to the ground when my feet only meet air.

An embarrassing sound escapes me as I fall into the bush.

“Cleo,” he sounds the closest to worried I’ve ever seen him as he pulls me from the bushes. My already burned arm scrapes across leaves, making it sting like heck. “That looks painful.”

“A bit.” I say, not wanting to admit the amount of pain I’m in.

“Why don’t we talk inside, unless you want to fall into the tree too,” he jokes, gently leading me inside.

My skin aflame where he touches.

I struggle to wrap my mind around his words.

It contradicts everything I’ve ever been told.

“So let me get this straight, to become a Golden, your DNA has to fit a certain criteria?” He nods, just as another thought crosses my mind. “Then how are Reds selected?”

He smiles like this is fascinating to him as my world falls apart.

“They get 100 percent on the exam. Their intelligence scares the Golden, they could see through the lies. Well I guess not,” His eyes fall on the mark, my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “They’re hoping the population discredits their words, given that they’re “inferior”.”

I take in a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

So, I did it.

I got 100.

Little did I know, it sealed my fate.

“What about the Blues?” I ask, wrapping a shirt from the floors around my hands. The messy surroundings of Ronan’s room doing nothing to calm my nerves.

“I wore that last week,” he says, leaning back in his chair casually.

I stifle a gasp as I throw the shirt to the floor, trying to pretend like I had no interest in keeping it under my pillow for years to come.

“Anyway,” he leans back in the desk chair, “the Blue are the only people the Golden actually rule. That’s why they are the largest.”

“What could we even do?” I ask, a sinking hopelessness fueling me.

He smirks wickedly.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“God no,” I mutter to my reflection. The girl dressed in a pink dress with silver earrings cannot be Cleo Magnus.

And the girl referring to herself in the third person can’t be me.

I’d never worn a dress before, it was my mothers.

She thought it was worth me getting dressed up for Luke’s coronation.

It should be me on the throne.

I hate the lies they’ve told us. I hate the Red on my neck, the mark of my dream and naivete.

And I hate that because I’m a sixteen year old girl, this all sounds petty.

“Cleo!” Luke calls from downstairs, for some reason it angers me.

“I’m coming!” I call back.

It’ll all be over soon, for tonight we reveal the lies.

The event’s crowded with people, all shoved into a large gallery. Even with the large skylight and high ceiling, I feel trapped.

The Golden’s divided the room into four parts. The Golden sitting high and entitled on the stage. In a small area sits my parents, the family of the rising Golden on display.

It angers me that I couldn’t be there. Reds have to sit separately on the balcony, displaying us like examples.

Like a warning.

Leaving the rest of the large hall for the Blue.

The doting followers.

The sight angers me more.

They lied to us about everything.

“Today we are honored to have a new member rise to our pristine ranks,” one of the Golden says.

He has honey blonde hair, a perfect color match to mine. He carries himself with such confidence like he can do no wrong.

He looks like an older version of Luke.

“To be a Golden, your DNA must match a set of criteria,” I remember.

Oh my God, how did I not think of this before?

We’re twins, our DNA is almost identical. The main difference being chromosomes.

You really are naive.

The answers’ obvious as I stare at the rulers.

They’re all men.

I never had a chance to begin with.

“The divine, Luke Magnus.” The Golden says, his face shining with a false smile.

Luke walks toward him, dressed in a new suit, a nervous smile on his face.

“We are honored to welcome you into our ranks,” he continues.

He loves hearing himself talk.

“However,” he pauses, the Blues hanging on to every word. “We are short one thing, or rather one person.”

A ripple of gasps from the Blues.

I missed that.

“Ronan,” he calls out.

What?

It can’t be him, it must be someone else.

The lost Golden enters, holding a gold crown.

It’s him.

His hat is gone, revealing the same long blonde hair. His choker is gone, no longer hiding the gold mark.

Ronan, he’s a Golden.

Golden-

The traitor,

Was he lying this whole time?

Was any of this real?

God I’m so clueless.

I want to get out of this place desperately.

I want them to hurry up and crown Luke, ending my public humiliation.

“Before Luke’s welcomed into our ranks, we will take a brief break. It is a tradition.”

How convenient. I think bitterly.

I rush from my seat immediately, heading downstairs.

I want to go outside, get some fresh air, when somebody grabs my wrist.

“Cleo.” It’s Luke.

My anger builds inside me. All I want to do is escape him, escape this place. But when I see his expression, my anger melts away.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need your help.”

Magnus-

I’ve dreamed of this day my whole life.

My destiny.

I kneel before the Kingdom of Oraine. Faces staring at me with enjoyment. A sea of Blues and Reds.

“Luke Magnus,” the Golden continues.

My heart swells.

“I declare you.” He pauses. Ronan places a sturdy gold crown on my head.

Even he can’t ruin this.

“King of Oraine.” It’s just as I imagined, only they would say my name,

Cleo Magnus.

A Few Minutes Earlier. . .

“You sure about this?” I ask him through the mirror.

He swallows, his eyes locked on the gold mark.

“Yeah,” he pauses, “I never wanted this life.”

His eyes lock on me.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says.

“I want to, this was my dream.” I smile for the first time in awhile. “Well, sort of.”

He laughs, relief flooding his features, before the stress comes back in waves.

“They told me the truth, you know.” He looks guilty like he was the one lying to a whole kingdom. “You don’t deserve to be a red.”

He buries his face in his hands, ashamed.

I smile. I’ve wanted to hear those words from my family since the Prism.

My brother was always there for me, even if my parents weren’t.

“Did you mean what you said?” I ask, my voice betraying me. “Before the prism.”

“I don’t know.” He admits. “I was angry, I thought they were lying about the prism being rigged. I was hoping that they made it up to mess with me. I know it sounds stupid.”

He looks down, defeated.

The confusion fades, leaving behind a strange confirmation and hurt in my heart.

“I can change it,” I promise, my hand going to his shoulder in a way I hope to be comforting.

This eases his worries as he uncovers his face.

“Would citizens kindly return to their seats,” an announcer says.

“It’s now or never.” I say.

He pauses before he picks up the scissors, cutting my long hair to match his.

The Golden have lied to us, but I will change the world.

The people deserve the truth.

That’s what they’ll get.

All hail the first queen of Oranine, Cleo Magnus.

RULE #1 -

The Golder have lied.

RULE #2 -

The Prism is rigged,

RULE #3 -

The Red are superior.

I stare at my team,

My friends,

My enemies.

Remember who your friends are.

I am.

Ruby’s glistening gem,

Decorating her wrist.

Oscar and the smile hiding in his eyes,

The clank of his cane.

And Adrian,

There’s always Adrian.

He smiles when he sees me,

Lighting up his whole face.

To him I’m not Insomnia,

Not Nightmare,

Just Nova.