text: If I were to die at this very moment, life would move on as if I never existed. Sometimes I question if I’m already dead, people look at me as if I’m a ghost anyway. I am the next and only heir to the crown, even though most don’t know I exist. I haven’t left the castle since I was a little girl and I stopped talking at all a few months ago. My mother died when I was a child, we were never close but my father and I were even farther. When he realized I was going to be the only heir to be born in his lifetime he decided it was only appropriate to “keep me safe.” I wasn’t allowed outside, I couldn’t walk the grounds of the property alone and all my food intake was monitored. My head was being held underwater with no possible way to breathe, I had no other choice but to drown. After a while I grew familiar with this life, content even. Then it happened, they started preparing me. My father now weak and sickly lay in bed and gaze into my eyes, they’re empty. You think at this moment he would show compassion, be honest, tells me he’s sorry, but he doesn't. He grips my hand tight enough to turn it white and I hold back a wince, “The time has come,” he says, monotone and feeble. He gazes at me expectantly, but I suck in a breath and turn my gaze towards the window, there’s a songbird sitting on the edge. I let my mind wander for I do not wish to be here. I wonder how far it’s flown, I wonder if it has a family, I wonder if it’s scared of people and if its call is beautiful. My father shifts his gaze towards the window, and as if the bird could sense it, it flew away as fast as it came. He speaks up again, “You have been prepared for this, I will be stepping down as the king in due time, and you will take my place.” Every word spoken he grips my hand tighter and tighter, I refuse to let him know it hurts. I feel many things, anger, sadness, resentment; but this feeling was new. I am panicking. I can’t breathe and I need air, I can’t keep breathing in the same air, I need more. I crave more than this life that’s been forcefully given to me. I abruptly stand up, still, not haven spoke a single word. I’m escorted out of the room and taken to mine; I stare intensely at the window. I shift my gaze past and look at the clearing of trees seen above the city walls. It’s lush and beautiful, and the air is probably so fresh. My body knows whats it’s doing before my mind, and I move towards the window. I trace my finger along the rough stone; it’s cold and damp to the touch and it sends a chill down my spine. There is no hope without some risk involved and all I can do is hope. I hope for a new beginning; I hope for a place to belong, and I hope for comfort. I make my decision and by nightfall, I’m roaming the quiet city for the first time in almost 16 years. I walk by a bar, and I hear laughter inside, I can smell the aroma of beer and bread and I almost walk right in. The streets feel as if they’re stretching miles, I slowly lift my arms and a breeze flows under and my mind wanders back to the bird. I yearn to know if it has ambitions if it has dreams if birds can feel. I wonder if it knows how lucky it is, how freeing of a life it truly has. I softly smile to myself when another gust of wind blows up my coat, I imagine it as my feathers. By the time the outer gates come into view, I begin to register what I did. I left. and I left when they needed me. They’re going to look for me. I can’t stay in the town or go to any of our neighboring towns. I reach the wall and lay my hand upon it, it’s cold and damp and I’m reminded of the windowsill and of the forest. Logically it’s the only place that I can go. No man has ever survived long enough to come back and speak of his journey, though with that in mind I would rather die there than live the life I have planned out for me. I step outside the walls for the first time in my life, and with my head turned up towards the sky, the air feeling thick and the smell of fresh rain in my nose I breathe in. It’s long and deep, and I’m out of breath when I finish. Laughter bubbles out of me and my hands go up to the sky as if hoping it would allow me to fly. My feet wander to the start of the trail into the forest. There’s a sign that’s been clumsily hammered into the ground as if they didn’t want to linger here for longer than they had to. The sign reads, “DANGER! DO NOT ADVANCE!” My eyes seem to scan the words over and over and without hesitation, I begin walking. It’s quiet, almost eerily so. The leaves and twigs on the ground splinter and crunch under the weight of my feet. My hands are grasped tightly around myself seeking some comfort, any kind of familiarity. My eyes seem to trace the trees, and everything suddenly feels sinister, they seem to tower over me and obstruct all moonlight that should be shining through. I begin to grow emotional which I didn’t know was possible after all these years. My face blotchy and red, I frantically wipe my tears away. I always thought I was an ugly crier, though isn’t everyone? Through my blurry vision, I spot a small pond and as I get closer my ears are no longer filled with silence but the croaking of bullfrogs. I’ve only ever read about them, but they’re about as beautiful as you would imagine. I crouch down and right at the base of my feet lies a rather large frog. My movement must have scarred him as he jumps away when I move towards him kicking muddy water up into my face. My tears are gone and I laugh, I am alive. I have survived up until this point, counting down the hours until I could go to bed and repeat the same day over and over again. I will never live the same day twice past this point. Every wake will be a new start, a new life, a new chance at happiness. By the time I collect myself and start walking down the trail once again I spot a run-down house that looks almost abandoned. My pace quickens when I realize how much time has passed, the sun will begin to rise soon and I need shelter before that can happen. As I grow closer to the house, I see a clothesline hanging up with an array of sheets and black garments drying, glancing at the garden I see a wide range of herbs and spices, and the house is illuminated by candlelight from inside. I advance to the entrance, and I can hear pots clacking inside, I take a deep breath and slowly raise my hand to the old rotting door, my knuckles softly pound against it. Everything stills and I suddenly feel cold, the forest is perfectly silent again. The door opens a crack, and I can see the eye of an old, elderly woman, her wrinkles especially accentuated around her eyes as if she smiles too much. We stare at each other silently until she speaks up “What are your intentions?” she says slow and careful her voice breaking halfway through. It sounds as if she hasn’t spoken in years. I clear my throat and tilt my head down, speaking for the first time in a long time “I seek shelter and a way to leave my past life, I don’t mean any harm, I swear” I grow quieter as I speak. Her eyes visibly soften and they look kinder, “I know that feeling well, you may come in.” The door is opened all the way and I can gaze into the house. What looked like a small one-room cottage from the outside is now a large and cluttered home, bookshelves and potion bottles line the walls and I come to realize she’s a witch. She walks right over to a table on the verge of toppling over, piled high with everything you can imagine. I’ve never had these many worldly possessions in my life. I glance around in wonderment, and she watches me with a soft gaze, “What troubles you, child?” I can sense no malice behind her words and my troubles still lie heavy on my soul. Would it be okay if I told her? I feel like a child when I shrug my shoulders and attempt to shrink myself down, she gestures to the chair at one of the tables and I slowly sit. The cabinet is opened, and she’s studying an array of herb mixtures. I don’t pay any mind to the contents because I’m sure none of the names would ring a bell. I hear water boiling and I question when it was started in the first place. I’m silent as she opens one of the jars and pours it into a cup and then fills the rest with the water. She walks slowly back to me as she stirs it and places it in front of me. I hesitate and anxiously peer down, “What is it?” I mutter, fear evident in my voice. She smiles wide and gives a hearty laugh, “Oh dear, you think that low of me? It’s tea!” She ends her sentence by gesturing to the mug and bringing her cupped hands up to her mouth to signify drinking. My hands shake as I take the cup and bring it up to my lips. I stare at her as I take a sip, the powerful flavor of chai tea washes over me and I calm down. She runs her hand through her hair, and it somehow becomes messier, “Is it good?” she asks genuinely. I smile and whisper my answer, “Yes, thank you.” A comfortable silence follows, and she asks her question again, “What troubles you?” I straighten myself out and start talking, like really talking, “I need to get away from my father and never be recognized again,” I say frantically, “I’m trapped, I want to be free. I feel as if I could never live a normal life in this body” Her gaze lingers on me for longer than what I feel comfortable with, “Do you want another one?” she asks in a slow voice. I tilt my head in confusion, “Another what?” I say, confused and frustrated. She laughs slightly, and the room feels lighter and warm, I feel safe, “Why another body of course!” I reel back and grip my cup tighter, now the hot tea being lukewarm, “You can do that?” She taps her head with a single finger and says “I can do anything, but it always comes at a cost, that’s just how these things work” A sense of panic rises in me, “And what would that cost be?” I prepare for the worst but I am pleasantly surprised, “Well, you’d lose your beauty and youth. Are you willing to pay that price?” Without a doubt in my mind, I say fast and clear, “Absolutely” Looking in the mirror still feels foreign, but not bad, I no longer have my father’s eyes and that makes me smile. I’m old and hunched over, with the same messy grey hair that the witch has but thinner. I walk outside into the garden where she works surrounded by lush flowers and plenty of vegetables, she doesn't glance at me when I walk over, “So, how do you feel?” The voice that comes out of me is unrecognizable and scratchy, “I feel great.” I say with a wide smile, and I realize I’m missing a few teeth. I wander around the grass clearing and I see it, a songbird. My eyes widen and my old wrinkled skin moves with it, it’s really here, all the way in the forest, and it’s singing so loud and clear. It’s so beautiful. I’m free, nobody can hurt me here or in this form. I must’ve been there for a while watching the birds come and go as I feel a thin hand on my shoulder, I turn my head and those kind eyes look back at me. Before she can speak I ask her something I’ve been wondering, “Do you think I’ll ever live how I want? Free and happy? Will I grow?” She looks thoughtful for a moment and looks up to the sky, “The flowers grow back even after they’ve been trampled on, every season they have grown back without me replanting them” Her gaze shifts to meet my eyes “They always grow back and so will you”