That was the first word, the last name, that fell from her mouth as the bright light engulfed her and all she was.
Kida couldn't remember much, but it all was painfully reminiscent of that fateful night when her mother was wrenched from her grasp. A mirror image. The sky had gone dark, shouting, screaming, running.... Her father wildly grasping for her. Yet this time, this time, he could not shield her from this reckoning.
With the cries of her people below, Kida writhed around numbly, eyes wide open, filled to the brim with a spirit not her own. They would only cease after she was consumed, a final offering, a sacrifice for their freedom, and had Kida had her wits about her at that moment, she wouldn't have changed her fate for the world.
But that's not how the story e n d s.
Kida was not consumed, although all her people saw of her again was a brilliant blue light, with her, the candle, burning brightly in the middle. But in a blaze of light, she was g o n e ? Dead?
No. Vanquished, but not gone. Not dead.
The sacrificed princess awoke, believing herself to be dead, having advanced to some ethereal place. She pressed her eyelids closed, palms facing the sun, waiting for a purer light to consume her.
"Merde. Qui est cette salôpe?!"
She was wrenched from her illusion all of a sudden, eyes fluttering open in shock, looking up to see a man garbed almost head to toe in metal. To say she was nonplussed, disoriented, & and hopelessly confused was a dreadfully minimal understatement. Why was he speaking French? Where was she? Was this some punishment; had she done w r o n g ?
The man grabbed her wrists forcefully, pulling her to her feet. His stale, hot breath diffused in the short space between their faces, as he leered at her, looking her up and down, taking in her tattoos and sheer lack of clothing. Her nostrils flared as she looked up at him, her body filling with a righteous fury.
"Antoine, imbécile! Ici! J'ai trouvè une autre chie—"
Kida swiftly punched the man in the nose, making use of one of the few open orifices available to attack. As he reeled away, screaming in pain, she sprinted off in the opposite direction, wherever she was.
She had no time to take in her surroundings when she was accosted by that buffoon, and now she was completely lost, confused, and…afraid.
Blindly sprinting into an alleyway, with Antoine and probably his injured and irate partner on her heels, she almost ran headfirst into a woman, who looked remarkably, almost achingly similar to her, her mother, her people, even, alas, without the shock of lily-white hair. Kida looked to her, blue eyes wide with desperation, blurting out the first words of French that came to her.
” Please, please can you h e l p me? They’re after me, I— ”
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