Here's a pretentious story I wrote at 1 am...

Celosia stared at her reflection, cursing the crown upon her blonde hair. The invincible queen, the first and probably the last of Orlaith’s female monarchs devoted her life to thwarting war between kingdoms. Yet, here she was, struggling to maintain peace between people of her own. 

      She sighed and pushed open the giant door to her room. Two guards accompanied her as she walked to the throne room. Her purple cape dragged behind her providing the perfect contrast to the pristine yellow gown wrapping her body. Gold jewelry complemented her gilded crown. The deep blue jewels inlaid in them corresponded with her serene eyes. Celosia held her head high.

    Heads turned and murmurs aroused as she entered the humungous throne room. She paid no heed to them as she sat on her throne. She looked around, ignoring the eyes of the insolent crowd, and scanned for familiar faces. 

   Celosia quickly caught sight of her best friend. Valda’s black hair and bold demeanor were hard to miss. She wore a black velvet dress with blood-red jewelry. Her dark brown eyes glinted with concern and warning. A warning to rip apart anyone who laid a finger on Celosia. Celosia gave Valda a reassuring smile before turning to the black-clad boy beside her. 

  Don’t worry. Cal’s thoughts radiated in his comforting expression. Though Celosia usually found her brother to be painfully annoying, today, he was being sweet. She could tell he was worried about her.

    So was Sorin. Her eyes met that of the beautiful brown boy who had been watching her intently the whole time. He blushed. A smile crept up her face, almost instinctively. 

    “Your highness,” Minister Jin notified. “There are some influential attendees demanding court with you today.  

   The attendees introduced themselves as representatives of the protestors emerging in numerous parts of Orlaith. They’d traveled far and wide to ensure that she would banish the ‘paranormal evils plaguing the universe’ from their kingdom. 

They claimed to be threatened by the sudden emergence of a magical population capable of destruction beyond imagination. 

     “For centuries, they have hidden among us, never even once revealing a hint of abnormality. They are masters of trickery and weavers of falsehood.” One of the attendees was a silver-tongued politician. “Who knows what sins they have committed under the shadows of normalcy? Who knows of their intentions?” 

“Queen Celosia, we insist, it would be in Orlaith’s best interests to banish the magical beings,” Another attendee added. 

“Magical or not, they are my subjects,” Celosia tried to argue. “A hasty decision taken under fear such as this could forever ruin their fates. And I am not willing to do so.”

“But your majesty, they are crowding our borders, forming rebellious groups, and the threat of an attack looms at our heads,”

“They are merely protecting their interests, rising in peaceful rebellion, like any of you would do under threat to your existence.” 

“Queen Celosia, they are—”

“Court dismissed.” Celosia rose from her throne. “I shall hear no more of this until the court reaches a final decision.” 

***

Two days later, Celosia sat in bed, flipping through pictures of her long-separated family. Her grandmother and grandfather, victims of a dark time in history, had endured the tests of time after being banished from their homeland, Viedra, during an ethnic cleansing seventy years ago. They had come as refugees to Orlaith and left as rulers. 

Celosia shut the album and glanced out her balcony, trying to suppress her worries. 

Swishshsh. 

Clang. 

Wisps of terror roamed her heart as she bent down with shaky legs and looked at the shards of a dagger blade littered on her carpet. It had taken her merely a moment and absolutely no thought to shatter it with just the power of her mind. 

She scanned beneath the balcony for the attacker whose hands had once clutched the dagger. There was no sign of the assassin.

She sighed and glanced down. Her eyes caught at her disheveled reflection on the broken dagger blade.

She gasped. 

Frosty wings sprouted behind her, bright and glinting in the sunlight. They were unavailing and unwelcome, like the ancient secret that chipped at Celosia’s mind, threatening to reveal itself. 

    For decades, her grandparent roamed around with their fellow refugees searching for a home. Finally landing upon Orlaith, they merged with the magicless humans and buried the last of their magic. Magicians had always been a minority in most of the world’s nations. They’d always been victims of crime and cruelty. They’d been exiled from their homeland, traumatized for generations. Afraid of another genocide, of another kingdom blinded by pride and prejudice, they buried their identities.  

       Eventually, minorities masquerading as members of the majority rose through the ranks of society. Her father secured the throne of Orlaith. Always hidden, forced to be ashamed, and afraid of his identity, her father never revealed his magic. She didn’t either. And their subjects remained in the dark for years to come. 

But maybe it was time for a change.

A rebellious thought crept up her mind. 

She attempted to flap her wings. The glass-like frost coating them refused to budge. When wings remained unused for too long, they tended to form frost. She had never used her wings after the age of ten. Children required practice, or they would be confused between flying and walking. Celosia had practiced in secret. So had the rest of the magicians. As a rule, they never opened their wings after maturity so as not to endanger their community. 

She flapped them again and scoffed. What use were wings when they couldn’t fly? When they bring death and destruction rather than flight and freedom? 

Thud.Thud. 

Someone knocked on her door. With a jolt, Celosia hid her wings. They vaporized into a fog, into tendrils of existence that existed only inside her. 

Valda strutted into the room, followed by Cal and his pesky swagger. 

“Goodmorning,” Celosia mumbled, “What happened? You’re very early.”

“We’re here to finalize some important decisions,” Valda was in no mood to exchange pleasantries, “As your very loyal advisor—”

“And extremely loving brother—” 

“—We have taken it upon ourselves to assure the smooth running of our kingdom and your life,” Valda completed.

“Ok…And?” 

“I think its apt,” Cal informed, “that we accompany you to today’s inspection.”

“What inspection?”

“The one we just organized,” Cal glanced at Valda. 

“We think you should observe the conditions of our kingdom amidst the brimming interracial war,” Valda explained. “Today, we’ll cover the centers of revolt like Ardra and Marlowe. The guards, the minister, and the priest will accompany us.”

“What about..” Celosia began.

“Of course, Sorin will come as well,” Valda winked. 

Celosia blushed.

Cal looked between the two, confused.

***

Sorin followed the footprints to a black gate hidden behind the extravagant neighborhood, leaving the others behind in his discreet attempt to find out what the anti-magicians were hiding from the inspection.  

After a long struggle, he managed to crack the wrought iron lock and pushed the gate. He cringed as the gate creaked open. 

Behind the gate, he could see the beginning of an inconspicuous pathway that led to a darker alley. His heart thudded against his chest as he stepped forward. He could sense something wrong, like the foul smell of rust hanging in the air. 

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. 

His heart beat harder with each footstep. 

Thud.

Sorin’s heart leaped to his throat as a hand clutched his shoulder. 

***

A muffled scream echoed in Celosia’s ears. Fear pounded at her heart. She tried to shrug it away, deciding it was her imagination playing tricks. Then shuddered as a terrifying image flickered through her mind. 

Something let loose inside her. Like a feral animal free from its shackles, she sprinted aimlessly to wherever her intuition led. She suppressed the whispers and shouts of everyone around, trusting only her gut. 

Celosia didn’t remember when or how she pushed through a black gate and entered a darker alley. Nor when the dark-eyed girl and blue-eyed boy had followed her. Only that she had to find the boy from the image—had to find Sorin. 

But protestors blocked her way, holding daggers and swords, shouting empty threats. The next moment was a blur.

Pain struck her head as something smashed into her skull. The floor rushed closer as two familiar voices shouted her name in concern. 

***

Sorin woke up in a sealed, dark room. Dim streaks of sunlight entered through the only window, outlining a distant figure opposite him. 

His heart lurched as the figure lay limp. Blood and mud covered her beautiful face. Celosia was bonded and shackled to the wall.  

He attempted to call her. But all he could sense was the taste of blood on his tongue. His own body, he realized, was stiff and sweaty, his forehead bleeding like Celosias. 

“Sorin?” A croaky voice whispered somewhere nearby.

“Cal..” The word took too much effort. 

“We need to escape.” Cal rasped.

Sorin could hear the scratching of metal as Cal pulled at his shackles. It didn’t break. But the sound woke up a figure Sorin realized was Valda.

Celosia still didn’t move. 

Despair hit Sorin like a pang. Reality kicked in as his mind raised through a million doubts. 

The three of them sat in silence, Cal and Valda glancing at each other as Sorin blinked at Celosia’s blank face. None of them addressed the obvious panic at hand. 

Slam. 

Suddenly the door burst open. 

***

Light poured in, blinding Celosia as she opened her eyes. A tall woman emerged with the man she recognized as the leader of the protests against magicians. 

She observed her surroundings. Several blood-stained bodies shackled to the wall crowded the humungous room. Some of them were unconscious. Three of them were familiar. 

None of them struggled as the hateful protesters lined them up and out of the room. 

Frost-coated wings sprouted behind all the captives except for three. Knives in hand, the captures walked towards a magician. 

Screams echoed, and a mixture of blood and frost splashed the air. Celosia’s face twisted with horror as the capture slashed his wings off. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling queasy, and looked away. 

Soon, all the magicians were wingless, except one. Celosia thanked the lords— and kept her wings hidden, like her identity.

Then, the shackled prisoners were sent somewhere far away. She didn’t know where or how. They were all blindfolded.

When the darkness finally lifted, she found herself facing a cliff.  

One of the protesters pushed a magician forward. 

“Jump.” He said. 

The magician looked down the cliff and stared back at the protester, eyes stricken with horror. 

“JUMP.” The protestor repeated. 

Celosia stared at all of the protesters. Their faces were ruthless and stone-cold as they pushed hundreds of innocent magicians to death in the name of patriotism. Shame burned her face as she realized these were her subjects. This was her fate. To stand here helplessly and watch. To be killed for her identity. 

“NO!” Cal screamed as the hopeless magician plunged down the cliff. 

The next moment was a blur. Celosia wriggled through the grasp of her captures and lunged forward. Sorin and Valda rushed behind. Gasps and shouts echoed. 

The next thing she knew, Celosia was falling. 

Falling.

Falling.

Falling. 

She gasped for breath as reality sunk in. Her eyes watered, and her lungs burned. 

The cold stung her face as splinters of ice surrounded her. Inaudible murmurs echoed from somewhere above as the realization dawned on her subjects. Queen Celosia was a magician. 

Celosia stared ahead at the falling body of the old magician who’d sprung down the cliff. 

Visions of death and destruction flooded her mind. Cut-off wings. Hidden identities. Lost empires. Forgotten pasts. Cruel presents. 

Enough. 

She decided. 

Never again would she stand and watch as the blood of her people spilled. 

She flapped her wings. Again and again and again, until her muscles burned and frost clung to her disheveled body. 

Flap. 

Flap. 

Her wings moved gracefully in the air. They were huge. 

Soon, she was floating—moving—with the wind’s speed towards the falling magician and wrapped her arms around him.

She rose above the cliff. Higher and higher, her mighty wings flapping behind. 

The crowd beneath stared in awe and contempt. Arrows raced towards her. She shattered them all and moved to the ground. The magician’s limp body lay unconscious in her hand as she strode forward. Stunned and speechless, the crowd parted ways for her to walk. 

Clang. 

She turned behind to see a shattering dagger. But it was not her this time, it was Cal, wings out and arms raised. 

Murmurs rippled through the crowd again. 

Celosia turned around and walked forward, the magician in her hands. Arrows showered her from behind. But none touched her skin. For magicians stood behind her, forming a wall. Arms raised and eyes blazing, they stood as still as stone, power radiating from within their figures. 

Celosia stormed forward, not turning behind, trusting her subjects— her pack. Valda and Sorin walked beside her, determination masking their faces, reminding her that not all strangers were enemies. Somewhere behind her, magicless subjects were fighting for the magicians. They were her people. Not the ruthless protestors. Her people united for the cause of good.  

Against every anti-magician stood a supporter. Against every villain stood a hero. Her people stood as one against the bigots. 

War raged behind her. Endless and ever-powerful. 

But she wasn’t going to give up. Nor were her people. 

Today, in the wake of destruction, they had made a silent pact among themselves. To never give up. To heal and to overcome. 

Never again would they watch as monsters erased their names from the pages of history. Never again would they stand in silence. Never again.