It’s not often someone lets me out of my gilded cage. It’s even rarer that I get to leave the room. The lean, thin-faced woman others call a ‘nanny’ lifts me into her arms and carries me out. Two younger women dressed in similar, somber colors follow right behind us.

I try to sort them out in my mind: Grey. White. Black.

I don’t particularly like any of them. I think there was once another woman I liked better; however, the memory I have of her faded long ago. The pained, tired smile that welcomed me into the world was fast replaced by mostly stoic faces and a sterile touch.

The arms around me draw tighter as I wriggle in my new gown. It’s pretty, but it itches… No, the only thing I really don’t like is that I can’t communicate with these people. Despite their best attempts to listen, it’s usually a hassle. The nanny turns her head to speak to one of the other women and I notice the pale ivories trapped within her mouth. If I had a set of those, maybe talking would be easier.

When I reach out to inspect them, a much larger hand covers my own. The nanny chides me in a flat voice, “No, Your Highness.”

I scowl, again squirming at the feel of the uncomfortable fabric. I don’t get another chance to protest before the stark glare of morning light washes over me—far brighter than the thin sliver that pierces through the nursery window. My eyes squeeze shut.

By the time I’ve opened them again, we’ve reached a small crowd gathered just outside of the only place I’ve ever heard called ‘home.’ The women washed in greys have stepped away from us, with towering men in matching, decorated clothes taking their place at our side. Light reflects from their buttons and the flat, metal rods strapped to their hips. What they wear doesn’t look much more comfortable than what I’m wearing, but I’d be lying if I told myself it wasn’t dazzling. The shiny pieces always catch my attention.

There’s not too much I’ve seen of the outside. Blue: The endless ceiling I rarely gaze under. Green: The odd carpet stretched along either side of the hard, wide path ahead. Grey: The distant walls that keep me from gazing any further beyond this small world of mine.

Gold and white: The matching, luxurious boxes with large wheels and even larger beasts strapped to the front of them. The beasts themselves are just as impressive; strong, stout bodies standing on four legs with proud, long necks. They’re decorated almost as nicely as we are.

A purple wine: A strong, distinct color I’ve only ever associated with one person, the one everyone calls ‘my father.’ They also call him ‘Grand Duke’ or, like me, ‘Your Highness’—I’m not really sure which he’s supposed to be.

The wine color of his hair is a far-cry from the soft lilac that is mine. Our eyes are an even stronger contrast: Both have a burning intensity, but his are dark while mine are a striking coral. Yet despite these differences, compared to everyone else, our relation is clear—if not by appearance, then by the distinct aura that surrounds us both. Personally, all I’m really certain of is that he’s someone important enough that others obey him and that he cares just enough to occasionally show up in the nursery.

For the time being, all he gives me is a cursory glance. He speaks briefly with the other men before disappearing into one of the wheeled boxes, out of sight and mind. Still carrying me, the nanny enters the other, plopping down onto a cushioned seat. Only a moment later, the box rumbles and begins to move. I look out, fascinated, as the world goes by.

Green. Green. Green… I’ve never seen so much of it before. Out here, it’s everywhere. However, we move too fast for me to distinguish much from the varying shades and shapes. I like the way the light filters through the canopy above, and the sheer endlessness of the of this strange, new territory.    

I wish I could see more of it. Twisting my body around, I place the flat of my palm against the clear barrier keeping me in. If I could escape, I would. Another attempt at slipping from the nanny’s hold though only earns me the firm clench of her fingers digging into my waist. I have no choice but to settle down for the rest of the long ride.

After a while, I lose interest in all of the passing greenery. I doze off, waking back up only from a cacophony of voices growing louder from beyond the clear plane. At some point, the world of green color and odd shapes that surrounded us was replaced by a structured maze of greys and browns. Stone towers and narrow beams reach for the sky. More people than I’ve ever seen in my short lifetime filter through the winding paths like an unrestrained current.

We follow the majority of the crowd to where an entire swarm of bodies seems to have gathered near the heart of the maze. Here, the structures are set further apart; in their place at the center, however, is a pair of wooden platforms. The first is eye-catching, draped in a fine fabric. It reminds me of a much larger version of the small stage the women who care for me use to put on puppet shows.

Soon enough, the box stops. The nanny carries me out, quickly locating my father to follow him at a respectable distance. He steps onto the stage to join a small row of other, well-dressed men and women and their followers—the most impressive ones all sitting down in luxurious chairs to face the masses.

Sadly, none of them have toys.

The nanny remains standing behind my father with me in her arms. Here, I can get a good view of the second platform. It’s smaller than ours and not nearly as pretty. Plain. Brown and grey, like everything else. Even still, everyone seems to look at it with impatient focus.

For a while, the only thing standing on top of it is an odd, tall contraption mostly made of wooden beams. There’s a hole carved out at the bottom. A slanted, sharp-looking, metal plate hangs from the top. I stare at it, curious, until an important color catches my attention: Gold.

Anyone sitting down rises to their feet as a middle-aged man with platinum locks and a fiery amber color to his eyes joins them—an entourage of women and offspring following behind. A heavy cloak rests across his broad shoulders. The aura around him is dominating, even more than my father’s. Despite how he greets the others with a bright smile, like old friends, there’s a menacing vanity to this person that rattles me.  

Me and clearly everyone else. The eager rumble of the crowd fades to a low murmur when they notice his appearance. My father’s group remains standing until the commanding figure reaches the highest seat and motions for them to reclaim their own.      

“Bring them out.”

As he gives the order, a fierce cry erupts from the people.  An emaciated bunch covered in rags are dragged one-by-one to the platform across from us. Bodies collide in their manic euphoria as the crowd draws into an even tighter circle around the group.  The scene is so chaotic that it makes it doubly hard for me to figure out what might be going on. The shouts and jeers of the masses are indistinguishable from each other, as if melded together to become a single, horrifying beast.

Pink: A face flush with tears. A single wail manages to catch my attention. Looking down, I notice a person not much bigger than myself held in another woman’s arms. Nothing she does silences the child, too frightened by the disorder surrounding them to be consoled.

I glower, caught between pride and irritation. He should know better… After all, it’s just a lullaby. As for me, I haven’t cried like that in a long time: If I have mastered one lesson so far, it’s that there’s no use for it. 

White: A brilliant figure that stands out despite his haggard appearance. He’s one of the first of the chained individuals lined up on the other platform. He fights the hardest against his bonds, actually managing to break away from his companions to race to the edge of the stand and face our direction.

“Hear me!” he screams, “Hear me, people of Casila! The day will soon come when your mighty armies will fall and your strongholds collapse! Another prophet comes after us, one that will denounce your atrocities before all nations. In your greed, you devoured your neighbors—so you shall be devoured from the inside out! Your arrogance will be your ruin!”     

Another pair of men throw the peculiar captive back. He falls to his knees, as if he spent the last of his energy just to say those brief words. 

Someone snickers nearby, “So much for the great priests of Artea…”

“Shouldn’t they think this a mercy?” mocks another, “We’re delivering them straight to their god!”

It isn’t long though until he’s on his feet again—if not by choice. He’s pulled over to the contraption, his head forced through the small hole and locked in-place. A rope is pulled. The metal plate rises a little higher, then suddenly drops.

Red.