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Athanasia felt unshed tears building up—a placeholder smile befitting of a princess in place— felt the crushing feeling of an apathetic gaze digging into her back, and then felt the pain , the sensation of losing her breath— not being able to catch it— a final desperate attempt of getting air even when she knew it would be like this—
Then, nothing.
Then, everything again .
It was supposed to be her end . (It was supposed to be peaceful .)
So why was Athanasia still alive?
“How—“ she mumbled, before startling. She knows her voice. She might not speak much, but she knows what she sounds like. Athanasia does not have a squeaky voice. It’s soft and quiet, not high pitched. She had lost that at 5, according to—
She froze. Lily . How could she have forgotten? Lily, who had been by her side since she was a toddler, who had taken it upon herself to educate her when she asked, who sneaked in her favorite flower when she was sick and took care of her. Nursed and cared for and taught and loved her.
She trembled from the bed, fear and despair suddenly creeping up her throat, before a light knock came through the door. She ( is ) was a princess. She has to answer.
“Y-yesh? Who… who is—?” She stopped, interrupted by a coughing fit. Likely because she wasn’t given water in the dungeon. But, wait, the dungeon didn’t have a bed— or a wooden door, so—?
(And she hadn’t even been in there when she’d been— been— )
“Princess?!”
Athanasia went still once again, her throat unbearably dry. That voice— that— that was—
“…Lilwy?” She blinked again, shifting on her all too large bed towards the door. “Yes— forgive me, Princess, I’m coming in.” Athanasia wanted to respond, to tell her that of course she could, to apologize, that she could do whatever she wanted because she knew she would never hurt her— but the words were caught in her throat.
The door clicked open, the blonde turned, and—
Reassuring smiles, warm hands, the red-red-red of her sister’s blood that damned Athanasia and her—
—It was Lilian. The brunette rushed over to her side, asking what was wrong, familiar fussing, did she need anything?
And Athanasia— Athanasia couldn’t help it.
She burst into tears and wailed .
———
Perhaps that wasn’t the best idea. No, wait, it definitely was not, but Athanasia thought she was dead, that Lily was dead, and at the hands of the father she had so desperately foolishly wanted affection from, and just seeing Lily again pushed everything she was feeling over the edge.
“Are you feeling better now, Princess?” murmured Lilian softly, once Athanasia’s sobs had quieted to mild sniffling, and she’d given a sip of water. The blonde didn’t think she could respond properly if she wanted to even with the water, so she simply nodded. “That’s good,” the maid responded, gently patting her messy hair, “It would be a shame if such a lovely princess wasn’t smiling.”
Lovely .
Lily was— would be— the only one who would ever use that word to describe Athanasia, even as a child. Not that many people saw her, then, before her debutante. That word fit Jennette more than it did herself, anyway. The nobles had always whispered about how gloomy she was— of how quiet her presence was. Never a single genuine compliment.
“Mhm,” she hummed instead, only hiccupping a little now. She breathed— she could do this. It might be strange, considering how she suspected she looked, but... “Lily, how old am I?”
“How old?” Lily repeated, clearly a bit puzzled. “Why?”
“Yesh. I wan’a know.”
“Oh—” she paused, still looking concerned. The maid searched for— something —on her face, and she must have found it, because she relented after a bit. “Alright. You are two, princess.”
“...Okay. Ta- thank you, Lily.”
Lily smiled fondly, like she always had, reminded her that she could always call on her for anything, before closing the door without a sound.
That was. Nice. Lilian is— had always been kind, always loving, always so soft . Still, though. Athanasia felt like she hadn’t had Lily’s complete and utter attention since before she was fifteen— no, wait, that wasn’t the point.
What was going on?
The last time the Princess (former?) had checked, she had turned eighteen the day that she— the day she died . That wasn’t something she would—or could—ignore. She was not two.
And yet she was. Physically, not mentally (Athanasia doesn’t think she can ever forget —) but her lisp and the room and the tiny bed with details even she only remembered because they were already there. The gold decorations that littered her room that slowly disappeared while she grew up were still there, the small cracks that were left as is weren’t the larger ones she remembered they became.
It wasn’t an illusion based on her memories, and if not that, it would have to be made surrounding somebody else’s observations, and who would remember the details of her childhood bedroom, anyways? Magic could only do so much, and nobody ever entered her room other than the maids before it was just Lily coming through.
Athanasia wanted to sigh. But she couldn’t, so she’ll just use all of the knowledge she learned about her situation to figure it out instead.
First, the facts. She( ’s alive when she should be dead ) looks two even though she should be eighteen. Lily doesn’t seem to remember anything. The room she’s in seems like a perfect replica of her childhood bedroom. She doesn’t think there’s any magic manipulating her surroundings or senses— though, she can’t be entirely certain, she’s never had a proper teacher, after all.
What she thinks: she’s somehow in the past. Most likely some sort of witchcraft— but it might be permanent— and something that’s real . Not an illusion or manipulation. Unless she finds whoever had cast this magic (if it isn’t the work of gods, but why would they interfere?), she doesn’t think she will get back to her time.
...Does she even want to go back? Would she even have a place in that time? His majesty might not be pleased, but her sister would—
Wait. Her sister . Her sister isn’t here yet— isn’t at the palace yet— hasn’t even met their father yet. Jennette is probably still living in hiding in the Alpheus Duchy Mansion, or with Countess Rosalia Madden, if this is early enough.
For a brief moment, Athanasia thinks of meeting their father earlier, giving herself a little more time to make him see her, love her, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately afterward. She had already spent a life chasing after an apathetic father— she didn’t need history to repeat itself.
(Couldn’t let it repeat itself. Lily didn’t deserve that fate.)
Athanasia would learn from her mistakes. She won’t beg anymore— won’t be meek and quiet to be less of a bother to a father’s constant headaches, won’t be so accepting to the people who easily ignored and sneered at her.
She’ll live up to her name—the name her mother gave her—and live as close to forever as a human can without godly interference.
———
Of course, things would be so much simpler if everything turned out fine with just a single promised declaration.
Learning how to walk again with stubby limbs was more of a challenge than Athanasia thought it would be— how in the world did she ever do it before? And as much as she wanted to fire all of the maids other than Lily, there were issues with that plan.
One, she didn’t have that kind of power in the first place, it was her emotions and not her logic talking (no matter her feelings, connections to the houses her maids came from—even tangentially—were important), and that would only give Lily too much work she didn’t deserve.
So, Athanasia puts all the ( useless ) politics she learned and taught to use instead. It might be strange to have a two-year-old act the way she does now, but she still has—still wants to keep some pride. She doesn't want to act like a toddler, and the maids will likely appreciate a quiet child, which will make them less annoyed to tend to her.
(She hadn’t been a calm child initially. Athanasia learned, of course, but by then it was far too l ate — )
Speaking of the maids—
“The princess really is well behaved, hm?” a maid she only faintly remembers—Marie Basset, Lily had said, so very long ago—murmured towards her. She had been one of the better ones—younger, too, but she had only been in the palace for a short while. Athanasia doesn’t recall enough to know why she wasn’t there. But she can make a good guess.
When Athanasia was seven, there was only Lily (her main caretaker) and barely a dozen other maids when there had been over three dozen just a year prior to that. Granted, those who did stay offered her palace gossip on occasion, and they did do the bare minimum to make the palace workable, and therefore livable. Excluding Lilian York, daughter of a marquess, all of her maids were all from fallen or poor noble households of lesser standing, so it was to be expected that they wouldn’t stay for long.
Athanasia thinks that it was only because she was the only princess known to exist at that time, that they even stayed for that long. Even unfavored as she was, she was the only heir the empire had at that time, and so it was all but guaranteed for her to be the next ruler. Of course, that was before her sister had appeared, so…
(No, she knows , because after Jennette had appeared, only Lily remained.)
“Here,” Basset’s voice cut through her thoughts. Athanasia turned to face her, curious, but not showing it on her face. After a moment of silence, the brunette held out a hand towards the blonde and said, “Have a treat. Don’t tell Miss Lillian, alright? I’ll get in trouble.” It was teasing in a way Athanasia wasn’t familiar with, in that it wasn’t just to be cruel, but the jeweled-eyes princess thinks she likes this better anyway.
And the offer itself was childish, but Athanasia, as old as she was mentally, still loved sweets, a luxury even she could enjoy, and nodded quickly, before taking the offered chocolate. “It’s a secret,” she agreed, smiling a little. The dark brown-haired teen grinned lightly in response, before quickly turning to clean out the room like she was supposed to.
This was nice . Athanasia could work with this.
She just needs to stay low, find a way to get Lily in charge quicker, and find a place to store what little she has. She can and could and would change her— their fate.
(Unnoticed, a lone wolf pup shimmers, echoing her determination.)