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Her Most Serene Highness, Crown Prince Kiriona Gaia, heir to the First House and the Emperor’s only daughter, stabbed herself again with the sword she’d been given on her first day of her new existence. Or tried to, anyway.
The downside with having bullet-proof skin was that nothing really penetrated, and that was as shitty as just about anything in this godforsaken (ha, get it?) second life? Death? It didn’t really matter what it was, it sucked ass.
Flopping onto the floor, an echo of a motion from time past, very inelegant and not even slightly militaristic, Kiriona looked up at the roof and blinked a few times. It wasn’t that she needed to cry—that would have been bloody annoying, but it was that something was needling her, and it wouldn’t go away.
It had been needling her since the day she’d thrown herself on a fence, really, but with time, it seemed to grow more acute—sharper. It set her whole body on edge (as much as a mega-dead body could be), and the sensation made her even more irritable that she already would have been, stuck in meeting after meeting and parade after parade.
The Cohort basics had been, well, basic, and though no one had the balls to criticise her form (apart from Ianthe, the bitch Prince), she knew she’d been kinda only alright. Even dead, you couldn’t make up for years of neglect.
John tried, but fuck she was getting so sick of his simpering and crying. The man, for that’s what he really seemed, most of the time, was an absolute simp, and more often could be found in the bed of a specific Admiral drinking and smoking and moaning about being betrayed and almost eaten and how horrible of a father he’d been.
And really, the biggest joke? None of it mattered.
Standing back up, the Prince moved to the plex pane that separated her from the great emptiness of space and punched it as hard as she could. It wouldn’t be that easy, especially given the pressure of the outside, and the ship had reinforced everything, to ‘protect the Emperor Undying’, but there were some days she wished she could shatter the whole thing, get sucked out of the place and watch the bastards from the void.
She was angry. This was all someone else's fault- she’d never asked for this. If Ha—if Nonage—if her fucking adept had had the balls to do what she needed to do, she wouldn’t have been here at all. She would be helping keep Harrow alive. Harrowhark fucking Nonagesimus.
Throwing the sword she’d tried stabbing herself with to the floor, she let out a yell- a shout- a sound just to relieve some pressure. She couldn’t even feel pain, something she had relied on for years to survive.
She didn’t know where Harrow was—part of her wondered if she should even care. How could you care when you didn’t have a heart?
She was mega-dead, full of holes and couldn’t even kill herself. What kind of zombie shit was this? She quite liked the BOE term, and she used it without apology, irritating those around her and making it all the more likely she’d use it.
But really, she wanted to irritate one individual. She wanted to yell and hurt and tear down the woman that she had sworn an oath to a literal lifetime ago.
It was Harrowhark Nonagesimus’s fault that she was here, it was her fault.
Ignoring the sorrow—the sadness, Her Most Serene Highness, Crown Prince Kiriona Gaia, heir to the First House, and the Emperor’s only daughter, embraced the anger and used it like the fire it was to keep her moving.
Her eyes, a golden storm, flashed for a moment as she turned away from the plex—from space—from the universe in front of her. Who fucking cared, anyway.
None of it mattered anymore. Her reason for existing was gone, so why bother giving a shit?