Prince S.

I almost laugh as I pass the large, elaborate stone coffin that is soon to be lowered down into the royal family crypt. It's made of a gray-blue marble with a decorative floral design on the sides. I almost scoff. Even in death, I have to be girly. Then, I notice the top of the coffin and have to hide my smile. Overgrown rose vines are tightening their grip around a large ship, making for a horrific scene. I can't imagine a better coffin.

I take the the cyclamen flower I've been clutching to my chest, run my thumb over the delicate petals and gently sit it on the lid of my coffin. I say a silent prayer for myself and when other mourners start to gather, I move toward the back. It took a lot of convincing on my part so my father would let me attend my own ceremony. He eventually agreed and said I could as long as I stay out of people's way and don't raise suspicion. So that's what I do; I step toward the back of the crowd and try my best to blend in. Of course, there is those who make small talk with me. Simple "hellos" and the like, but for once, I'm not treated like a princess. I'm being treated like every other male in this village.

Just like myself, everyone is dressed in black. Even the sky is gray and cloudless. There's no color on the day of my fake funereal. It's so cliché, it's almost funny. Looking over everyone, I recognize but a few servants. This disappoints me a little. Was I really not a princess of the people? How do I not know any of these people?

I'm brought out of my thoughts as I notice both my father and the village priest step up onto the podium behind my coffin. The priest is just as I'd expect him to look; an old man with a frown permanently plastered on his face. His white hair is thinning and almost gone. His wrinkled skin is pale and covered in spots, and his brown eyes are empty and soulless. It's as if all his younger years were terrible and he has nothing to live for. Maybe he doesn't have anything left for him; no family, no dreams, no hopes. Just the look in his eyes makes me more depressed than this false funereal could.

"We've gathered here to mourn the death of Princess Amelia," he says, his voice gruff and monotone. All of us civilians bow our heads to the priest, granting one of us respect, though I'm not sure if it's me or him we're respecting. "And celebrate her in her afterlife. King Rowland, would you like to take over from here?"

"Yes, I would. Thank you, sir." At the sound of his voice, my blue eyes shoot up towards him, still keeping my head bowed. I've never heard him call any man sir because it's a term of respect and there's no higher respect than the respect of a king. As I gave upon my father, I can see that his eyes are lined with tears. I'm slightly confused on this. He knows I'm alive, so why is he crying? It's because his daughter isn't his daughter anymore.

"People, citizens, and dare I say friends," Father starts with a slight choke in his voice. "I know I have not been the most sociable King in my family, but I know I have your respect. I have been kind and just, when I needed to be. But one thing I was not was sympathetic. I didn't bat an eye when your crops died, or when one of our one passed on such as my own daughter has today."

I can sense a feeling of pity in the crowd now. They all feel sorry for his loss, despite the way he's treated them in the past. There is genuine feeling of sympathy for him. I smile in awe. Even in a time of grief my father can command the emotions of a crowd. "However, that all ends today. I have experienced grief in the worst way I can imagine. I have lost a child, a love, a passion for life, and an innocent soul. I can only ask one thing of you all here today; celebrate my daughter today and I will be your sympathetic ruler. A King of the people. So, I beg of you. Do not cry for my daughter because as of now... She is reborn."

I cough and a few tears spill from my eyes and down my cheek. He's right. I am reborn.



"I was there. I saw her," says Annie as I walk past. Unaware that I'm listening, she continues talking. "She truly never was happy. I pretty much saw this coming."

I stop and just stare at her, on the verge of tears. She expected me to kill myself. Did I really look that miserable? That's not even the part that makes me angry. It's the fact that she hardly looks phased by my death now. I travel around the funereal crowd, getting close enough to hear most of my servant's conversations. Most of them have the same reactions to my suicide. They're un-phased, nonchalant, and non-caring.

Deciding not to think about this, I start walking through the rest of the graveyard while the rest of the civilian crowd around my father, trying to comfort him or just shake his hand. I shrug. I got what I wanted didn't I? Then why am I not as happy as I thought I'd be? Sure, everyone thinks I'm a man, but everyone thinks Amelia was some depressed teen who ended her life. No one truly cares for her. Suddenly, I'm feel guilty. I feel as if this has been a terrible decision on my part. I shouldn't have been concerned with only myself. I mean, no one could make me happy here anyway, not even if they treat me like a man.

Off in the distant corner of the graveyard is a girl in a white dress, kneeling down in front of a tombstone. I can only hear the soft murmur of her voice as I approach. She hears my footsteps and stands, turning to face me as I cross the distance between us. Her soft auburn colored hair hangs down to her to her shoulders in carefully curled strands. She smiles, soft pink lips making her soft brown eyes really shine. Her skin is so pale and smooth, I could just touch it. It doesn't help that she smells of the most beautiful scent- sunlight and rose petals.

"You're not mourning the Princess?" I ask her. She shakes her head and steals a quick glance at the tombstone behind her. I peek at it as well. It reads: In Loving Memory of Parker L. Sloan.

"This is the one year anniversary of my Grandfather's death. I'd rather mourn him than a girl I'd never known while she was living," She answers, her voice so smooth and light. I smile. It's quite ironic that she said that, I laugh to myself. "You're not mourning her either?"

"I-" I try to think of something to say. Foolishly, I pick the next thing that comes to mind. "I'd rather be with a beautiful girl that's living." The girl's cheeks suddenly redden and I feel heat surge to mine as well. She carefully bites her lip and lets out a playful giggle.

"And what's your name, kind sir?" She asks, her eyes peering into mine. I feel heat and an intense feeling already coursing through my veins. I grin at her.

"I'm Sebastian. Can I get your name, pretty lady?" I watch her face with delight as I pick up her hand, placing my soft lips against it. I can't imagine how we looked to everyone else; flirting with a stranger in a cemetery, but I don't care. She was beautiful. She's the kind of girl that makes me feel like being Sebastian is the right choice. In fact, she might be the reason God wanted me to be Sebastian.

"My name's Adele."