First, a shining bright light.

Then, pain.

I blinked a few times, trying to understand what was happening.

I was looking at a blue sky, the sun shining down on me, which meant I was lying on my back and looking up.

But how was I laying down outside at all, when I was just inside? And though my memories were hazy, I was pretty sure I was poisoned and that I died…

I died…

Right?

Survival had been the sole reason for whatever I did. No matter the deed or feelings or thoughts, I had done everything to not die, and yet… 

Had death really been that easy?

My struggles suddenly seemed to not matter at all.

I inhaled deeply, pain roaring everywhere. My stomach most of all. It felt bruised and battered and kicked in, with hunger gnawing inside of it like a desperate beast. The sort of hunger I only vaguely remembered from when I was a child.

I couldn’t understand what was happening. Had I lost some memories? Had she taken me outside to let me die out of her sight? Or taken mercy on me? Left me to live?

No… 

She would never take mercy on an enemy. And her last words had very clearly meant to be a final send off.

With my right arm, I screened my eyes from the sun, but something felt off. The hand, the arm, the clothes. In a terrible and agonizing motion, I sat up and looked around, then down at myself.

Something was very, very wrong.

I was too small.

Not only my arm or my hand, but my entire body was the size of a small and scrawny child. Ribs protruded, one looked broken, bruises were blooming all around on my body, and there were clear signs of bigger internal injuries.

A cough ripped itself out of my throat. I covered my mouth with a hand and a thick liquid splattered itself onto it. Brownish drops of red mixed with bright red slime. It made me feel even more queasy about everything.

I had experienced this before. This exact thing.

The day I had first met The Fourth Prince and sworn my life to him. The day I had stolen an apple, and been beaten half to death. The day that forever changed, and saved, my life.

Was this a hallucination? Was I still sitting in front of The Third Princess and slowly dying out, while the poison made me dream so vividly? 

It could be. 

Her poisons were infamous for making people see what they wished to see the most, or the least, depending on the application and the situation.

I had heard stories of how she had helped the former king die peacefully in his bed, after months of pain, though I didn’t know if it was true. Other stories blamed her for being the culprit behind his death by poisoning him, and then swooping in at the end to be hailed as a saint.

Though, of course, rumors and stories weren’t to be believed much, and if there had been enough proof of the latter, she would have been punished accordingly.

All of that was to say, it was entirely possible that I was being punished before I died.

I couldn’t blame her.

But the reality of it was entirely too much. It felt too real. The pain, the hunger, the sun on my skin, the blood in my hand, the smell of fruits and freshly baked bread from the market and the stark contrast with trash from the slums nearby.

Everything was just… Too much.

I slumped down, curling in on myself, not used to my weaker and smaller form. Moving was hard, and not only because of the pain. I didn’t want to do anything but lay there until it was over.

There was no reason to relive my choices. And if I was dying anyway, was there any point to anything?

I didn’t know how long I had been laying there, it seemed I had fallen asleep, which I found weird. Sleeping in a dream or whatever this was made things seem even more like reality. Like I could up and forget that I was dying, and this was my last breaths, in a fake world made to torture me.

But time dragged on, the hunger got worse, and even if I wanted to starve to death, if that was even possible here, my survival instinct refused to let me try.

I dragged my battered small body to an alley that wasn’t too far off. If I remembered correctly this was where the baker’s wife sometimes threw out leftover bread even though it was a rare occurrence, and when it happened, it was filled with mold and sawdust.

Yet, as I got closer, there was a familiar shape in front of the door to the back entrance. Something in me told me to hide, and I ducked down behind a pile of trash nearby before I was noticed.

There was no way I could mistake my savior. 

The Fourth Prince stood in front of me, two guards, one on each side of him, and he was wearing the sinister smile he employed when he thought he was being charming, like The Sixth Prince, but really was already planning the different ways he would punish someone later.

I couldn’t hear what was being said while he knocked on the door, over and over again, but nobody opened it. Then he clicked his tongue, held up a finger to his guards in a familiar way that meant let’s move on and they went away.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I got out of the trash pile and wondered what had just happened. I didn’t experience this, and if this was a dream meant to torture me, I found it weird that it happened at all.

The day I had met The Fourth Prince, I had stolen the apple, got beaten up, dragged myself into the side to avoid people, and as I was laying there, half dead, he had come and offered me a deal and an apple, and I had given him everything he asked.

But now, here, I had stayed curled up and only moved much later. Which meant I wasn’t where we had met, when he was there. Meaning, he had moved on to do whatever it was he had come to do in the first place.

Which made me think…

Had I ever even thought about why he was in town in the first place? Ever since I started working for him, he had only rarely gone there, and only for things he had to check in person. He usually stayed in the palace.

And what did he need the baker or his wife for?

Of course, this could all be my brain filling in things because the timeline was already messed up. 

It didn’t matter, really.

I stayed for a while longer, hoping for leftover bread. Even tried wishing for it or manifesting it. This was my dream, so I should have some semblance of control, but no. Nothing came of it.

Instead, I curled up on the trash pile I had hidden behind, and went to sleep, hoping, for the first time in my life, that I wouldn’t wake again.

“Hey,” a small voice woke me from my slumber. I was still alive. Or dreaming. Or what to call this.

“Are you awake?” The voice asked, purplish blue eyes shining brightly, staring into mine.

Now I knew I was dreaming.

Those intense eyes, holding me captive, could belong to only one person.

He was just a child, here. 

A bit younger than me, yet bigger. Later I would grow up to be taller than him, but right now, nobody would guess that.

That was the privilege of people who could eat as they pleased.

But it did not matter now. 

We were both dead.

I did not know what was happening, not only had I never met The Sixth Prince as a child, but even if he had gone out of the castle without protection, what was he doing here?

“No…” I answered, honestly. I couldn’t possibly be awake. He couldn’t possibly be alive. I had killed him. I had…

Tears welled up from within me, too forceful to control. I cursed this small body of mine that was too emotional. Too uncontrolled. Too easily took to tears, even though it never helped anything.

“Are you okay? Can I do something?” He paused, looked at me.

From my tearstained eyes I could barely make out how he took me in. Instead of asking, or saying anything more, he went to the door of the baker and knocked.

Not in a normal way. There was a pattern to it, though I couldn’t quite guess at what it meant. A code, maybe? 

I filed it away in the back of my mind.

A few seconds later, the baker’s wife opened the door and popped her head out, looking to both sides and then down at him. He made a motion with his hands and she leaned down to him. Once her ear was close to his mouth, he whispered in her ear, and the two of them disappeared, door slamming closed behind them.

I was left with my tears, my hunger and my guilt.

It was a few minutes before the door was opened again and The Sixth Prince walked out, arms full of a tray. 

He looked rather small compared to the tray, which seemed to be half his size, yet he managed to carry it out with no problems. He was stronger than he looked.

What really made me look, however, was what was on the tray.

Food. Lots and lots of food.

White fluffy bread, not the kind with sawdust or mold. Cheeses, multiple different. One very yellow and creamy, one with moldy spots, that I remembered they had talked about at the castle and how it was one of the fancier ones, as well as an orange looking one that had a smell that carried all the way over to the trash pile I was still sitting in.

“Here, you should eat,” The Sixth Prince said, placing the tray in front of me.

An urgent need for food made me almost throw myself on it like a wild animal, but…

“I can’t,” I whispered, tongue dry and swollen, lips chapped, throat parched. Talking was terrible.

It was only then I noticed I had at least stopped crying.

I couldn’t take anything more from The Sixth Prince.

Dying dream or not, I had taken his life.

That was already too much.