I am broken. I am a shattered soul living in a hollow shell. I have been destroyed, and all that remains is a bitter emptiness. I have been in this jail cell for 254 days. Since being here I have been repeatedly starved, beaten, and destroyed in all ways. I have fantasized about the way that I will die for the past 200 days. I have fantasized all the ways I would kill the prison guards for the past 187 days.. Sometimes, dreaming about my execution feels like a good dream. And the day is finally here.
    I wake up early, earlier than I usually do. I stand and stretch, walk around my cell 24 times and then sit and begin to reread the same book I’ve read for the past 254 days. The pages are bent and crumbled, ripped and repasted together with spit and gunk from the prison floor. I don’t need to read the book. I can recite it. I have read it so many times, but the ritual grants me a little bit of peace. A plate of slop slid under the door, and though I usually eat it, today I ignored its presence. I will not embarrass myself and throw up before I am hung. I wait two hours for my cell door to be slammed open and it is right on cue. I place my book down on my thin mattress and stand with my arms in front of me. Two guards shackle me (it used to be one but then I nearly bit the finger off of the guy when he tried to get handsy with me.), and drag me to the showers. I get sprayed down with water, and given two minutes to run soap across my body and my hair. One of my guards hands me the soap, and I smile a little bit. Wills is the only kind guard here. I only see him once a month when he gets put on my rotation, and everytime he does he makes sure I get mint smelling soap, my favorite smell. I whisper a quiet thank you to him, and he gives me a somber nod. He is probably the only person feeling a little sadness about what is happening to me today, besides my father. I wash myself quickly and scrub the soap deep into my hair and on my skin, using nearly all of it. I scrub until they shut the water off, and my shower time is up. Wills is polite enough to turn his head, Yash is not so polite. I am shackled once more and escorted back to my room.
    I estimate I have around two hours until I die.
    I decide to take the time to think.
    Immediately my father’s face comes to mind. I see his eyes, shining their deep brown, and his dark brown hair speckled with gray. I see his tight lips pulled back in a thin line. I hear him fight for me..
    I know that I am not a monster.
    I have repeated this phrase to myself for 254 days but it does not make a difference.
    I did it.
    At least I think I did.
    I don’t really remember.
    All I know is I woke up in a pool of blood that was not my own. All I know is that the dead bodies of the king, queen and prince were surrounding me. All I know is that I killed my best friend.
    I didn’t think I was a killer. I thought I was a good person. I thought one day, I would be as loved as my father, or as adored as my mother. But now, now I am feared.
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    I’m thankful it is Wills who comes to escort me to my death. I give him a hesitant look when he enters the cell alone and he offers me a small smile.
    “I paid March to distract the Warden so I could lead you out myself. I figured you didn’t want to see him.” He says as he approaches me and gently places shackles on my wrists.     I nod my head and take a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
    “You don’t deserve this” Wills says quietly, looking into my eyes, “you didn’t deserve any of this.”
    I stare at him, with my head slightly cocked in confusion, but don’t say anything as he leads me out of my cell and down the hall. I admit, I’m excited to see the sun. The glimpses of daylight that come through the thin bars of my tiny window are not enough. Wills keeps a tight grip on my arm and we finally approach a wooden door, after what felt like thousands of feet and thousands of steps.
    “Blood was spilt upon the floor, the son was the wielder of the sword. He rose to power, and changed lives until he met his own demise. Blood was spilt upon the floor. A girl with moonlit hair was the wielder of the sword, she rotted in jail and became abhorred. Blood was spilt upon the floor, the moonlit girl to meet her end, the people are rising up to see her slay a king again, to see the crown never rise again..” Wills suddenly whispers to me frantically. I can hear loud cheering outside the door and my heart thunders dangerously in my chest, I can’t make sense of what he is saying and my confusion bubbles my stomach even more., “Blood will be spilt upon the floor, the king fell in Martivour, the rightly anointed will rule again, the revolution has begun.”
    The revolution has begun.
    The pamphlet, on my father’s writing desk, the day before the incident. This pamphlet was on his desk and it had those very words on it. What.. What does it mean? The revolution has begun? I look at Wills with wild eyes and open my mouth to demand an explanation when he opens the wooden door and sunlight douses me.     It is beautiful outside. It is a sunny spring day, everyone is dressed in their furs and thick scarves. The sun is in the middle of the sky and glimmers through thick, lovely clouds. For a second I think I can hear the sound of the ocean, but then I realize that it is the roar of the crowd. Wills gently pulls on my shackles to bring me back to myself, but I can’t help but stay stuck in the moment. A beautiful day is going to be marred by death. My death. I take a deep breath and prepare to look up at the gallows and their swinging rope but what I see makes me stumble and take a step back.
    I was prepared to be hung. I had told myself day after day that it wouldn’t hurt that bad. I would die before I even realized what was going on and I would begin my afterlife wherever the gods sent me. But what is in front of me, well, I cannot think of a worse way to die.
    The monstrosity sits up on a platform with a sea of people around it. The large wooded structure has a thick, shining blade attached at the top already splattered with blood. At the bottom is a curved piece of wood, and a basket, where a horror stricken head is being removed.
    Bile rises in my throat and I look at Wills with fear and desperation in my eyes. “No.” I say.
    He gives me a look, strangely with tears in his eyes, and tugs me, and I scream, “NO!”
    Before I can argue I am up the stairs and being kneeled in front of the large contraption. My crimes are read by the new king’s hand, and King Tenson stands regally in front of his throne. I expected him to look at me with a look of disgust or hatred. But, do I detect respect in his eyes? Parliament surrounds him, and the crowd in front of me spits insults and death wishes. Isn’t it a little late for that? I want to fire back. But then I see it. In the back, signs. Signs that read the same words written on the pamphlet on my father’s desk. “THE REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN.” I don’t have time to contemplate. I only have time to mutter my final prayers.     I pray to the goddess of the sun to look after me, to rescue me and see my good.
    I pray to the god of honor and ask him to reveal my truth to me.
    I pray to the goddess of life and birth to see my case and sympathize with me.
    I pray to the god of the moons and ask him if it is truly my time.
    I pray and I pray and I pray until I realize that no god is coming for me. I am weak. I am broken. I am cold and angry. Perhaps, I am becoming what my father cried I wasn’t the day I killed the royal family.
    I try one last time. I whisper to my most consistent friend. I whisper aloud to the sea. “I am in turmoil.” I say, “I am cold and reckless. I am like you now. I wish I could see you one last time. You see me.”

    I am pushed forward so my head sits on the curved piece of wood. Such a barbaric way to die. With all of our technology, why this? I look forward to the crowd and refuse to cry. For all I know I am innocent. Our country believes in a trial system, and yet I was never given a fair trial. Anger begins to boil in my blood and as I look into the crowd, I find my father’s eyes. They are rimmed with red, and tears stream down his weathered cheeks. His lips move quickly, but I can make out the words he says “I love you.” His lips read, “It has begun.”
    The king’s hand finishes his words and raises his hand. I prepare for the sting of the metal on my neck. The crowd continues to roar in my ears and it grows louder and louder until I realize that I am no longer hearing the crowd, but the roar of the ocean. I look around me frantically, but can only see darkness. The words of the people have died and all I can hear is the ocean in my ears. For a second I can’t breathe, and it feels like I am drowning. The sound gets louder, and louder, and louder until it cuts off and I hear nothing. For a moment, I think I am dead, but then I can hear the whisper. It rings out in the silence of my mind.     A woman’s voice, hushed like the sound of lapping waves.
    “I heard you child.” She says.
    “I can see your brokenness.” she coos.
    “There is a darkness in you that likens the depths of the sea.” She whispers.
    “Let me rebuild you.” It sounds as if she is right by my ear, I try to look but still only see darkness.
    “Say yes child, and you will be a force to be reckoned with.”
    My breath is leaving my body and invisible water is filling my lungs, my head is spinning around the gentleness of her voice and the temptation of being freed. I think about my father, who was finally starting to rise from his own darkness. I think of Aurelia who will never forgive me but who I miss with every breath I take. I think of Lydia who tried to stand for me, but was cut down and demoted. I think of Headmistress Hugo, who believed in me and made me great. I think of Wills who showed me kindness. Who would have been a great friend. I think of the sneers I received from the crowd. I think of the respect in King Tenson’s eyes. I think of the words “The Revolution Has Begun.” and I think of the way the prime minister smiled at me.
    I want to be a force.
    I want a second chance.
    I want to be able to prove to those who hate me that I am stronger than their disdain.
    I want to prove to those who love me that I can’t be so easily shattered, even though I am.
    With water spilling from my mouth I managed a strangled “Yes.”
    Suddenly I can see. The roar of the crowd has returned but this time they are screaming, not chanting for my death. I realize that everyone has backed away from me, and when I look down at my body I see the shimmering water that is running over me. I am soaked, but the water is moving and alive.
    “Use it.” She whispers.
    I look at the closest guard coming to apprehend me, a man named March who came into my cell multiple times to attempt to use me for his own pleasure. Anger strikes me in the heart and I will the water to destroy his. From my fingers, water leaps out in a flash and it freezes into a glistening shard that pierces March’s chest. He gasps, blood spilling across his shirt and dripping from his lips.
    I feel nothing but joy.
    I will water to keep everyone away from me, flinging shards of ice into the chest of parliament members, and guards, whacking guards with arms of water away and off the edge until I see Wills. He beckons for me to follow him. I fling my hands wide, officially pushing everyone off of the platform with a wall of cold ocean water, and even some of the crowd and follow Wills. The water still clings to me like a protective shield as we run down the streets of my home toward the water. Any remnants of the crowd have parted when they see me, and scream as they disperse. Their fear makes me feel a variety of things I don’t have time to evaluate. Wills skids up to a sketchy looking dock, where a little rowboat is waiting. There is a sack with what looks like food in it, and a bunch of waterskins piled next to the sack. I look at Wills with wide eyes, and he has a determined look on his face.
    I hear feet pounding on the stone and the sound of guards approaching, and now that I am near the sea I can feel its power. I call the water to me, and behind me the sea rises. I clench my fist and will the water, to rise, and rise, and rise and rise until there is a wave nearly 10 stories tall behind me. The guards freeze in the alleyway and stare up at the wave, and at me.
    “Monster!” one of them yells.
    I smile.
    I send the water down in a crash over me and Wills and trap the men in the giant wave until I believe they are all dead. The townspeople hiding in their homes all cry.     My smile falls.
    “You have to go, Evangeline.” Wills says urgently, “Go. One day, we will call for you to come back but until then go!” He unshackles my hands and helps me into the boat.
    I am suddenly exhausted. My limbs feel numb and my eyes are drooping. “Thank you Wills.” I managed to say.
    Wills smiles at me, still grim, and says in a very hushed tone as I finally settle in the little boat. “It has only just begun.” His hand cups my cheek for a moment, then he pushes my boat away from the dock.
    With my last bit of energy I will the water to carry me far from Martivour. I shiver in my thin clothes and drift into a restless, freezing sleep as the woman’s voice repeats what Wills had just said to me. Though I know, her words mean something different.
    “It has only just begun..” she whispers.