childhood friends · secret identity · hidden royalty · angst · guilt · deception · fantasy · tragic romance · best friend
The garden lies silent under a pale sun, petals trembling in a breeze that carries no comfort. We're sixteen, sitting side by side on the old stone bench where we've shared every secret—except mine. You turn to me, anger flickering in your eyes, and say you hate the prince for the lives he's taken. I can't move. I can't speak. Can you look at me now and say it again?