"Get lost, Celea. I don't have time for this."
"But mommy, I made you a drawing," little Celea said.
slap
"Stay the fuck away from me. It's all because of you that I'm like this. You destroyed my life."
The mother slapped little Celea across the cheek.
Again.
slap
"He left me because of you, because you were born," the crazed mother continued, slapping her until she felt satisfied, then walking away.
Little Celea was left behind, silently crying as she touched her burning cheeks.
"Celea, what did your mother think about your drawing?" her kindergarten teacher asked.
Celea forced a smile onto her face and replied,
"She liked it, teacher," before running off to play with the other kids.
Celea learned to hide her pain behind a smile, never letting anyone see her scars, but the older she grew, the colder she became.
"You have a brain tumor."
The doctor searched her face for a reaction, but Celea showed none.
"It's still in the first stage, so you can still be saved."
"I'm fine, thank you. How much longer do I have to live?"
The doctor froze, shocked by the calm words coming from a seventeen-year-old.
"Three years at most."
sigh
"That's a lot…" Celea murmured, disappointed that she had to live that long.
She stood up and left the doctor's office, leaving him behind in stunned silence. He knew he would never forget her.
Three years passed. Celea poured gasoline all over her house before lying down on the couch.
"I'm finally dying."
She felt the life slowly draining from her body. Lighting a lighter, she dropped it onto the floor, igniting the flames. As the house burned around her, she closed her eyes and waited for death. She wanted her body burned as well—she didn't want to leave anything behind, not even herself.
Celea died, swallowed by the fire.
Claus opened his eyes, crying. What he witnessed was Celea's life—her childhood, her suffering, and the moment life left her eyes again and again.
It was the first time she died… but definitely not the last.
**
"IT'S A GIRL! HOW COULD YOU GIVE BIRTH TO A GIRL?" someone screamed.
A man stormed into the room where baby Celea lay in her crib.
No, it can't be. I've been reborn. I just want to die. Why is it so hard? Celea thought.
Her so-called father drew his sword, ready to kill her, but stopped when he met the newborn's cold, disgusted gaze. In that look, he saw potential.
"She'll live her life as a man from now on!"
He turned to the so-called mother, who silently agreed.
The father then slaughtered every servant in the room. Celea grew up as Celeus.
"Prince Celeus is coming back!"
cheers
Celeus rode toward the castle, his men following closely behind.
cheers
"Prince Celeus!"
"The winner!"
Celeus despised those cheers. They had no idea how many lives were lost in this pointless war. His comrades died, yet these people laughed and celebrated. They wouldn't care if he had died too. A bunch of cretins—just like their king, Celea thought.
the gates open
"Welcome back, Prince Celeus. Your father is waiting for you."
Celeus ignored them and continued forward.
"Ah, my dear son."
There he was—the hypocrite.
Silence.
"Come, sit with us."
A table filled with greedy aristocrats awaited him.
Celeus sat down.
"Our empire is in safe hands with you as our prince," one aristocrat said.
"These fools never stood a chance."
"Of course not. He is my son, after all," the king boasted.
"Haha, you're right, my king."
"I wish I could have seen their faces as they begged for their lives," another aristocrat said.
"Oh, how I wish I could see that too."
giggle
"Oh my, I didn't know you enjoyed such things."
At Celeus' amused question, the room burst into laughter.
"Of course. Who wouldn't?" they agreed.
Celeus stood, a wide smile spreading across his face.
"Why didn't you say so sooner? Of course I can help you with that."
"Haha, really?"
"But of course."
In an instant, Celeus drew his sword and severed the aristocrat's head.
"What do you think? Isn't it beautiful?"
The room fell silent, frozen in shock.
"W-WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"
"Don't be sad. I was going to come for you too—don't feel left out."
One by one, she slaughtered them until only her father remained.
"How would you like to die, dear father?"
"You… YOU DARE?! I AM YOUR FATHER AND YOUR KING!"
"I know. That's why I let you choose."
"HOW DARE YOU!"
Celea cut off his head, lifted the crown, and walked out of the blood-soaked room, sword in one hand, crown in the other. No one dared to speak.
She ascended the throne, turned to the crowd, and threw the crown before them.
"My name is Celea. I am a woman—and your new king. Bow before me."
She released her short hair from its tied ponytail.
Her knights bowed immediately. The servants soon followed.
Celea ruled for six years, accomplishing more than most kings did in a lifetime.
drip
"Amadeus, you are now king."
"Celea, please don't die," Amadeus whispered through tears.
Celea lay in bed, awaiting death—this time hoping it would be final.
"Take care, my dear friend," she said to Amadeus, who had stood by her through everything.
He held her hand as she smiled warmly and closed her eyes.
Celea died once again.
***