Sinthia and The Demon Duke of DeSidea: 11

It had been three nights in a row that sleep had completely evaded Sinthia. It was pitch black outside. Not even a sliver of moon shone. It had almost been two months since she awoke, and she was yet to have a proper night’s sleep. It was exhausting dealing with it, but she would not show weakness to anyone. Every morning, she would wake up very early and wash up, then apply makeup to mask her lifeless skin and dark eyes. She wore dresses that were bright like the sun. Yellows and oranges and lively pinks to distract from the fact that she herself was anything but. The source of her restlessness was simple. Sinthia of Ophelia.

It was more accurate to say that it was the experiences of that Sinthia that robbed her of sleep. In the quiet of the night, Sinthia of the 21st Century had an abundance of time to watch the injustices of that poor girl. She had all the time to watch her family treat her like filth. And it was so enraging that sleep quickly fled. Sinthia of the 21st Century was reacting to these experiences because she could not properly separate them from herself. After all, she had become both Sinthias in a way. Today, the memories of her father played on repeat in her head.

Her father, the King of Ophelia, was called Cedric Alexander Bennet of Ophelia. He was a forty-eight year old man who stood at almost six feet tall, with a face with about as much expression as a clean piece of paper. The first experience that Sinthia had with that man was when she was three. She has spent many weeks learning proper etiquette. Why? Because she was finally going to meet her father. She had worked hard to learn the proper curtesy, and the proper dining customs, and the proper things to say. She worked so hard to fix her childish pronunciation of words. She had worked so hard, because she would have dinner with him for the first time ever. She wanted to show him how much she had grown. How much of a big girl she was. She remembered it crystal clear. Walking into the dining room, giving a near-perfect curtesy. “Blessings upon His Majesty.” She has struggled to say. But she did. And when she lifted her eyes to look at her father’s face, she saw nothing. Just empty eyes staring back. She had not even taken a seat, when he said in that smooth, monotone voice of his, “take that child away.”

Ever since then, Sinthia of Ophelia had descended into a spiral of inadequacy. It was because she was imperfect and flawed that His Majesty did not want to even share a meal with her. She wore herself out trying to be a brilliant young princess. At six years old, she heard that His Majesty had handed over her upbringing to his concubine, the Duchess of Salient, Elissa Montisse. Sinthia had thought that maybe it was a chance to get a mother. She didn’t have one, and everyone would give her pitiful looks because of it. Now that she had the chance to have one, she had been excited. But that had turned out to be a nightmare.

Now, Sinthia of the 21st Century understood that everything the Duchess said to that young child was with the intent of brainwashing. She recognized it and in her adult sensibilities, would never believe a word. But the six-year-old Sinthia of Ophelia, already so starved for affection and validation that she was a sponge ready to absorb just about anything, was vulnerable. The Duchess would drum it into her that she was inadequate, clumsy, stupid, senseless, useless. Every day. If the Duchess was saying so, then her father must have thought so too. And the fact that he was allowing it to continue meant that he approved of it. That was what that little girl though. She would watch her sisters receive endless love from the Duchess, and she came to believe that she was undeserving and unworthy of it. She would endure the teasing and pranks from her sisters because she believed that she deserved it. Maybe one day, when she was perfect, they would acknowledge her and treat her like their sister. Until then, she deserved all their abuse.

She recalled meeting her father at nine years old. She had simply been walking down the hallway, when she had seen him. What she felt then was fear. Her limbs felt cold, and she could hear it all over again. Her imperfection, her uselessness, her inferiority. She glued her eyes to the floor and gave her greeting. He accepted it, barely even slowing his pace. And he has left.

When she was twelve, she had to meet him again because he had declared her his heir. She had to sit beside him as representatives of noble houses came to give their congratulations. Every compliment that she received from them, she wanted to hear from him. But that was far too wishful. Whenever she was complimented, her father simply stared at them, acknowledging them with barely a nod. He had not even held out his hand for her to take when he finally rose from his throne with her. He left early that day.

When she was sixteen, she attended his birthday celebration. She had picked a gift that the Duchess insisted he would cherish. When she had presented it to him, the Duchess urged the king to open it. It was a pair of shoes. And that had been a grave insult. It was as if she was saying her father’s own shoes were inadequate. Like they had holes in them. Like he worked so hard that he wore his soles down, which was an unbelievable insult to a noble, much less a royal. Only poorer people gifted each other necessities, because sometimes even a necessity was a luxury. To gift a royal that was the same as spitting upon his face. He had accepted them coldly, then dismissed her. That night, she was in such deep shock that she could not cry in embarrassment. So she had sat at her desk all night long. Staring at her reflection.

Sprinkled in-between all these events were the things she would hear from others. Things like her father worrying about the future of the kingdom if left to her. Wondering where her manners were. Questioning if she had been studying hard enough. Doubtful of her ability. He had no faith in her. And in return she has no faith in herself.

These events elicited such anger in Sinthia of the 21st Century that she would have to hold herself back from storming his room and ripping his hair out. But finally, she had come to an internal agreement. She would lay it to rest. She would avenge the injustices and finally find peace. Forgiveness was too high a hurdle as of now. She could not forgive. Not yet. So she would revenge first. Her actions up until this point had been so wildly bizarre, she was absolutely confident that in a short while, it would become something her father would be unable to ignore any more. He would call for her soon, and when he did, Sinthia of the 21st Century promised the small, pitiful Sinthia of Ophelia in her mind that her injustices would be brought to light, and avenged. After that silent promise, Sinthia slept like a baby.

I didn’t wanna draw an illustration for this but this is how her baba looks like!