Zach (Son Of Maleficent)

In all honesty, I should not be in this hell that we call a "melting pot" of a kingdom. It's just a way for the cliques you would think one would escape after your schooling ended to join again with firm hands. Here I am, a twenty eight year old man who looks ridiculous attempting to wear a hat half the time and ending with it ripping in two.

I tap my hands against my jeans as I look up, listening to the orientation into the "kingdom" a sad excuse for a town if I must say so.

Every single (pathetic) occupant huddled in a circle, attempting to listen to the jabbering of the king of this specific kingdom. I believe since this is the closest to Cinder territory then it's last generation's prince charming all grown up.

No use remembering their names, they are all the same after all.

At the moment, I believe we are in the middle of the sad rectangle patch of which I guess serves as a town square. The place is so miniscule and closely packed together we may as well be in a shockingly sweaty sardine can, which for somebody with wings bigger than my own fucking body, is not a comfortable situation.

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm myself as I search the crowd for Arthur. It was not as if the young man was my friend, quite the opposite as he would shrink back in fear as if I were to bestow a curse apoun him even though I have displayed no intrest of doing anything of the sort.

Again, it wasn't as if the teenager was a friend or even somebody I have shared a pleasant conversation with. (Though to be honest, any pleasant conversation with another person is becoming fewer and farther between.) It is simply the fact he is as close as I can get to a familiar face, he after all is the only other to travel here from my home kingdom.

I give up on that, looking upward as the king continues his speech relentlessly, a young man (Most likely his son) around eighteen shuffling nervously behind him. Possessing the light hair of his mother and dark eyes that seem so similar to the King's, he was not nearly as intimidating as the others in the "square"

"We are happy you chose to participate in the program this year, and so many young faces too! Anyways, as you know, this is a program to ensure peace between kingdoms and stories themselves as we learn about each other's roles in life!"

Roles in life? As in you expect me to curse that blonde fuck with a death spell just because I wasn't invited to a party? I believe I have been taught murder is not the best way to solve a problem but hell, if it matches something written in a fucking book kill away!

Whatever they say, I already know the deal here.

Stay for a while, get to know these pathetic assholes and hopefully some weak attempt at understanding each other will keep this hellhole of a government together.

That's how it always goes, any major person in the destined stories are required to live through five years in this piece of scum town in a sad attempt to keep the kingdoms happy and from clashing.

Obsessive pieces of shit of you ask me.

The sun shines bright in my eyes, nearly burning my sensitive pupils with heartless rays of sunshine as the king wraps up his speech with a nervous cough and his son (still just an assumption at this moment in time) leave the makeshift stage which was barely held together. Perhaps if they put some of their budget into maintaining the kingdom instead of obsessing over books, it would have a good impact on society.

But what do I know? I'm just a guy who's studied this duct taped together society since I was old enough to form coherent words.

Anyways, as he steps down the young teenager stretches before tightening his grip on the shoe shaped object that I hadn't noticed until just now. Holy fuck, and he has his "item" (There's no specific term for these things which I find poorly planned considering how "important" they are brought up to be.)

The prince's fingers (I am completely aware it is the prince now) tighten around the object a couple times. As I look closer I catch that hot, unforgiving sun glinting off of the glass slipper. It never made sense as to why most keep it so close, mine is locked away in a closet somewhere in am old childhood home. I have not seen it for years (My item being a poorly designed hat worn by my mother, I would like to stick with ripped up baseball caps instead.) if I am being completely honest which concerns many of my "friends." (More so acquaintances that can actually hold a normal conversation without sweating profusely and looking down.)

I notice many people getting into lines that bend across the city square which leaves me baffled for a second before I look down at the stamp on the back of my hand, a faded inky mark given to me hours ago and look up again. Happily noticing the banners above each line with relish, I look back down at the purple ink staining my hand and move towards the line with the faded purple banner.

If this is how it works then these people need to work on their registration process. After all, we're going to be here a while. Five years on this godamn patch of land with nothing but a few sprawling cities around this wasteland.