At the age of 16, we—orphaned children—we're supposed to be chosen by the King’s cabinet. We lived at Poppyfield Orphanage, a one of many orphanages subsidized by the crown for one purpose: cultivating children born through blood rituals. Through the sacrifice of a mothers life during child birth, children could be born with powers beyond that of an normal human—curses.
The kingdom of Britain prided itself on piety and claimed to follow the righteous path, but war demands innovation, regardless of morality. I was one of the orphans raised there. Despite its purpose, the orphanage was cozy and welcoming. We were taught to read, write, and learn the kingdom’s history. Father Ezekiel and Sister Eryll watched over us, both having served in the royal church—perhaps to ensure our loyalty to the crown. We were also taught of our curses, under the alternate name of 'blessings', and how to manage and control them. Born of blood ourselves, we were constantly reminded of the importance of swearing fealty to the King as though he were blessed by God himself. I never questioned it. This orphanage was all I knew; it was my family and my world.
It was August 12, in the year of our Lord 1908. As usual, my nose was buried in a book—this time on different varieties of flora—while I sat under a tree in the orphanage’s garden. The author, Wilhelm Fischer, had sprinkled illustrations throughout, which I found fascinating.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” a bright, cheerful voice asked above my head.
I looked up to see Charlotte, my closest friend. Her body tan, was speckled with charred, cracked skin because of her curse, which caused her entire body to ignite under stress. She wore a simple summer dress, her orange hair neatly braided. She gave me a mischievous grin, no doubt planning an adventure around the garden.
“It’s a book about flowers,” I replied, holding up the book. “The illustrations are really pretty.”
I pointed to a simple drawing of a dandelion. Charlotte’s eyes lit up as she sat down and scooted closer.
“I’ve never seen a flower like that. Where does it grow?” she asked curiously.
“It’s a bit hard to read, but I think in Russia,” I said with a soft laugh. “It’s written in German, so its a bit difficult to understand.”
“I didn’t know you could read German. That’s so cool!” she said with a proud grin.
“Not yet, but Sister Eryll’s been teaching me some basic German to add to my English and French. I’m trying to improve.”
“Well, I think you’re amazing, Robin! Keep it up!” She jumped to her feet, that unmistakable enthusiasm in her voice. “Come on, let’s go check out the river. I bet the bugs won’t be so bad today.”
She extended her hand toward me. “Come on, Robin!”
Laughing, I let her help me up. She led me to the front balcony of the orphanage’s main building, where two younger boys, Timothy and Christopher, were lined up on the front steps in a runner’s stance. Sister Eryll rocked quietly in a chair nearby, mending a child’s tattered clothes.
“C’mon, Sister, we’re ready!” called Timothy, a black-haired boy with boundless energy, dressed in worn overalls that had been patched up countless times by Sister’s needlework.
“Uh-huh!” Christopher chimed in, pushing a lock of his brown hair aside.
Sister Eryll nodded, setting aside her stitching. “All right, all right. Three… two… one… go!”
And they were off, dashing across the grounds as Sister Eryll caught sight of Charlotte and me. She smiled. “Hello, you two. Leading Robin on another one your adventures, Charlotte?" She said with a warm smile
"Uh-huh!" Charlotte responded, with a cheerful nod.
Sister waved, "Have fun, and be back in time for dinner. We’ll be seeing Alexander off tonight!”
We waved goodbye and followed a worn path through the woods, passing bushes and wildflowers that made up our little corner of the world. None of us had ever gone beyond the orphanage’s boundaries, so my ideas of the outside world came mostly from books and the stories Father Ezekiel and Sister Eryll told us.
“Look, we’re here!” Charlotte cried, pointing ahead with excitement glittering in her eyes.
A wide river flowed before us, fish darting through the current and occasionally leaping above the water’s surface, free from predators. Rocks glistened in the riverbed like gemstones. Charlotte tugged me over to a calmer spot at the water’s edge where a few fish were resting.
“Look at their scales!” she said, entranced.
I watched them too, then shifted my gaze to the still water, where I caught sight of my reflection: a girl with charred cracked skin, orange hair braided—Charlotte’s features, not my original face. My curse forced me to assume the appearance of anyone I touched, whether I wanted to or not. It was my norm, this borrowed reflection.
I gently touched my cheek, my expression solemn.
“Hey, are you okay?” Charlotte asked softly.
“No, I’m fine, really,” I insisted, waving my hands.
“Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything. I try to be open enough with you, don’t I?” She pouted, sincerity in her eyes.
I hesitated. “I just wonder what I really look like.” I let out a trembling sigh as I stared at the water again. “Father and Sister said I arrived here as a baby boy, but I have no photos of that time and no way to reclaim my true face.”
“Robin…” Charlotte frowned, wanting to console me.
“They keep telling me it’s a blessing from God—something I’ll someday use for the kingdom’s sake—but I’d give anything to see my real reflection, to be someone more than a living mirror.”
Charlotte frowned looked at the floor, running her eyes between the individual rocks. “I know how it feels. My face isn’t pretty like the other girls. And my body goes up in flames whenever I’m upset, and it hurts so-so bad. Sometimes I hate my power too." She trailed, tearing up a bit "But they say it’s a blessing. We’ll join the King and Queen, help the country, and maybe that’ll make it all worthwhile.” She tried to smile, though I could hear her voice waver.
For a moment, we sat together in silence.
“Your face isn’t ugly,” I murmured, turning away to hide my embarrassment.
“H-huh?” Her cheeks reddened.
“A-at least you look like a girl. I’m usually stuck in someone else’s face. You’re the only person who doesn’t mind if I transform into you.” I quickly interjected.
The air suddenly felt thick with unspoken emotion, Charlotte began to form a word, until—
A fish leapt out of the water and smacked Charlotte in the face.
“Wha—?!” She sputtered, yanking the squirming fish away before tossing it back with a mighty splash.
“That scoundrel! Damn it!” she yelled, then looked over at me sheepishly. “Don’t tell Sister I said that!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. But as the wind blew, I noticed how soaked and chilly Charlotte was.
“Let’s head back and get you dried off,” I suggested. “Dinner should be ready soon.”
“Yeah, okay,” she agreed, taking my outstretched hand. We walked back along the trail in the chilly afternoon air.
Inside, we settled by the living room fireplace to warm up. The room was opulent—three sofas arranged around a large central rug embroidered with the kingdom’s emblem, and a grand chandelier hanging above. For all that grandeur, though, it still felt like home.
Alexander sat on one of the sofas. He was ten, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. He wore formal royal attire and had a habitual scowl, though I sensed it masked his nerves. Tonight was the night he’d leave for the capital to serve the King. His curse was called idol transportation, letting him teleport to any object inscribed with his personal rune. He often used it around the orphanage to vanish and reappear at will, but this time, he wouldn’t be coming back for a while.
“Tonight’s the night, huh?” Charlotte said as she settled near the fire.
Alexander nodded. “Yes.”
“You’re going to be gone for a while?” she asked quietly.
“Seems like it,” he replied, his voice subdued.
Charlotte frowned. “I thought you’d be more emotional about leaving.”
Alexander pressed a hand to his face. “I hate to admit it, but I’m worried about meeting the King. Plenty have gone before me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m unqualified.” He folded his hands, as though in prayer.
Charlotte dropped her gaze to the floor. “I see…”
“Alexander,” I said softly, “please come back and visit us when you can.”
He chuckled, his usual stoicism melting away. “You two only have 2 years to go before you join me in service to the King. Maybe you can visit me instead.”
Charlotte and I looked at each other. “Of course!” we said in unison.
“I’ll be waiting,” he replied with the faintest smile.
“It’s dinner time!” Sister Eryll announced from the kitchen, ringing a small bell.
We all gathered around the long dining table. Father Ezekiel sat at the head, cradling baby Clara, the newest addition to our orphanage family. Sister Eryll sat at his right, with Alexander, Charlotte, Timothy, me, Christopher, Samantha, Paul, and Charles around the table in a lively mix of chatter. Two toddlers, Dolly and Mabel, sat at a smaller table nearby so Sister Eryll and Father Ezekiel could keep an eye on them.
“Hey, Sister, tell Alex I won the race earlier!” Timothy boasted.
“Doesn’t count!” Christopher countered. “You used your powers!”
“It does too!”
“Does not!”
Sister Eryll gave them a reproachful look. “None of that nonsense at the table, please. You can settle it after dinner.”
They grumbled and settled down. Our meal was a hearty stew, served with freshly baked potatoes and bread—larger portions than usual in honor of Alexander’s departure. In about an hour, a car from the capital would arrive to collect him.
“I’m proud of you, Alexander,” Father Ezekiel said warmly. “You’ll do the kingdom proud.”
“He’s right,” Sister Eryll agreed. “You’ve grown so much here. I know you’ll thrive under the guidance of those in the capital.”
Alexander blushed faintly. “Thank you.”
“Now, let’s pray for Alexander’s safety and our meal this evening,” Father Ezekiel said, folding his hands.
We joined hands in prayer. Timothy, as always, refused to hold mine, but I pretended not to notice. Once the prayer ended, we tucked into Sister Eryll’s delicious cooking. Father Ezekiel sometimes tried cooking too, but Sister’s meals were always something special.
“This is delicious,” Alexander said, mouth half-full.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” Sister Eryll chided, though her tone was gentle. “It’s unbecoming of a future gentleman.” She tried not to smile too broadly at the compliment.
Father Ezekiel, also speaking with his mouth full, added, “She’s right, but it really is good!”
Sister Eryll shook her head. “Not you too, Father. Some nobleman you are.” The rest of us giggled.
Once we finished, we waited for the car to arrive. I’d seen royal transports only a few times, and the people who stepped out were always dressed in such strange ways compared to the illustrations in my books.
Eventually, headlights cut through the dark, and a sleek metal automobile pulled up. Bright lights shone from the front, far more piercing than our meager electric bulbs in the orphanage basement. Two men stepped out, dressed in dark green uniforms rather than the bright red I’d expected. Father Ezekiel met them outside while Sister Eryll told the children to remain indoors.
Alexander stood by the door, offering quick hugs to everyone. Charlotte wrapped her arms around him, tears welling in her eyes; they’d always been close, since Alexander wasn’t afraid of her scorched skin. When it was my turn, I hesitated.
“I’m not wearing gloves,” I said quietly. “If I touch you—”
Alexander shrugged off my concern. “It only triggers if you touch my bare skin, and I’m still wearing my gloves. Don’t worry.”
Relieved, I hugged him tightly. He returned it just as firmly.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Take this. It’s my idol. I’ll remove the rune once I’m in the capital.”
He patted my head gently. “I’ll see you there, Robin.”
With that, he stepped into the cold night. I watched as Father Ezekiel spoke to the uniformed men, and Alexander climbed into the back seat of the car. Then it rolled away, disappearing among the dark trees.
I looked at the small handkerchief in my hand, inscribed with Alexander’s rune. A sense of foreboding settled over me, but I pushed it away.
Night fell, and by 11:30 p.m., everyone else was in bed. The children’s bedroom had ten beds, lined up in rows, and I usually slept in the bed beside Charlotte’s. She was curled up already, though clearly restless.
“It’s only been an hour, but I miss Alexander,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Want me to check on him?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
“How?” Her eyes lit up.
“He gave me his idol. The rune should vanish once he removes it in the capital.” I fished the handkerchief from my pocket, ready to show her.
But the rune was gone.
“That’s strange,” Charlotte said. “He couldn’t have reached the capital already, right?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s days away by car."
"Maybe he had to show the guards his power?” Charlotte interjected, with a worried expression.
I knew it was unlikely the King’s men would ask him to display his curse so casually, but I forced a shaky smile. “Yeah, that must be it. Don’t worry.”
Charlotte nodded with a faint sense of reassurance. “Yeah, he is amazing, I'm sure he impressed them.”
Feeling uneasy, I whispered, “I’m grabbing some water and heading to the bathroom. Don’t wait up, okay?”
“All right,” she said, as she slid under her blanket.
I slipped downstairs, but instead of getting water, I grabbed a thick coat and boots from the closet, along with one of Alexander’s worn hand-me-down coats layered ontop for extra warmth. Making sure no one saw me, I slipped outside into the still, biting air.
I was sneaking out, I was really doing this. I was worried, a pang sat in my heart.
“They went this way,” I whispered to myself, following the road that led away from the orphanage. I walked far, what must have been a mile of distance, until I reached the Orphanage welcome sign. A shiver ran up my spine, although I wasn't sure if it had been from the cold or from the fear of stepping beyond the sign that marked the boundary of the only home I’d ever known. I halted at the edge, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Father, Sister… forgive me,” I breathed, stepping across.
Further walking, the cold air becoming windy, each blast of air like frozen knifes cutting along my exposed face. Eventually, I saw a faded light in the distance. I ran forward, tripping over myself to find the source. The smell of fumes hit me first, stinging my nostrils and clinging to my throat. Then came the acrid, chemical bite of smoke. And then I smelled something far worse—burning flesh, a stench so foul my knees buckled. My blood went cold.
Dim light flickered ahead, and as I ran toward it, my eyes widened at the sight of the car.
It had crashed into a tree. The front was mangled, black metal twisted like a cruel sculpture. Smoke poured from the engine, and flames danced along the edges of the wreck, crackling in the silent night. A sickening wave of heat washed over me as I approached.
Inside, the interior was gutted by fire. Charred upholstery and shattered glass filled the cabin. I stifled a scream, my stomach lurching at the sight of a man’s body, twisted at an impossible angle. His skin was blackened, remnants of uniform melted into what was left of his flesh. The horror of it froze me in place—I had never seen death up close, not like this.
I stumbled back, then forced myself forward, my chest tightening as if a vice clamped around my lungs.
Alexander… Where was Alexander?
At the passenger side, the doors were swung wide open, as though people had managed to flee. I reached out and swallowed hard, ignoring the bile creeping up my throat. Inside, I saw Alexander’s royal coat on the back seat, singed at the edges but mostly intact. Next to it lay his luggage, stuffed with our orphanage’s gifts—mementos he was meant to take to his new life.
My hands trembled as I clutched his coat tightly. Tears blurred my vision. The smell was unbearable, and the quiet woodland around me felt suddenly suffocating.
Where is he? Did he get away? Did he even survive?
I backed away, stumbling on a loose stone. My breath came in ragged gasps, tears hot on my cheeks. I turned, nearly falling over my own feet as I fled. The night trees loomed overhead, shadows dancing like ghosts on the road. The orphanage’s light in the distance felt like a beacon I couldn’t reach fast enough.
When I finally arrived at the old wooden doors, my heart throbbed with raw panic. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly open them. I looked down and realized I was still clutching Alexander’s coat.
Suddenly, a small piece of paper drifted from its inner pocket to the ground. It fluttered in the cold night air before settling at my feet. I picked it up with trembling fingers, my eyes straining to read the hurried scrawl by the faint glow of the orphanage lamp.
It was Alexander’s handwriting. The note read only four words:
“It was my decision.”
I felt my breath hitch as I read it over and over, tears sliding down my cheeks. It was as though the wind had been knocked from my lungs. Anger and confusion churned in my chest, tangling with my terror. What decision? Why?
I pressed the note to my heart and stared into the darkness of the road beyond, my mind a blur of shock and grief. Somewhere out there, Alexander was gone—and I had no idea if I’d ever see him again. All I knew was that everything had changed in an instant. And my reflection in that moment felt more lost than ever before.