Up until around six hundred years ago the region around the Stygian Sea had quite a similar written language. All derived from an ancient basic tongue, linguistic development within the space remained quite stagnant until Emperor Johann the Second completely reconstituted the language of the Ensolian Belt.

  He was, according to Sophia’s forced studies of Imperial history, once a humble third prince who, with no actual chance to ascend to the Silver Throne, had settled into being a teacher-philosopher for the first forty years of his life. But a sudden tragedy did befall the Démarche family, and then without warning he was suddenly dragged from his small home from what would become the eastern coastal provinces teaching what would be now considered high school, and thrown onto the Silver Throne.

  Emperor Johann Démarche, along with his wife Geneviève Elise (the Elise always did have at least one hand on the throne somehow), would transform the Imperium from its most fundamental basis: education.

  A new written language, easier to learn for all peoples of all ages, was implemented and a schooling system that was compulsory for all children until the age of fourteen (now up to twenty one) set in motion a Steel Era which would catapult the Imperium to its great splendor today. A nation where all peoples could read and write to share their knowledge, stable not through the guiding hand of a wavering autocrat but the subtle self-governance and reasoning of an educated populace.

  But Sophia curses him now upon her throne of plumbing and porcelain, wailing at how he took from her the ability to read the Tianci alphabet (which had gone surprisingly unchanged over the centuries) and left her to rot in a nation filled with unreadable articles of smut and haughty romance. Like a sailor marooned on an island upon a salt lake, this young descendant of his would die of thirst surrounded by undrinkable water.

  And the next, very sobering thought, crosses her mind:

  ZAI TIANCI.

  Oh Goddess she almost forgot about the ultimate snag in her current life -- Sophia Elise the Eighth’s own state provided husband was living with her. He, and his dastardly handsome face and attractive body, would be observing her every move; creating his own opinions of her as they lived through their time together here and now as political hideaways.

  We cannot let him know what we truly are. Her internal monologue plots. If he finds out that we are like this he could initiate the clauses. We’re in Tianci, he could divorce us without our consent!

  A no-fault divorce in the Ensolian Imperium could only be initiated by the woman in terms of this type of coupling (this was a major point for most of the masculinist advocacy groups in the imperium), but down here in Tianci even men, with their flawed judgements, could initiate one with their partners.

  “I can’t let him find out.” She whispers to herself.

  Absolutely. Her internal monologue agrees. But if you can get him to fall in love with you, then you’ll be safe for the rest of your life. Afterall, if you truly love someone you’ll be willing to tolerate almost anything. Plus, you getting some lovin’ from him will be a payoff in itself.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “I have to get him first, make him trust me before anything else.” Sophia declares out loud. “And then, I can reveal my true self.”

  There’s a small moment of righteous self reflection at those words, at this questionable deception in the name of romance.

  Dearest Princess of Elise, Eighth in the name Sophia. In times long ago, when your kind first touched the earth of this world alongside ours, we learned something. To love is to trust another absolutely, built from a foundation and cultivated through time together.

  To build love upon lies is to build a fortress upon sand, it is to make your love fragile to even the smallest stream flowing through a grand river basin. If it is fated for you to come together in union, then let yourselves love each other not from a deceive, but a despite. Despite what you see as your greatest flaws, hope that he will love you. And for you, despite his flaws, you must come to love him too.

  Even the light of Unudo pitches its idea in this most critical decision:

  THE MONSTER YOU WORSHIP COMMITED THE SIN OF DECEPTION FOR LOVE. LEARN FROM HER MISTAKE.

  Sophia makes a compromise with the world: an agreement made with every spirit, every wandering soul that for some reason seemed to speak to her through her jumbled mess of an internal dialogue. “I’ll rot… just a little bit. Not too much, and not that badly. Enough that he gets a sample, but like… not all of it. Like, a cute bit of rotting, not the… not too much rotting that I scare him off.”

  There’s silence at this; an acceptance of this small caliber was probably the best she was gonna give to this situation.

  Sophia Elise stands from the toilet, flushes it, cringes at the almost explosive noise the mechanism made as it disposes of waste, and strolls back into the hallway towards her chambers.

  So quiet here in the wee hours of the morning, so peaceful as the reflective light of their half-shadowed parent world filters into the hallway like some dimmed sun. Her already silent footsteps, covered by soft cotton slippers packed by Beatrice, give her an almost supernaturally invisible presence as she walks.

  There’s something inside her that catches some fleeting sixth sense, a part of her almost seeing a flash of shadow in her periphery like a ghost passing through physical space. With a sudden turn and a small yelp she tries to find the source in the dark patches of shadow from the light; with a few seconds passing coming up with nothing more than architecture and decorative furniture.

  You’re so tired you’re hallucinating. Her central committee dismisses, Just sleep and we’ll be over this mess.

  I SAW HER, FAST AS A CAT, LETHAL AS THE DARK.

  Sophia sighs as she relents to her exhaustion, taking the door to her chosen bedroom and shutting it behind her. She stares at the bed before her, at the mattress that was softer than mud and pillows that were fluffed to an extreme level of volume.

  Rot in bed.

  Without a single hesitation her brain gives her the idea, the young woman grabbing the entire comforter and tossing it onto the varnished, hardwood floor. A transformation by desperation, a space on the ground turned from surface to bedding as she quickly smooths out the folded edges. A bedsheet comes next, folded over onto itself into something barely resembling a tough, uncomfortable pillow.

  Finalized by the quilt, now used as a makeshift blanket that she settles onto the ground.

  Sophia Elise lies down onto her back, covering her body with the rough fabric of the quilt, and feels the coolness of the floor seep into her body slowly and gently.

  This could work. She tells herself as muscles settle into their places, pressing against the hardness of this new surface. Time to count…

  Her body kills the consciousness, sleep coming violently and without warning.