Beyond the Facade

Please be careful and do not read the rest of this fanfic if you
are not in a place to read about child abuse scenes.

Chapter One, Look Beyond:

Everyone told her what to do and how to do it. She was so
tired of doing what everyone else wanted. *I may only be eight years
old, but I have a mind of my own. I am not going to sit around
like some lost puppy and do whatever people tell me to do whenever
and however they tell me to do dangit,* she thought in frustration.
She ran and ran and ran from the palace. *I hate everything about
this life. I hate being a princess,* she thought vehemently,
trying to run from this life but knowing it was pointless. If only
she could get away from it long enough to enjoy some scenery. At
least that way she could clear her mind and exist only in her own
world that she created. A world where princesses were not dogs
obeying every whim of the royalty, and a world where princesses did
not have to act so stuck up, prim, and proper all the time. She
wanted to run free. She wanted to exist as she was meant to exist.
She wanted to be herself. She sat down in the grass, gazing at all
the greenness. The grass, the pine trees, and the leaves of the
other trees. Then there was the brown dirt and the blue stream. She
buried her hands in the dirt, relishing the feeling of the dirt in
her hands. *So natural, so real, and so right.* She wanted to be
dirt. She wanted to feel natural, real, and right. Alas she was
stuck going to balls, taking dance lessons and manner lessons,
eating properly, dressing properly, and generally being a mindless
drone that followed every whim of the royalty she met and of her
parents. Especially her father. Oh yes, her father had the upper
hand as do so many of the Kings over their wives. *It is not right.
My mother lives in her own world like me,* but that was where the
similarity between the two stopped. *Mother obeys father’s every
wish.* Her mother was subservient to him. She would never be
subservient to any man she vowed. *I will be strong and proud. I
will be my own person and forget anyone who cannot accept me that
way,* she thought angrily. She brushed her long brown hair back.
She hated how it was always falling in her face. She may be the
Princess of Jupiter, but for today all she wanted was to enjoy the
feel of the dirt. *Dang hair,* she thought angrily. She stood up in
anger and began kicking the tree. She kicked it hard, over and over.
She kept kicking the tree viciously until her face was red. She was
sweating profusely, and her body and mind felt tired. Drained of
the anger and simply exhausted now, she fell down to the ground and
lay down only to fall asleep in the wilderness. Lita was physically
aggressive and strong, but no princess was admired for being strong
or even meant to be strong.

*They were all interesting,* she mused. She related to the
personal, far-off world Trista, Hotaru, and Lita all seemed to
live in all alone. All alone, like her. Mina, Serena, Michelle, and
Darien were all quiet like her. Amara and Raye were the ones she
least related to although even Amara could be kind and quiet, so
Raye was the most puzzling to her. She put down the book she had
been reading. Reading was Princess Amy’s only escape from this
world. It was not so much that she did not enjoy being a princess.
Well, actually, she did not. She did not mind the manners, but the
public appearances were torture. She certainly did not enjoy all
the fakeness. She may have seemed quiet, but she had loud opinions
yelling in her mind. The thoughts in her mind were like voices,
constantly questioning everything, looking at something from a new
angle, analyzing details, and observing people. They could be so
useful, but even she needed a break from those constant thoughts.
Books provided that. It did not matter if they were fiction or
non-fiction. Both types interested her and drew her in. Both types
served their purpose. They both stopped the thoughts and got her
out of this fake existence. Then sometimes the thoughts were worse.
Sometimes they were echoing in her head, telling her over and over
how useless and worthless she was. Pounding her down into the
ground. They were just words she reminded herself, but words have
a great deal of power over people. More than most people would
admit. She was only seven after all, though she would be eight soon,
and she could only believe that all the horrible things her father
said about her and to her were true. Her mother was much more
friendly and creative. She wanted to be like her mother when she
grew up. *Wait, no I do not. I do not want to be married to a
monster like him,* she thought, detesting that thought. Her
thoughts were going to run wild again, so she opened up a new book.
She did not exist here. She only existed in the world created in
this book. Everything was fine in this other world because none of
it was happening to her, but she was there all the same and safe
from the cold, harsh reality of the princess life.

Others had a different form of escape from the harsh, cold
reality of the princess life. The teenage girl threw her long,
green hair in a bun. Her pain filled, crimson eyes looked at her in
the mirror. *So, this is what I look like? So, this is who I am?*
she thought absently. Well, perhaps not absently. Nothing Princess
Trista ever did was very absent. It was all well thought out and
executed according to plan. Then again, there was one thing that
did not fit into her plans. *But no, I do not want to think about
that,* she thought, tears nearly forming in her tired, old eyes.
She banished the dark thought quickly from her mind. Trista escaped
reality too. How could she like being a princess after what she had
been through? She stood tall, practicing walking correctly. She
already knew how to. It was just something to distract her mind.
Trista’s real way of escaping existed in her mind though. She had
created a whole different world in her mind. Similar to Amy needing
constant new worlds to escape to her in books, Trista needed to
escape to this world in her mind. Unlike Amy though, she never went
to different worlds though. It was always this one, same world she
had created. Sometimes she added something. The world was large by
now since she had begun creating it when she was only four or five
years old. The vastness of this world in her mind also allowed this
world to be full of a variety of places. There were the quiet
fields, the tranquil beaches, the secluded forests, and then there
were the parks. There was much more. After all, ten years was a
long time to develop something. Some of the places were deserted.
Some of the places had all kinds of animals. Never a person though.
There was never a person there, except her of course. Trista did
not really like people. People could hurt and dominate you. Animals
accepted you the way you are, and animals would never purposely
hurt you. At least not the animals in her world. Trista liked her
world because it was an escape, but she also liked it because it
was the one thing in her life she could control. There was nothing
else in her chaotic life that was even remotely within her control.
She was under everyone else’s control, especially her parents. If
nothing else, she wanted to be in control. She craved control, and
her world gave that to her. People could touch her, but they could
never touch her world because it existed in her mind under her
power. Trista sat down on her bed and off she went in her mind to
an exotic place in her world. She smiled in contentment. *No one
can touch me here,* she knew.

She held her small, bony hands out in front of her. If
Trista had created a new world to escape to (and she had), then
this small girl lived in another world. She was rarely ever aware
of where she really was. And it was better that way. She may only
be a thin, frail five year old girl with choppy black hair and
flinty black eyes and the name of Princess Hotaru, but she had
known far too much loneliness and far too much pain in her life.
She sat on the cold, dirty ground out in the woods all alone as
was often the case. Alone was all Hotaru knew. Alone with her
sadness. Alone with her loneliness. Alone with her fear. Alone with
her pain. Alone with her confusion. She was much too young to
understand why her parents did not notice her, did not stay with
her much, and left her out here to be by herself at an age no child
should be left alone. She was much too young to know that it was
not her that drove her parents away from their child. She was much
too young to know that she was not the one at fault in this
situation. So she cried silently to herself. Her tears were silent
drops of water attesting to her pain. She lay down on the ground
to sleep. She would have slept in her bed in the palace if she
could have found the palace, but as often happened she had gotten
lost out alone in these woods. She knew no one would come to look
for her for a long time. It would be quite awhile before anyone
probably even noticed she was missing. Even when she was there she
had learned to be neither seen, nor heard. She was invisible even
when she was in a room. So how would people notice that an
invisible person was gone? She put her hands underneath her dirty,
ratty dark black hair and closed her tired, puffy red eyelids.
*Where is mommy? Where is daddy? Why do they not want me?* she
wondered silently in deep sadness.

The black hair swept around the eyes of the lone figure in
the dark. The dark figure blended in easily with the night,
standing at the edge of the cold, tumultuous dark blue ocean shore.
The thoughts were always flitting so quickly through his mind that
he could barely stop and think about them. The ocean always calmed
his thoughts. He was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be
at dinner with his parents. Yes, he would be in trouble again, but
he really did not care. To everyone else, including his parents, he
seemed apathetic and cold. However, that was all just a mask he put
on for the world. Inside he hurt. He ached for something more. He
had never asked to be a prince, and he had never liked it. There
were so many reasons he did not want to be one. For one thing he
liked the training his guards got to do. He would much rather fight
with a sword to defend his honor and protect others than sit around
in a palace all day learning the proper conversational skills. That
was only a small piece of the larger puzzle however; his main
reason was hidden deep in the depths of his soul. His main reason
was a reason he did not even understand or know. All he knew was
that it was not right. Everything about this life just felt wrong,
and despite the façade he put up to deceive others into thinking he
was apathetic and cold, he was really very emotional and felt
things deeply inside. His heart ached all his life, and the only
thing that could soothe his aching heart and racing mind was the
lapping of the waves on the shore. He liked to look at the angry,
tumultuous waves. They reminded him of his angry, tumultuous soul.
In the end though the waves always died down and lapped gently onto
the dark grey sand of the beach. That was what he wanted. That was
what he ached for. Something to calm his soul enough that his soul
would gently lap onto the shore as well. *What is there in this
world that gives life a purpose? Why do I exist? Why does anyone
exist?* he thought, pondering existence and the meaning of life. For
all his apparent apathy and aggressiveness, he was really a
thoughtful, deep person underneath it all. Of course no one bothered
to look beyond his façade. *No, no one ever does,* he thought
bitterly. The dark brown horse with a long black tail began to stomp
around, impatient for its rider to get back on him and ride him back
to the palace. Prince Darien sighed. “All right,” he said to the
horse. “I suppose I must return now.”

She stared out her window, a blank expression on her gentle
face with those blue eyes and long, shiny blonde hair. The shame
that surrounded her was deep and painful. She knew the others
thought she was strange. Serena was the only one who seemed to
understand her at all. Then again there was Hotaru. She had that
look in her eyes. *No, she has not been through the same thing I
have, but she has certainly felt as lost and completely alone as I
have,* the eight year old girl thought silently. Then there was
Amara. Yes, Amara was kind. So was Michelle really. The rest scared
her. Well, except for Trista and Amy. She was not sure what to think
about them. They kept to themselves. She liked that. She was only
eight years old, but then again she was only a year old when it all
began. She may have been eight years old, but her soul was much
older. Was it not that way for so many of them though? No, she did
not like being a princess. Being a beauty and being a princess on
top of that was an especially horrible combination. No one could
understand that. No one else could possibly understand how
devastating a combination that was. People were angry at you. The
women wanted to be you. Even the ones who managed to be polite to
her had that jealousy seething underneath. She was perceptive. She
could feel it. She closed her aching eyes briefly. No, it was not
really her eyes that ached. It was her whole body. It had been
used so much that she did not feel like it was even hers. It was
his. His to use, and his to do with as he pleased. She was there
for one reason and one reason only-to please him. At least that
was what he had taught her. She did not even exist. She was
merely a shell of a body there for his sick pleasure, and she
would never know what it meant to be normal. She would never
know what it meant to be healthy or happy. No, she did not like
being a princess because it made the women jealous, and it did
things to the men she never meant to do. Yet it must be her fault.
They all said it was after all. They could not be wrong. She was
wrong. She put her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the
sounds in her mind that were overwhelming her. The reminders
screaming in her head, but then her whole body was feeling it. She
could not take it anymore. She hid in the back of a closet after
closing the closet door, and she curled up into a small ball. She
was silent and made no noise. They could not find her this way. She
could not be bad this way. Maybe this way she could be alone and
safe. *Bad Mina. Bad Mina,* the princess repeated to herself in her
mind, knowing only too well how true it was and feeling such shame
she bowed her head and kept her mouth silent as always.

Another blonde haired girl stood at her window looking out
of it. Her mouth was pursed closed as she thought silently to
herself. Footsteps sounded down the hall. *Please, please do not
let that be mother,* she thought fervently. She did not want to
deal with that woman right now. Everything about that woman grated
on her last nerve. Everything about that woman got under skin. She
could not stand the way she spoke, the way she acted, or even the
way she thought. *If she even does think,* the girl thought
mockingly. Yes, to this girl her mother was pathetic, and she
vowed never to end up like her. She would not be so dumb, so
self-centered, so materialistic, and so annoying. Her mother was
all about looks, all about appearances, and all about talk. There
was nothing beyond that talk though, nothing beyond her façade.
*No,* Princess Amara thought to herself. *I will never put up
fronts. I will be myself always and people can like me or hate me
for that. I truly do not care.* Similar to Darien, she often
appeared apathetic to others. However, unlike Darien, she was not
trying to appear apathetic. She truly did not care about others’
opinions or thoughts. She would be true to herself that was all
that mattered. She was only eleven years old, but she had already
made this decision and followed through with it. Perhaps the fact
that it was not a façade should have been obvious to others. After
all, Darien appeared so completely cold, harsh, and cut off from
the world. Amara, conversely, only appeared apathetic about
certain things and certain people. There were people that meant a
lot to her, and there were things that mattered to her very much.
Her father was one. She looked up to her father in admiration. He
appeared strange and cold to everyone else, but Amara saw beyond
that. She knew he was truly gentle and intelligent and strong.
She wanted to be like him. She wanted to be strong. She trained
secretly because after all it was not proper for even a prince to
be training with weapons much, and it was not proper for a
princess to at all. She did not care much for conventions
though-that was her mother’s department. She hated being a
princess. She wanted to be what her father had been before he had
stupidly married her good for nothing mother. She wanted to be a
top guard to a prince or princess. She wanted to swing a sword.
She could run and fight with the best of any man. Although of
course, no one knew that. Not even Amara herself. How could she?
She could never give away that she was secretly training. She
hated this life. It was like forcing on an ugly dress that did
not fit onto your body and wearing it every day of your life. She
wanted out of this so desperately.

The music flowed through the room, creating a peaceful
and soothing atmosphere that calmed down the distraught princess.
She lay down on her comfortable bed in despair as her long blonde
hair that was out of its usual buns was lying out in a pool of
gold on her bed. Nothing with this life was right. She did not
belong here. She had friends and a wonderful mother, that was
true. Still, she did not ever feel right inside. Perhaps it was
the exhausting hours, perhaps it was the demand to smile and
curtsey and be sickeningly sweet constantly, or perhaps it was
the pressure of all her duties and of having the spotlight
constantly on you. However, something in her heart said it was
even deeper than that. This life was not right. She did not want
to be a princess, but more than that, she was not meant to be a
princess. She sighed sadly. Her heart and soul ached. Some part
of it always missing. She opened her light blue eyes and slowly
got up to close the music box her mother had gotten her a long
time ago. She hugged a big white teddy bear close. Her mother
had told her that her father got it for her 3rd birthday. *Why
did you have to take him from me?* she thought in her mind,
beginning to sob uncontrollably. *I want my father. Do you hear?
It is not fair,* she thought in misery. Tears flowed from her
eyes, and she curled up, crying for hours until she became so
tired she fell asleep. The night was restless however, and
Princess Serena woke up soon after falling asleep. She paced
around her room, holding the teddy bear close. He was with her
always. She knew that, but still the pang of the loss ripped
through her heart and soul. She stared blankly at her wall.
*Could anyone understand this loss?* she wondered. Would she
always be alone with this? She sighed. Why was she a princess?
The trappings of this life were not for her at all.

She picked up her paintbrush and began to brush it over
the painting she had just begun. Her mother was talented like
this. Her mother was talented and creative and intelligent. *No
one would ever know it though,* Princess Michelle though
bitterly as she brushed back a strand of her wavy hair. She
crossed her already long legs. *She threw it all away. She
could have had a wonderful, bright future, and she threw it all
away for him. What was wrong with her?* She made angry, quick
strokes with the brush to get out all her bitterness and anger.
Not that she honestly could get all of it out or even most of
it. Her father made her want to puke. He was such a
traditionalist. *As though royalty is not traditional enough as
it is. It figures that on top of that I am stuck with a father
that is considered a traditionalist even among the traditional
royalty figures. How is that for irony?* Her mother was not a
traditionalist. At least she was not underneath her façade.
Michelle knew that, but she also knew that her mother would
never do anything to displease her good for nothing
traditionalist husband. *Traditionalist? Ha, I can think of a
few much less pleasant words to describe him,* she thought
irately. She would never end up like either of them she vowed.
She would never be a traditionalist following every convention
in this world where the royalty dictated what society thought,
and society dictated what each person thought and did. She would
not give into being a follower. She would lead her own way, and
she would not look back. *No man will ever tie me down,* she
vowed. Some days she felt more hatred for her mother than her
father. After all, she was more intelligent and talented, yet
she threw all that away just to follow society and please a
stupid, conventional male that could not even think for himself.
She had nothing against men. They were attractive enough she
supposed, but she would never put one before herself or before
her dreams. She would be herself, and he could either accept it
or leave. That did not matter to her. She had enough strength in
herself to get through alone. *Then again I will never be
alone,* she thought, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. Even
at eleven she knew her best friend, Amara, would always be there
for her through everything. Her paintbrush strokes became calm
and soothing, creative and abstract. She was inspired. *Does she
think about me nearly as much?* Michelle wondered. She longed to
see her friend again and longed to feel her friend\'s comforting
touch on her hand again.

She showed no emotion on her face as her father whipped
her again and again. She did not cry. She had lost tears a long
time ago. She did not scream. Screams had been beat out of her a
long time ago. She did not beg. She knew there was no use. She
vacillated between hatred of her parents and hatred of herself
as he finished. Her mother ordered her to stand in front of them
both. She stood up straight so as not to disappoint them. Her
mother slapped her across the face, hard. She grabbed the girl’s
long black hair and pulled on it hard. “You are a worthless
little winch,” she said coldly. “Get out of my sight, or next
time I will tell your father to hit you so hard you will not be
able to move for a week.” Princess Raye stood, her eyes
expressionless but cold and hard like her mother\'s eyes, and she
left the room. She was respectful and did the correct thing she
was told to do as fast and well as she possibly could. Raye was
a perfectionist. She had to be. If she did not do everything
perfectly, she would pay. And when her parents taught her a
lesson, it was hard and hurtful. Raye was cold, but who could
blame her? She had to be cold and emotionless to get through
those beatings and verbal bashes. She would never amount to
anything in their eyes, and sometimes she hated them for it.
Mostly though the fire inside her burned with intense hatred for
herself. She would always try harder and harder to do things
just right. *Maybe someday they will tell me I did something
well, or at least be able to tolerate me,* she told herself. She
told herself this over and over just to get through the days and
nights of torment, but inside Raye was slowly losing any hope
she may have had left. There was probably never another nine
year old full of so much despair and strength and so little
hope. If there was, she had never met that being. She felt all
alone, and she cursed her existence. She cursed being a
princess, and she cursed being alive. *Someday,* she thought to
herself. *Someday this will all be over.* That was her only
comfort in her tormented, cold existence.


To Be Continued...