Levana sat huddled on the tiled floor of the room, whimpering and curled in the fetal position. The guard had left her bruised, naked and humiliated; her auburn hair tangled and sprawled over her shoulders. She still had the silk gloves on her hands, hiding her metal monstrosities, and her beautiful purple gown lay bloodied and torn in the corner.

She shuddered.

It had been the worst day of her life-all her life. She had never felt so disgusting, so worthless. He had hurt her, violated her. She didn't even feel human. Pain was flooding through her body, strongest where he had torn her open. She had always been told that it would hurt the first time, but she never imagined that it would feel like that. Her throat was raw from screaming, pleading for him to stop, and she was sure that she had bruises on her left wrist from how tightly he was holding it.

(ah Levana baby you feel so good how can you say no oh god)

After what seemed like hours, she finally managed to stand up, uncurling from her pathetic ball on the floor. She tried, in vain, to calm herself, taking deep, shaking breaths. Slowly, she started to hobble towards her tattered dress, hissing as she did so, the pain between her legs spiking with each step she took.

(no please don't it hurts I'm bleeding it shouldn't be like this)

Picking up the remnants of the once-exquisite ballgown, she frowned, taking in the long tear that ran from the edge of the bodice to the hem of the skirt. It was wrinkled and covered in blood, but at least it would cover her up enough for her to get to her room. She grimaced as she slipped the piece of fabric over her bruised body.

Her arms shaking from shock, anger and fear, she wrenched the door open, which the guard had fortunately left unlocked, and left the room. She was in the east wing of the palace, not too far from her own bedroom. Good. That meant that there was less ground to cover, less chance that anyone would see her in her messed up state, with her torn gown and tangled hair and mascara that probably ran down her face from all her crying. Not to mention the countless lovebites that lined her neck and shoulders. The blossoming bruises were tender to the touch and would make Levana wince every time something brushed up against one.

She walked clumsily down the quiet, dark hallways, the shadows projected on the walls casting an eerie feel that made her shiver. The lack of sound or music from the ballroom stated the obvious-that the party was over, even though she had no idea what time it was, how long she had been trapped in that room with him. It could've been ten minutes, or it could've been an hour, for all she knew.

As she passed by rows and rows of court portraits depicting previous rulers-her ancestors-she could've sworn that they were watching her, making fun of her. Calling her a disgrace to their bloodline, an accident, something that should've never been born.

(oh baby you're perfect you feel so good you're so beautiful and you're MINE)

She paused at a large watercolour painting depicting the royal guard, all men and boys standing side by side, tall and proud, in their official uniforms. She felt like throwing up when her gaze settled on a certain guard in particular, standing above the others, his caramel coloured eyes staring straight and stonily, seeming to pierce through Levana's very soul.

Evret Hayle. Her rapist.

Levana felt a sudden pang of emotion, a horrid dark force that threatened to eat her from the inside out. She felt such hatred towards the guard, so much that it seemed unbelievable. She despised every inch of him, from his haughty grin to his looming stance. She wanted him to suffer, she wanted him dead.

(that silly little emperor would never go down on you like this you love this just admit it)

How dare he do this to her, a princess? Or to anyone, for that matter? How could anyone hurt and torment someone so much that they take away their virtue, their very soul? How dare that bastard rip away her virginity-against her will-without even a second glance? How dare he use her as an object for sexual pleasure?

More importantly-how could Channary let him do it?

Levana stomped down the halls, ignoring the persistent pain, fuming. She didn't even care if the servants or anyone saw her, even though probably looked like a madwoman. She flung open the door to her bedroom and slammed it shut behind her, so hard that she felt the walls shake ever so slightly.

(baby you're moaning stop screaming you love this you're so hot you're so soft oh god yes)

She stood in the middle of the room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob. Had she not been so proud, she would've probably collapsed to the floor in a bumbling, emotional mess.

Tears ran feely down her cheeks, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. "It's just...so unfair..." she mumbled to the empty room, reminding her of how truly alone she was.

From the first day, from the first minute, from the first breath, it was never fair.

Channary had gotten everything-love, respect, beauty, wealth, safety. Levana had gotten nothing. An empty life void of light and warmth, born and raised in an eternal nightmare. The kind that you can never wake up from.

What did she do to deserve this? Why did everyone hate her so much?

How could anyone be that cruel...

To do something like that-to their own blood. Their own sister. Such a horrendous, unbelievable crime.

It seemed unfathomable. Impossible.

But Channary had done it.

Still sobbing, Levana tore the bloody rag off of her body, letting it fall to the floor. She silently hauled herself on top of her bed and slipped under the covers, the normally heavenly silk doing nothing to comfort her, nothing to appease her. The tears ran freely by that point, and the pain between her legs seemed to grow even stronger. She cringed as she noticed trails of fresh blood still running down her thighs, and, despite the muddled state of her mind, managed to vaguely wonder how she not seen them before.

She buried her face in the pillow and clutched the sheets in her fists, her gloves still on her hands. She found it too wearisome to pull them off.

And as she lay there, motionless, unable to sleep, she could only think of one thing. One haunting, depressing thought that seemed to shroud her in thick darkness.

It was starting to make sense in her mind. She began to understand why her parents, her sister, her people were so heartless. So cruel. So soulless.

(baby you know you want this)

It is better not to have a soul, because then, it can't be slowly killed out of you.