Ania

     I leap into the limo after my father, the crowd on our heels. Screams erupt from somewhere in the middle of the mob as gunfire rings through the air. The door slams shut behind me and the limo tears off.

     My dad has my face in his hands, his wild eyes focusing on mine. "Are you okay? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

     I stare into his face, that famous face that was everywhere in the Village. "Daddy, what's going on?"

     He suddenly drops his hands into his lap and stares at the molded leather seat across from us. I'm used to his retreats into self, so I take stock of my looks.

     The gorgeous white dress I'm wearing is torn and smoking in places. The elegant bun of pale gold hair is hanging in chunks. I push back sweaty bangs and look at my reflection in the window. One earring is gone; I didn't remember losing it. The jade necklace had been torn from my neck, leaving red welts on my pale skin. My big, blue-green eyes have terror in them.

     This has never happened before.

     "Ania, you need to trust me," my father suddenly says. His voice is harsh. "You need to promise that you'll trust me, no matter what."

     "Daddy, you know I already do."

     "Those people were there to kill me. They will kill anybody who gets between me and them. Especially innocent little girls."

     "I'm not little anymore!"

     "Being fifteen means nothing to those assassins," he vehemently replied. "Do you promise to do whatever I tell you?"

      I can't stand his focused gaze, so I look down at my slender hands. "Yes, Daddy."

     He squeezes my shoulder. "We'll make it through this, Ania."

     Sure we will, Daddy.

     The limo screeches to a stop. We walk into the mansion, flanked by muscular mounds of flesh and heavy weaponry, also known as bodyguards. My dad's such a famous actor, he's entitled to such an entourage. Edge, the head of our protectors, salutes my father as we enter our home. Daddy turns to me and says, "Go up to your room and change. Clean up a little. Then we can talk to Cera."

     I can't contain my groan. "Cera?"

     "Ania..." Daddy's tone is dangerous.

     I sigh, then turn and walk up the stairs, entering the first door on the left.

     My large, silken-sheeted bed invites me, but I deny its comfort, turning to the bathroom instead. I peel off the once-beautiful gown and step into the shower.

     "Voice authorization?" asks the speakers.

     "Ania. I'd like the normal settings, but add massage jets," I say, then the hot water comes from everywhere at once, instantly soaking me.

     Ten minutes later, I step out, wrap up in a towel, and look at myself in the mirror.

     I look much better now.

     I move into my main bedroom, grabbing a remote and turning on some music. Old-fashioned rock. My favorite. I go to my spacious closet and begin searching for something to wear.

     I'm only doing these normal things to keep my mind off of what had happened a mere half hour before.

     The flashes of fire as my father stood to give his speech.

     The way the guard leaped in front of him, blocking the bullet with his own body.

     The pools of blood around the fallen corpse, his eyes glazed over, the pain still on his face.

     I shudder, blinking to keep the sudden tears from spilling over. I realize that I've gone through this rack already, so I grab a light pink blouse and frilly gray skirt and slip into them. I snatch a pair of silver sandals and sit down at my desk, where a huge mirror reflects everything in the room. I swipe on some mascara and eyeliner, along with some translucent eyeshadow, before standing up and looking myself over. As a last thought, I grab a daisy from its vase and stick it over my ear.

     You never know when or where the paparazzi will appear, and I like to be prepared.

     And yes, they've even broken into the mansion to get pictures of Tomas Greer, acclaimed actor and rumored favorite of the Kal himself.

     As I approach Daddy's study, I hear raised voices. I pause and listen, but I can't make out words through the thick oak door, so I slowly push it open.

     I should've just stayed in my room. It would have been safer.

     Maybe I should've jumped forward. It would've been the brave thing to do. But I'm not very brave.

     I could've wrestled the gun from her hands, or just grabbed the statuette from the table and whacked her with it.

     Instead, I can only watch with horror as my step-mother, Cera, shoots my father through the neck.

     I scream as he crumples, clutching at the wound. He's choking, gasping for breath as blood cascades down his shirt. Cera turns the gun on me and smiles, as if I'm amusing but completely expendable. "Why, Ania, we were just discussing what to do with you. Weren't we, Tomas?"

     All my father can do is gurgle through the gore.

     "What have you done?!" I cry, stricken.

     "Your father was directly disregarding the Kal's laws, and is part of the rebellion. Naturally, as an enforcer of the Kal, I put him out of the equation."

      I gape at her, her shock of bright red hair, her defined features, her heavy makeup. Her willingness to hurt.

     My legs find the ability to move again, and I run to my father's side. I kneel. "D-daddy?"

     He's stopped moving, barely breathing. He's making such terrible sounds as he struggles to stay alive.

     The sound of a gun cocking startles me out of my shock. I look up to see Edge, pistol aimed at Cera in his steady hands. "I've called an ambulance," he tells me.

     "Oh, just wonderful. Now he'll stay alive! Well, this is just peachy," Cera exclaims sarcastically. "You'll be doing him a favor if you just shoot him now, bodyguard."

      "Get out of here, Miss Ania, just go." Edge is moving in for the kill, his eyes focused on my step-mother as she moves around with ease, not even daunted by the impressive gun.

     "I can't leave him, Edge!" I say hysterically, lifting Daddy's head from the ground and onto my lap. Somewhere, I'm mourning the imminent loss of this outfit, but keeping my only family member alive seems more important at the moment.

     The wail of an ambulance comes from the distance.

     Cera smirks, no humor in her raised lips, and announces, "There will be a day when all resistance is killed, and the Kal will reign supreme!" She raises her arms, clad in her black silk gown, and her icy, colorless eyes glow as she disappears in a flash of crimson.

     "...will make a full recovery, but he's lost all function of speaking. The bullet hit his spinal cord, so he's paralyzed too. I'm sorry dear, but let's be glad he's alive."

     I can't hear the doctor. All I can do is stare at the once-handsome man who is barely my father anymore. Tomas Greer lies in a hospital bed with stitches from surgery and bandages forming their cocoon around his throat. I feel a hand on my shoulder, reminiscent of my father's grasp in the limo, but that feels like centuries ago. Edge's touch is briefly comforting, but I finally melt. Sobs wrack my body as I sink to the clean linoleum, overcome by grief and trauma. Something pricks my arm, and, despite everything, I begin to feel drowsy. My weeping ceases as Edge's strong arms encircle me. I just lie there, makeup running down my cheeks, intermingled with salty tears. I hear Edge's gruff voice, touched with sympathy, say, "It'll be okay, Miss Ania. It'll all work out."

     I want to tell him that it won't be okay, that it won't work out. That woman has ripped my daddy away, leaving me with the shattered remains of a great being. But I can't speak.

     I can't cry anymore tears; they've all been used already.

     I can't reach out to my father and tell him that I'm scared.

     I can't even stay awake.

     Finally, I sink into the blessed silence of a drugged sleep.