Victoria peered outside as the rain and wind crashed against her window. A storm raged on across the landscape as she sat in her desolate room on top of a high citadel. She begins to reflect on the past 6 months. This is so silly. I have been up here since that fateful day. Nothing of consequence has happened to me. Who came up with this grim practice anyway? Predicting the day you were meant to die and marking you for life? Apparently, everyone believed them, whoever they are. She stared at her arm. Her “death date” was 6 months ago. She was truly dying. But, not in the true term of the word. She was dying slowly on the inside. Each day she becomes more bored and withdrawn from the world’s wonders since her parents locked her away to protect her.
She peered down at her necklace: a pendant imbued with an orange gem linked to a gold chain. It was a gift from her mother. “We will never forget about you. We will come get you when we are sure your “death date” has come and gone. When you are safe.” That was the final words her mother said. No messages. No letters. No visitors. Since that day.
I have had enough of this, Victoria thinks. What sense is life if you never live? What kind of life occurs when you are always afraid to die? She was done with it all: the tower, her tattoo, waiting until the “danger” was past. It never passes! I must rise above drivel predictions and what others want for me. I need to get out of here. Victoria grabbed her heavy cloak, raced down the steps, and burst out the door. She set out on her way and never looked back.