a l l i e

"Who I am and what I want are a secret."

Amidst the green leaves, the mosses upon the tree barks, the bushes that formed a painting of green with everything else; there, five figures hid. Three were roughly the same height, one was the tallest of them all, and the last of the five was the shortest. All were clad in similar garbs of black with a dash of green, which tells us one thing; they were all part of the same group. And the five stood there, eyeing an abandoned village not too far from where they stood.

"Is that the one?" asked one of the three, huddling close to the tallest one, "That village?"

He nodded, "Yes, that one. According to our scouts, that village was recently abandoned by the villagers due to some...event that occurred not too far from here,"

"Shouldn't we be worried about that little event than going there?"

The shortest figure in the group flashed out a knife and began to proceed towards the abandoned village; "We can discuss about that later. For now, our objective is to secure the remaining food supply in this village,"

The others watched the short one shifting from tree to tree, keeping close to the shadows until the short one eventually stepped outside of their hiding place. Her sharp violet eyes scanned the area before signaling to the others to come out. Seeing them slowly moving past the bushes, she turned back and strode straight into the village. Sheathing her knife, she drew out her sword and began to slowly pace about the area, eyeing the houses for any signs of food in the houses.

"Found anything, Goldhair?" asked the tallest man in their group.

The woman shook her head and turned back to the others; "Spread out. The faster we find something, the sooner we can leave this place," she pointed a finger at the tall man, "Berthold, check these houses near the entrance," and then she looked at the other three, "Auld, you go with Grenn to the houses near the crops. Don, you're coming with me to the houses on the other end,"

Nodding, they dispersed to their assigned locations. The woman, who was called 'Goldhair' earlier, hurried to the houses at the end of the village with Don tailing her from behind. She entered the first house to her left and with a swift kick to the door, she brought her sword down in a single arc. But what she slashed was nothing but air, the empty air of this abandoned village.

Don got to her side and looked about them; "Nothing here," he stepped away from her, "I'll search the kitchen,"

She acknowledged his words and proceeded to check upstairs. Goldhair reminded herself to be quick. After all, villages do attract other bandits aside from her group. If the other bandits were to arrive while they are still scavenging for food, well...

I lost a man back then. It won't happen again.

The first door to her right was open, as though to indicate that these people left in a hurry. But what could have made them leave so soon? Goldhair was aware of the current situation of the world, from everything else going down the drain in a matter of days to the New Erudia's armies claiming lands all around them; perhaps these villagers fear the coming force and fled before facing that danger. But to where? Even those people did not know. So long as they are far from danger, they will be fine; but how long can these people run with no place to go? She understood their sufferings, their pains, their sorrow.

She vowed to change all that.

Goldhair searched the rooms and found nothing but old clothes and smelly blankets. Sighing, she grabbed some of the old dresses and tunics and went downstairs, only to find Don with nothing but a piece of dried bun in his hand. The villagers really made sure that nothing was left.

Don shrugged and smiled sheepishly, "It's better than nothing, right?"

She managed a wan smile; "Come on, let's rendezvous with the others,"

But just as they were about to step out of the house, something sharp flew past her ear and hit the side of the door. Goldhair quickly turned, seeing Don on his knees with blood sprouting out from the arrow in his throat. Cursing, she snatched the bun from his hand and hurried back to where the others gathered, trapped between four bandits.

Berthold drew his sword and swung at them in full, causing the bandits to back away from his swing. As he did this, Goldhair took the opportunity to stab at one of the bandits, who was unaware of her presence from behind, and quickly got to Berthold's side.

"Why, all we want is food, missy," said one of the bandits, inching closer to grab the bun from her hand, "We're nothing but poor hungry folks, so give us some, eh?"

Goldhair was half planning to throw the dried bun away, but before she could do it, Auld and Grenn stepped in front of them and attacked the bandits head on.

"Your Highness!" cried Grenn, "We'll hold them off!"

Auld managed to land a clumsy blow on one of the bandits, "Avalantiaaaaa!!"

She looked at them in amazement; not too long ago, Auld, Grenn, and Don were mere peasants with no experience with a sword. Of course, three lessons in swordplay with Berthold was not enough to make them efficient fighters. But they had no choice; they were the only few able-bodied men in their group that were able pick up a sword and do a good swing with it. Now, she had already lost Don, and soon, Auld and Grenn.

Berthold placed a firm grip on her shoulder, realising what she planned to do; "We are outnumbered, Goldhair. Let's not put their sacrifice to waste,"

She turned to glare at him, her violet eyes full of hate and loathe, but within it, there was defeat too. He was right; they were outnumbered. Goldhair uttered a curse under her breath and turned away from the struggling two, running back to their camp, their current home, with Berthold following close from behind.

And once again, she vowed.

- - -

It was quite a sight to behold, she thought as she leaned on the side of her tent. Goldhair watched the children tearing the buns into very small pieces and gave them to the elderly men and women first before they munched on it themselves. Their mothers helped their children by feeding the rest with a spoonful of rabbit broth, something they managed to catch while Goldhair and the others were away. This was both a delayed lunch and a late dinner. This was how it went on for months after the fall of the kingdom of Avalantia.

One of the women offered her a bowl of rabbit broth, but Goldhair took only a spoonful of the broth and gave the rest back to the woman. She smiled; "If you are all having a spoonful, then I too will have a spoonful,"

Minutes later, Berthold returned with two young men, their newly-trained scouts, and had his fill of dinner as well. She watched him for a moment before gesturing for him to enter her tent.

Goldhair pulled the flap down over the entrance to her tent after he entered and turned to the map that was laid out on a table before them. She looked at it and noted that it was quite an old map, salvaged from an abandoned house not too long ago. It was old simply because Avalantia and the names of the rest of the kingdoms were still mentioned on each part of the continent when it is already gone by now, either destroyed by other kingdoms or 'taken' by New Erudia. In the case of New Erudia, 'taken' signified both destroyed and conquered.

"Berthold," she began as she stared at the map intently, "Today, I have lost three men in a...worthless attempt to search for food,"

He only looked at her, as though he knew what to expect from her.

She slammed her fists on the table, "THREE MEN, Berthold! Not one; THREE, ALTOGETHER!"

"Calm down, Goldha--"

"You think I should be calm? You think I should...just...sacrifice my people like that!?" Goldhair glared at him, "I am Princess Daena Avanteo, the First of Her Name, daughter to King Duval Avanteo III, ruler of Avalantia. I am a princess, and a princess is suppose to protect her people, to offer them safety!"

"And you have done so, Your Highness, for the time being," he replied, leaning on one of the poles that held up the tent, "You have accomplished more than any other princesses have ever done in times like these,"

"For what, Sir Berthold Orrey? So we can go hungry for another day and lose more men!?" she squeezed the ends of the table and stared down at the map, "We can't go on like this forever, Berthold. We...we need Avalantia, no-- a home. A home for all of us,"

Sighing, he moved to where she stood and looked down at her, "I understand your concerns, Your Highness. Like you, I too have seen the people traveling with us. I have seen their suffering," he placed a concerned hand on her tired shoulders, "But you are still young, only 20 years of age, and the fall of your homeland happened only months ago. It is natural for you to feel this way, Your Highness, but you must understand that certain things cannot be accomplished in a matter of minutes,"

She looked up at him, holding back the tears in her eyes; "I am at loss, Sir Berthold, truly, I am,"

Berthold paused for a moment, pondering on something, and then he continued; "You say we need Avalantia, no?"

Daena nodded, "Yes,"

"Then we need an army to face the rest of these forces, and a safe place where we can leave our followers in the mean time," he stood back and touched his beard thoughtfully, "Do you remember the lords? The lords who were part of the court of Avalantia?"

She wondered about this, and instantly, the memory returned; "Yes, I remember they...managed to flee before the attack began," the word 'flee' intrigued her. If they managed to get away before the castle went down with the attack, they may still be alive somewhere out there. Probably back in their homelands; "Berthold, I know what you're thinking of, but persuading the lords..."

He chuckled lightly, "And the lords claimed that they could never refuse your words. You shame me, Goldhair,"

A small smile formed on her lips at his jest, "It seems that I haven't been my optimistic self, lately," she nodded, "It is decided then,"

Berthold nodded in agreement.

"We will form an army, and we will march for the one force that took away all our hopes and dreams of Avalantia," her finger moved to a particular spot on the map, the only part of the map that still proved its authenticity,

"New Erudia,"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm really horrid at fight scenes. It's either I become too abstract with it or too straightforward.

This is actually a post in reply to a roleplay forum I joined a very long time ago. I thought it might have potential. Somewhat.

At the very least, the story is very much influenced by none other than George R.R. Martin himself. For those who find the name somewhat familiars (to readers of ASOIAF), Daena reminds you of Daenerys, does it not?

Well, technically, the names are both quite similar. But Daena herself is a character of her own (not this one that I wrote but in the actual story by Martin). She was said to be very headstrong and adventurous. A lot of...back-stories to that, but the fact that her traits were so brought about the creation of Daena Avanteo.

Similar to Daenerys's (or Dany, as others would call her), she leads the survivors away from her father's kingdom, Avalantia, in hopes that she will find a safer haven for her people after New Erudia's latest expansion plan that involved Avalantia in the process of it.

She has siblings, yes. In fact, she had four brothers. Three died protecting the kingdom from New Erudia. The other one, Daena's eldest brother, Daeren, was believed to have drowned at sea. But Daena refused to believe that, instead, choosing to believe that her brother was still alive; missing, but alive.

You would think he'd come running to save his family, but no, he didn't.

And I suppose it's also one way for me to test the human limit through this one. How much stress can one person endure before they break completely?

Then again, this story is one of the many stories I've put on hold. My current focus is on an old one, one that I've been wanting to finish all these while.

You see, it all began with this abandoned temple...

Understanding people has been one of my many predicaments.

It simply doesn't stop at listening and understanding their lives through their speech and what they talk of. It is more than that.

I have come to realise that in order to know them is to become them.

Like acting, in order to know the character, you have to become the character and live through his/her life. The same can be said for trying to understand people...nay, rather--humans.

I look at the person who was to be my twin brother in the play and I often wondered about his nature. My director has told me countless of times to spend more time with him so we could bond together as actual siblings; in this case, identical twins.

Yet, even in the times we meet (previously), I could sense a huge barrier that separates us. Although it is true that each humans live in their own world, there is a probability that a mutual bond can be forged between those worlds. No matter how small it was, it is there. Hence, this is the reason why I was able to mingle well with my fellow cast members.

But him...

...he is rather peculiar.

It felt very different with him than with the others.

Please, do not misunderstand me. I have mingled with the others in private, one-on-one sessions, and they all proved to be fine. That fine line of awkwardness remains, but it is fading as time goes by.

Yet I do not sense this from him.

He always seemed as though he has something more to say in his long pauses. Often, I assume that he was finding the right words to say it. Yet, as time went by, I began to realise that it was more than just that. At least, according to my observation, it was.

Was it because of me and how blunt I am towards him?

Was it because of his girlfriend?

Was it something about him that he never tells anyone at all?

Then I searched for my answers elsewhere; I went to his blog. There, I...somewhat saw a partial of the answers I was looking for.

My eyes caught sight of his girlfriend and how close they are, how he often takes her pictures and comments on how much he loves her. Made me chuckle a little; it reminded me of myself a long time ago. Perhaps a little of me now, perhaps.

But if anything, I could use this piece of information to my advantage.

If he doesn't talk, perhaps his lady might.

It would seem that the world does revolve around money.

Why, of course it does. We're so concerned about showing our wealth to people and adding price tags to it to show how exclusive they are, how we're above them.

Because society requires us so.

Because hard work can't be paid off without money, the same money attached to the above definition.

Money, money, money. How I loathe it.

Today, I was made aware on our lack of funds.

It would seem that my attempts to be sociable to my extended family yesterday turned out to be an utter failure. Again. I swear, if it's not me, then it's probably something that's been trying to get back at me from...god knows where/when.

Oh, of course, it made them laugh. But it would seem that I made a fool of my father in front of them when I talked about the condition of poor Ms. Dorothy (my Kancil) to them all, and how my dad (stepfather, in case you didn't know) told me countless of times to sell this car to buy a new one. Heh, I guess I'm lucky enough to know that it's just in front of them, and not in front of a whole crowd of strangers.

So my mom talked to me about it,

"How could you embarrass your father in front of them?"

I was shocked. I didn't know it went THAT way.

"Do you know that I'm paying for everything right now?"

"Yes,"

"Then why did you say that to them?"

Silence. I was still confused.

"Your father has no money, okay? Zero. The house, the cars, your education, your father's debts; I'm paying all of it,"

Well, if my loan gave me the extra 1000 needed to complete my fees, I wouldn't come whining to any of you. I'm still paying the bulk of it anyway.

But I know where this was going.

"Maybe if your parents didn't lavish so much back then, they would probably have enough money to settle your problems now,"

Again with that excuse.

"That's why it's even difficult to just get that extra 1000 you need for your fees. Your father can't even afford your sister's school fees, what more, yours,"

Guess I'll be paying that extra 2k myself when the semester ends.

2k, you're wondering? Well, I didn't pay enough for my last semester, and the balance was carried forward to my current semester. With the money from the loan, I cleared that bit, and paid a bit for my current semester.

I don't think it's something they have to know. We're already in a big mess, why add more, eh?

But that last bit there, I didn't know it was so.

"Don't do that again,"

"Yes,"

"Apologize to your father later,"

"Yes,"

Grit and bear, grit and bear, grit and bear, grit and bear.

...I...I don't know how to express this without sounding like a whining bitch, but when your emotions get tossed around like a piece of shit, it tends to come out that way. Especially when you are required to swallow that shit, whether you want to or not.

I hate going back home.

Heck, I don't know if I could still call any of those places as home. It suffocates me and forces a blank white slate to my face with certain words that are only allowed to be uttered within the house.

I want to run. Far. Away.

I hate this place.

I want to leave as soon as I'm done. And I don't want to have anything to do with them anymore.

I'm sick and tired of putting that same face I do.

I hate it when you put the fucking blame on my parents for your fucking stress.

I want to go for rehearsals. More rehearsals. The more, the better.

Come quickly, Viola, please.

If I'm losing readership at this point, then it's better that way. A blog, in the end, is still a diary of sorts. It doesn't matter who reads it, so long as you know that it's out there and that people are reading it.

I am at a crisis, you see.

Right now, I just need. Someone. To listen. Anyone, for that matter, because if this goes on, I don't know what will happen to me.

...*chuckles* Who am I kidding? Nobody, in this time of the day and age, would read something this bloody long about someone else of least importance to them, right?

Nevertheless...

Let me tell you my story.

This year is my final year of my degree. I made a promise to myself to perform better this year, for my sake, and my future. Since I met William, I felt like I had more purpose in life than I had ever before, that my life actually held some sort of meaning to it. I am still working at the tuition centre, still teaching English to the children there, and I planned to make an actual career from it. I am still with William, and I hope that in 2 years time, we will be wedded.

And to add more to my optimistic state, I decided to go out with a bang by putting myself out there during the audition for Twelfth Night at my college. Lo and behold, my first audition ever landed me as the female lead role, Viola. I was elated. Very much. And another promise was made to myself; I wanted to give my very best for this role, the play, and the ensemble, who have now become more than friends to me. They are my family.

The future seems bright.

The path was laid there before me; all I had to do is to walk on it and reach the end with all the worldly-knowledge I've gained throughout that walk.

Yet, what walk is complete without its complications?

To be honest, I don't know where or how it started. All I know is that I'm in it...for god knows how long. Exhaustion has been taking over me for the past couple of weeks. It could probably be from assignments, or campus, or rehearsals, or something. I don't know.

Then I realised that I wasn't just exhaustion. I feel as though...something, or someone is taking over me.

Time after time, rehearsal after rehearsal, I was told by my director to become Viola, the character that I am playing. And every time he says that, I try. I look for her. I searched for her. I called out to her.

She is there, she is in me.

We understand each other. We could feel each others' feeling, especially that lonely feeling that we both experience. While she did in the play, I did in real life.

The one person she could rely on was Sebastian. The one person I could rely on is William.

In my mind, Sebastian was the only person Viola could talk to, and be herself. He knew all her secrets, all her desires, dreams, pains. He was her confidant, more so than any of her family member. Then again, Sebastian later became her only family member after their father passed on. That further emphasised on how important Sebastian was to her.

As for me, I don't confide in anyone as often as I do with William. He is family to me; emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, and soon, physically.

But along the way, Viola lost her brother. Whether he died, she knew not. All she could do now is grit and bear it, put on a mask, don a disguise, and go out into the world as Cesario.

And, as much as I know that I have my love with me all the time, but every time we part, I was as lost as Viola was. 'Grit and bear' was all that I lived on until he wakes up and talks to me again. As small as this separation may be, it is...the same feeling. It is still separation.

While we both continue to grit and bear that thought of being alone, we then realise that we have no one to turn to. No one to hear our thoughts.

Of course there are people, but do they hear us? Do they even bother to listen and not just hear us?

Yet, even if they do listen, would they even understand why it makes us feel this way?

Perhaps they can't see it. Perhaps it's because we can't, nay--don't know how to show it. Because we've always been revealing this side of ours to that one person. And now that that person is gone, we become lost, stragglers. Yet we can't get that side of ours out when people wonder about our welfare, about how we feel, and why we don't talk to them even though they offered to lend their ears to us.

But this is where the line is drawn between Viola and myself;

The monologue, to Viola, is a self-confession to no one. She was only talking to herself, talking to her mind. Hence, she is given the freedom to release herself that way.

I, on the other hand, am suppose to express the same feeling she felt to the audience. I am to convince them that I feel this way. I, who feels the same was as Viola, am to tell the audience the way I would talk to myself in private.

That is, by far, my biggest challenge, and the one thing that has been occupying my mind since our blocking (rehearsing by scenes from the script) got to that point. And all these while, I've been laden with that melancholic feeling that it began to exhaust all the optimism in me.

It's affecting my work, my...life at home and college too, I guess.

In my attempt to search for Viola, I let her take over me.

Maybe this is that moment that my director told me about.

...I have to untangle myself from this.

Somehow.