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I had no idea when my birthdays passed and Bianca never informed. Thus, I existed a constant limbo of eating, playing with the few knick-knacks I could find in the room, dressing up in Bianca’s clothes as she slept, and sleeping. It was a simple existence that bored me, especially because Bianca did not speak to me often. But she doesn’t yell at me as much anymore either. The only time I mostly hear her yell these days is when the man who owns her prostitution contract comes to collect his dues. On those days, I just hide under the covers of my too-small crib until he goes away. Then I hear the quiet keening of Bianca through the thin walls.

If I were a normal child, I would have a speech impediment since my aunt has not taught me to speak but I practice my speech in private when Bianca isn’t there. I also practice math and writing on the few sheets of paper I find, but I’m forced to draw with ash from the fireplace because ink is a precious commodity and not something a poor prostitute can afford. I’ve written as much of Winter’s story as I can remember and have similarly loosened a floorboard to hide my story under.

I’m around five years old now. My white hair has only earned more silver strands, glittering in the light. Bianca’s eyes always trail on it the few times she comes in and I’m sure it must have looked a lot like my mother’s. There is a small handheld mirror buried in the cupboard that constitutes as Bianca’s closet. I can’t peek often, otherwise, she yells at me endlessly and doesn’t feed me. But every now and then, I dig it out and look at my little face and golden eyes that are the source of my misery.

If the royal feature was hair, I would dye it in an instant. But eyes, those are too hard to hide. Bianca knows that too so when she lied to me that going outside would harm my otherwise perfect health, I stayed inside without complaint. I am as familiar as I can be with this little room I live in and recognize the street outside the window like the back of my hand. I try to be satisfied with my lot of life, but it’s hard.

In a way, I should already be off the hook. Winter was brought to the palace when she had just turned 3 and I’ve long since turned 5 years old. My little legs long to run around reach their full potential, but I’ve long stifled the desire by doing jumping jacks until I can’t stand.

“I’m sorry, Peppermint,” I say out loud to the author as if they can hear me wherever they are. I’m not sure whether or not they can. Maybe someone else would conform to their fate of being some unfavored princess. But not me. I guess that’s a part of me that will never change, no matter what body I’m in.

I’m stubborn and willful, and I don’t follow the status quo just because it is expected of me. It did lead me to mistakes, such as trusting Halle even though everyone else called her bad news. But it also brought out my urge to make my community a better place, hence why I became a political science major in the first place. I’ve long made peace with the fact that I am no longer Maria. But parts of her will always be with me.

.....

Unfortunately, nothing good lasts forever.

I’m a very small kid right now and I can see my ribs distressingly well when I dress in Bianca’s old dresses that I clumsily alter to fit me. The few times I’ve been ill, I wet a cold rag in the bucket Bianca placed weekly in my room for me to wash and drink with, then place it upon my head to lower the fever. But this time was different.

I could feel it as soon as I woke up. My whole body was burning more than it ever had before and when I sat up in the crib I was curled up in, my vision swam and my neck was too stiff to bend. The room remained dark that day, as Bianca did not come to open the window that afternoon.

It felt strange. I couldn’t even get out of my crib to stumble over to my bucket and get a cold compress going. It was spring, but the biting chill of winter chased at my weak, little body. When I tried to speak, just as entertainment for myself, all that came out was a hoarse croak.

Was I dying? The thought first occurred to me as my vision began to go in and out. I had been ill before and especially since I was a young, unvaccinated child, I tended to catch whatever weird strains of illnesses Bianca picked up from her clients. Drums were pounding in my skull and I whined a little from the pain.

This was easily the worst part of living in this new world. I was entirely alone almost all the time, with no one to rely on. In between the haze of my illness, I watched the day slip through my fingers as my pain got worse. This illness felt very serious. Maybe I really did have the plague or something?

There was a thumping sound in the other room, Bianca was meeting with clients. She would not be in any time soon. As usual, I would have to take care of myself. I heaved a loud sigh of resignation, then kicked a leg over the edge of my crib. I would personally bring my water bucket over and give myself a cold compress.

But the moment I stood on my feet, the world went topsy turvy and I fell to the floor unconscious, burning with fever. What happened next occurred in the brief flashes I woke up from the oppressive illness that was wrecking through my young system.

I recalled Bianca crying out, “Winter? Winter!” and then cuddling my head as if I was precious to her. No, that couldn’t be right. Perhaps it was a hallucination. The next thing I remember was her pulling off the floorboard of her special hiding place and then wrapping me up in the blanket like a burrito. Cool air touched the bit of my face that was peeking out of the blanket and I belatedly realized that I am outside. I hear Bianca rapidly speaking to someone in a hushed voice and the jangle of coins. Then, nothing else.