It was very hard.

  And failure here had carried the ultimate price for the Fourth Princess of Ensolia.

  Maybe the world was a better place now that Sophia was dead.

  Her family now no longer shackled by the obligation to care for this rotting mess of a black sheep; a husband free to find someone more capable than her. And perhaps, most importantly: a soul finally released to do nothing.

  The Imperium would mourn her for a few weeks (as expected for any royal’s death), but eventually, they'd move on. This unknown public figure—hardly ever connecting with the common folk outside the Capital Valley—would fade into the annals of history. A Princess who never really did anything with her life, except perhaps achieve the shortest marriage in the history of political unions.

  But the Goddess, the one who fell for humanity, wouldn’t let her die easily.

  Not when there’s still hell to pay for all the smut this girl’s read.

  OK ENOUGH MOPING ABOUT, WAKE UP GIRL.

  Sophia Elise the Eighth slowly comes back to life on the church pew. Her blurred vision refocuses, catching the colors streaming through the stained glass windows—warm, shimmering light against stone walls casting shadows onto her face.

  A faint scent of incense lingers in the air, and the soft echoes of distant voices bounce against the grand archways, muffled and reverent; holy but humble.

  She blinks. Two unfocused faces hover above her, both wearing expressions of deep, concerned confusion.

  “Thank the gods she’s alive.” The voice of the Guardswoman begins to fade in.

  “I told you she was dehydrated.” Another voice, distinctly eastern ensolian in accent, answers the Tianci guardian as she snaps her fingers in front of Sophia’s face. “Goddess, look at her. Hey, you alright there?”

  This woman of the cloth’s blonde hair was folded beneath a loose, slightly off-center veil; a body hidden under the long, wrinkly dark cloak embroidered with silver. A dress uniform of Ensolian faith, this priestess of the Imperial Church was in front of her, staring at Sophia with a pair of dark brown eyes.

  The Fourth Princess of Ensolia groans lightly. “H-huh w-what?”

  The Priestess speaks, her accent most definitely placing her from one of the seaside cities in the Erythryn Coast. “You collapsed right in front of the altar ten minutes ago. I saw you crawl in like you were dying. What happened?”

  Yeah we literally crawled our way into the Ensolian Church of Her Holiness in Port Azuru after failing to find donuts after four hours of looking cause it’s the only Ensolian establishment open in town, and you went to it because it was a quarter mile up the hill and visible from where you were standing.

  And we sorta almost died hiking up here, since we completely skipped lunch, and are also dehydrated to our bones.

  “I was…” Sophia begins to react now, slowly peeling herself up off the varnished wood in a disgusting pile of sweat drenched clothing. “... I dunno…”

  “Yeah, and your hired gun here was reaalllly helpful.” The woman, most likely in her early thirties, shoots a glare at the Tianci Guardswoman. “Goddess, really you gotta hire someone else for protection.”

  Guardsman Fushimi clears her throat with concern, the submachine gun in its strap clanging against her belt. “Hey, I thought it was all just for a bit…”

  “You think her crawling into the church was a bit?”

  “I thought this was some strange ritual you people did or something before going for prayer.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The Priestess shakes her head, reaching over for a pitcher and glass of cool water to hand to the girl. “No, we don’t crawl into the chapels for prayer. At least, not until Salvation Day… I think.”

  Hydration hits Sophia’s parched throat, this random woman of the cloth her savior as she greedily gulps in an entire glass in seconds.

  “Yeah, you’re not from around here, are you?” The Priestess asks, pouring another glass of water as the young ensolian girl presents her now empty container.

  “No…” Sophia begins, groaning slightly. “W-what gave it away?”

  “The way you sit.” She sarcastically tells her.

  “Really?”

  “No. It’s because your accent is Ensolian, and you’re blonder than the suns.”

  Yep, that’s a central ensolian alright.

  “Oh, ok.” The young woman sighs, drinking more water from the now filled glass.

  One more cup drained, her expression now tamed from a desperate, pathetic mess to a resting cold scowl.

  “You got a name?” The Priestess gathers, throwing a glance towards the so-called ‘hired gun’ that had escorted this intruder into the sanctum.

  Oh crap, where was her brain when she needed it?!

  Rehydrated, and very alive again; the entire Consciousness Committee comes together for this new task. Oh yes we do have a ‘name.’ It’s time to use our *secret identity!* Yes, the provided identity from the Dominion’s lauded Apparatus. We are the Fourth Princess no longer: we are…

  There’s a very long silence as each process expects the others to speak up. A knowledge that had to be somewhere, a single folder within the endless cabinets locked deep in the memory of the centers of the brain.

  Uh oh.

  The internal monologue begins to pace the chamber in silence. Footsteps echoing, its ice cold presence passing by each member of this committee without a single word until it finally reaches back to the center.

  Remember when we agreed to read the Identity Briefing? The document that was given to us by Auntie and prepared for by the Dominion’s Political Apparatus?

  They all try to avert their gazes, but the internal monologue continues. Perhaps procrastinating on that task may have been a bad idea.

  Sophia Elise had completely forgotten to actually study that document in any sort of detail. That red folder was something to be done later, on tomorrow’s to-do-list; a long-term problem with an easily put off short-term solution: the ultimate enemy.

  Sophia thinks to herself, digging through memories in a desperate lunge for anything. It has to start with an S. Something like… Sou… Soo… Sill… Ska…?

  You idiot, what sorta name starts with a Ska?

  About ten seconds have passed now, and this silence was becoming something so awkwardly thick that even the sharpest ceramic blade from the mastersmiths of the Imperium would have trouble cutting through it.

  Guardsman Fushimi throws her a bone, clearing her throat and taking a large protective step towards her. “Mistress Sylvia, is everything alright?”

  It could be something very Tiacin; like Sayuri. Auntie did mention something about Yunclair. The thought processes continue to think.

  “Mistress Sylvia.”

  “What?” Sophia turns with an extremely confused glance towards what was a loud individual speaking towards her. “Huh?”

  Yeah… it's Sylvia. You’re a Sylvia, Sophia.

  “Oh right.” The young ensolian woman clears her throat, voice cracking at the inflex of this false name’s final syllable. “My name is Sylvia.”

  An even longer silence this time around, with the Priestess repeating the name with a hesitation. “Your name’s… Sylvia.”

  “Yes, that’s my name.” Sophia lies through her teeth, taking every single political gene and bone in her body and pushing it out into an almost comical royal command towards this lowly cleric.

  There’s something about this situation that raises an eyebrow for the Priestess, something that makes her ask this prying question disguised as a comment. “Well Sylvia, you’re a long way away from Capital.”

  How did she…?

  “W-what?” Sophia tries to blink, the Guardswoman next to her lowering her stance and preparing to pull something from her hidden thigh holster.

  “Come on don’t play coy, you got the Capital accent. You’re a city-girl through and through.”

  Sophia did not have a Capital accent, and she was not some simple, highly educated woman who worked within the Imperial Towers in the upper middle-classes of Imperial society. An ego inflating as her pride objects. “I’m not…”

  The Guardswoman stops her before any more damage could be done. “The mistress is from Yunclair. Her family is… originally from the Capital Valley.”

  They’re getting their lies mixed together, enough contradiction in their stories that this Priestess smiles as she leans closer towards the two. Eyes locking with this young woman, irises focusing on her face. Sophia sees an intelligence behind that look, a dark something deep within this woman that was beginning to surface as she continues to press her advantage. “Really?”

  right now.