I stare at the wall of my room I was sent to. Four walls, two chairs, one bed, one chest, a closet, and my window.  My eyes flickered around the room, the room I was sent to constantly. The place I was taken to and cared for in, after I left the orphanage. I was upright, my knees hugged to my chest, my body seething with anger. How come she was chosen? Why was she chosen? There must be a mistake. There has to be a mistake. Since I was six I trained non stop, days without food and sleep. To be worthy of the blessing I was given, the effort I gave, It was more than most could take. I did more than my best. I pushed myself past my limit. And it wasn’t…enough. Was I not enough? Forced to drink and eat the equivalent to crap. Forced to build a tolerance against the unthinkable yet she came waltzing in on coincidence and was given the title. My title. Here the girl from a place we don’t know, a place for all we know could be a lie and or a trap. A place she calls Minnesota. This is absurd, everyone entertaining the idea is absurd. 

My heart clenched at the idea and the taste of vomit takes home in my throat. I hate this. I hate the prophecy. I hate how they built me up only to take me down when a shiny new toy came into play. She needs to be gone. My mind goes down a spiral as if the impact of my thoughts are crushing it. a knock is heard at my door. I begrudgingly get up, A heavy feeling resides in me as though I’m being weighed down by bricks as my hand rests at the knob. Before I could turn it I heard her voice, her annoying optimistic voice. In a low sound, jumbles of mumbles presumably trying to practice what she is going to say to me. My ears do not deserve such torment. I could hear her amp up to knock again so I swung the door open, a scowl resting on my lips. “What is it you want?” My eyes take in her body. She is not even built, she is scrawny like a newborn lamb, her knees knobby like a fawn. How could the prophecy call upon her? It makes no sense. It further fueled my anger. Her voice shook as she spoke  “I wanted to say I’m sorry, I overheard one of the maids and I didn’t mean to take—” My body filled to the brim with rage, She is pitying me. Her, someone I don’t know, pitying me?!

“Do you think I need your pity? Do you think I want it?!”  my voice rivaled thunder, my eyes clouded like a raging storm as my eyebrows furrow deeper. Her eyes widened and I could see the shock and fear residing in them. “You have some nerve. You aren’t– can’t even be–” I scoff, shaking my head. The words stuck in my throat. I can’t say it. I won’t say it. She doesn’t deserve the title. My title. My face flushed in anger again as she spoke up hesitantly.  “The savior? Look, that’s what I-” I cut her off with a raised hand, breathing deeply, before giving her a pointed look. “I refuse to call you.. That. you are nothing to me nor my home. You are not even worth the air we breathe. You are worthless. A waste of air who is just trying to make herself relevant. Don’t speak to me again unless it’s you saying you’re packing your bags” I saw the flash of hurt on her face before I slammed my door, the heavy feeling intensified. My anger simmered and tears brimmed my eyes. My throat felt tight as my breath picked up, I clawed at my chest and my hair.  What if I’m not the savior? What if the prophecy is true? If she stays here I will be nothing to the only home I’ve ever known. To the only people who’d seen me worthy enough to be something. If I’m not, I’d be disregarded like scum beneath the hoof of a Mare.  Forgotten and unknown, my heart clenched tighter at the thought. I breathe deeply and force myself to calm down. I get up off the floor seeing my reflection in vanity. My bloodshot eyes, dry cracked lips, and disheveled hair; I cannot allow this fraud to stay any longer. She will not stay. I’ll make sure of it.