In the prosperous yet ruthless Kingdom of Eldoria, King Reginald ruled with an iron fist and a heart of stone. He had three queens, each bearing him one daughter. Princess Ema, the firstborn of Queen Seraphina, was a vision of perfection—skin like fresh milk, hair like spun gold, and a laugh that melted hearts. Princess Isha, daughter of Queen Vespera, was no less enchanting, with delicate features and an aura of grace that made nobles bow.

Then came me.

Aria. Daughter of Queen Lira, the third queen. The moment I drew my first breath, the midwives gasped. My skin was not the prized porcelain fairness of my sisters. It was a warm, earthy mid-tone that they called “dirty,” “common,” and “revolting.” Queen Lira took one look at me and turned her face away in disgust.

“Get that hideous creature out of my sight!” she screamed, voice sharp as a whip. “I carried that thing for nine months and this is what I get? A disgrace! Take her away before I vomit!”

No one dared argue. I was ripped from her arms and discarded like spoiled meat.

Only one soul showed mercy — an elderly maid named Mira, wrinkled and grey-haired, whose own children had long left this world. She wrapped me in a thin cloth and carried me to a forgotten corner of the servants’ quarters.

From that day, Mira became my everything.

“Aria, my sweet child,” she would whisper every night as she rocked me, tears in her kind eyes. “Don’t listen to their cruel tongues. You are beautiful… beautiful like a hidden goddess. Your light is different, but it is brighter. One day the world will see it.”

For eight years she protected me, fed me scraps from the royal kitchen, bathed me, and told me stories of brave princesses who overcame darkness. But outside our small world, the cruelty never stopped.

Servants mocked me openly.

“Look at the ugly one!” a kitchen maid once sneered. “Cover that face before you curdle the milk!”

Children threw stones. “Monster! Demon child!” they shouted while running away. I learned to wrap a thick scarf around my face whenever I stepped out. I stopped hoping for my mother’s love after she visited only four or five times in my earliest years — each visit shorter and colder than the last.

One day, when I was six, Queen Lira came again. I ran to her with trembling hope.

“M-mother…?” I whispered, lowering my scarf slightly.

She recoiled as if I had slapped her. “Don’t call me that! How dare you? Look at you… you’re even uglier than before.” She turned to Mira with pure hatred. “If this thing ever comes near the royal wing again, I’ll have you both whipped.”

Then she left. I cried for three days straight in Mira’s arms.

I once tried approaching my sisters in the palace garden, heart pounding with desperate longing.

“Ema… Isha…” I said softly, “I’m your sister, Aria. Can we… play together? Just for a little while?”

Ema stared at me with pure contempt and burst into mocking laughter. “Play with you? Don’t make me sick! One look at your disgusting face and my skin will break out!”

Isha stepped closer, nose wrinkled. “Father should have drowned you at birth. Go back to the gutter where you belong, servant girl.”

Their laughter rang in my ears as I ran away, tears blinding me. After that day, I never tried again. I stayed in my tiny, dark servant room, talking to myself, playing with broken wooden toys, and slowly learning to survive loneliness.

On the morning of my eighth birthday, everything changed.

A richly dressed royal official stormed into the servants’ area. “Where is the third queen’s spawn? The king demands her presence immediately!”

Mira held my hand tightly, fear in her eyes. “Be strong, my goddess,” she whispered. “Remember who you truly are.”

I followed the official with a racing heart and foolish hope. Maybe Father wants to see me on my birthday. Maybe he’ll smile at me. Maybe he’ll finally call me daughter.

We entered the magnificent royal chambers. Golden sunlight, velvet drapes, and the strong scent of incense filled the air. King Reginald sat on his high throne, surrounded by advisors. My two sisters stood beside him, looking like living dolls.

I stood there trembling, scarf covering my face, eyes wide with anticipation.

The king didn’t even turn his head toward me.

He spoke to the official as if I were an object. “The girl is eight now. Take her away. Enroll her in the elite soldier training program in the eastern forest camp. Turn her into the strongest warrior this kingdom has ever seen. She will fight and bleed for Eldoria. If she fails… discard her. Let her rot as a common maid.”

Tears burned my eyes. I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to look at me just once.

The king continued coldly, still not sparing me a glance, “And make sure her face remains hidden at all times. I will not allow that ugly face to bring shame upon my royal blood. If anyone sees it, punish her severely.”

The official looked down at me with open disgust. “Ugly little rat. You heard His Majesty. Follow me, and don’t you dare cry or slow me down, or I’ll slap that scarf off your face myself.”

I looked desperately at my father one last time. “F-Father…?” I whispered, voice breaking.

He finally glanced at me — but only with irritation. “Do not call me that. You are no daughter of mine. You are a weapon at best. Now get out of my sight.”

At that exact moment, Ema and Isha entered fully, giggling.

“Eww, it’s her,” Ema said, pointing. “Father, why is this eyesore in your chambers?”

Isha laughed loudly. “Maybe she’s here to clean the floors with her face. It’s rough enough to scrub stone!”

The king chuckled along with them. Their laughter echoed like knives in my chest as the official dragged me away.

I looked back one final time. Mira stood far away near the entrance, tears streaming down her face. She mouthed, “I love you, my goddess.” That was the last time I saw her.

The journey felt endless.

We crossed the noisy village where people whispered and pointed. Then the cart entered the dense, dark forest. Trees grew thicker, light dimmer. After hours of bumpy travel, we reached a massive hidden military camp deep in the woods — filled with hundreds of hardened soldiers.

The official shoved me off the cart. “Get down, you worthless thing!”

I stumbled out, legs shaking. The sounds of clashing swords, shouting commanders, and grunting men surrounded me. General Vark, a tall, battle-scarred man with a permanent scowl, approached.

“This is the king’s secret daughter?” He looked me up and down and spat on the ground. “Pathetic. Skin like mud and a body like a twig. This is what we’re supposed to train?”

“King’s orders,” the official replied. “Break her if you must. Just make her useful.”

General Vark grabbed my arm roughly and dragged me to the far end of the camp. A small, lonely dome-shaped hut stood there — one hard bed, one rickety table, a single blanket.

“From tomorrow at dawn, your hell begins, girl,” he growled. “You will train harder than any man here. No special treatment. No mercy. Cry, and I’ll give you something to really cry about.” He laughed cruelly. “Enjoy your last night of peace… if a disgusting creature like you can even sleep.”

As soon as he left, the dam inside me broke. I collapsed onto the hard bed and cried violently, body shaking with sobs. “Why…? Why do they all hate me? What did I ever do wrong… Mira… Mother… Father… someone… please love me…”

A rough soldier later entered carrying food, training clothes, and a plain, heavy wooden mask.

“Put this on,” he barked. “24 hours a day. Never remove it. If even one person sees your ugly face, you’ll be whipped until your back looks worse than your front. Understand, freak?”

“Y-yes, sir…” I whispered, terrified.

He smirked. “Good. Welcome to hell, princess.” He slammed the door behind him.

I ate the tasteless food with tears dripping into the bowl. I changed into the rough, itchy uniform. Then, with trembling fingers, I placed the mask over my face. It was tight, hot, and suffocating — pressing painfully against my skin.

I lay down on the thin mattress, staring into darkness. The sounds of soldiers laughing and training outside only made me feel more alone.

In a broken whisper, I repeated Mira’s words like a prayer:

“I am beautiful… like a goddess…”

But tonight, even that felt like a distant, impossible dream.

This was only the first night of my new, painful life.

Next Morning

The first ray of dawn had barely touched the sky when the camp horn blared like a demon’s roar.

BAAAAAARP!

Aria jolted awake, heart hammering against her ribs. The heavy wooden mask pressed painfully into her face, already damp with sweat and tears from the night before. Her small body ached from the hard bed. For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then reality crashed down.

“Get up, you worthless slug!” A soldier kicked the door of her hut open. “Training starts now! If you’re late by even one second, General Vark will skin you alive!”

Aria scrambled out of bed, legs trembling. She quickly splashed cold water on her face (careful not to remove the mask), changed into the rough training uniform, and ran outside. The forest air was chilly. Hundreds of soldiers were already forming lines, their bodies glistening with early sweat.

General Vark stood like a mountain of cruelty, whip in hand, eyes scanning for weakness.

“You!” he barked, pointing at her. “King’s ugly mistake! Front and center!”

Aria ran forward, breathing fast. The mask made it hard to see clearly on the sides.

“Today we break you,” Vark growled loudly so everyone could hear. “Fifty laps around the entire camp. Now!”

Aria’s eyes widened. The camp was huge. But she had no choice.

She started running.

By the twentieth lap, her legs burned. By the thirty-fifth, she was stumbling, gasping for air behind the mask. On the forty-second lap, she fell hard, scraping her knees badly.

“Get up!” Vark roared. He cracked his whip across her back. THWACK!

“Ahh!” Aria cried out, pain exploding across her spine.

“You think the enemy will wait while you rest, you pathetic worm?!” he shouted. “Run! Or I’ll make sure your back looks like minced meat!”

She forced herself up, tears soaking the inside of the mask, and finished the laps on pure willpower. But that was only the beginning.

Next came sword drills. Her arms were too weak to hold the heavy wooden sword properly. She kept dropping it.

“Useless!” A trainer kicked her in the stomach. “Even a street dog fights better than you!”

Then came push-ups, pull-ups, climbing ropes, carrying heavy sacks across the field. She failed every single task.

By the end of the first day, Aria was covered in bruises, welts, and cuts. General Vark dragged her by the collar to the center of the training ground as the sun set.

“Listen well, you disgusting creature,” he snarled for all to hear. “In my camp, failure is not an option. Since you couldn’t complete even one task properly…”

He nodded to two soldiers. They held her arms while Vark himself brought the whip down ten times across her back and legs.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

Each strike drew a sharp scream from her. “I-I’m sorry… please… it hurts…”

“Shut your mouth!” Vark spat. “You are not a princess. You are not even a girl. You are a weapon. And weapons don’t cry. Tomorrow you will do twice as much, or the punishment will be twice as bad. Now crawl back to your hut like the rat you are.”

Aria crawled on her hands and knees back to her small dome hut, every movement sending fire through her body. She collapsed on the bed and cried bitterly, lifting the mask just enough to wipe her tears.

“Mira… Mira, where are you?” she whispered, voice shaking. “I miss you… I miss you so much…”

She touched her fresh wounds and winced. “But… but I am strong… I am beautiful… just like you said, Mira. I am strong… I am beautiful like a goddess…”

She repeated it again and again until sleep finally took her, exhausted and broken.

The days blurred into one long nightmare.

Every single morning started the same: the cruel horn, the shouting, the impossible tasks. And every single day, she failed some of them. The punishments grew harsher. Sometimes it was the whip. Sometimes she was forced to stand in the freezing river for hours. Sometimes she was denied food for the entire day.

The soldiers mocked her constantly.

“Look at the masked freak!”

“King must really hate her to send her here.”

“Even with the mask, we can tell she’s ugly as sin.”

One month passed.

The training did not become easier. It became far more cruel.

General Vark had decided to “forge her properly.” Now she woke even earlier — before dawn. She ran with heavy stones tied to her ankles. She sparred against older, stronger soldiers who were ordered to not hold back. She was forced to climb tall trees with bleeding hands, cross obstacle courses filled with thorns, and fight while exhausted and hungry.

One evening, after she failed to defeat a much larger soldier in combat practice, General Vark lost his temper completely.

“You are a disgrace to this camp!” he bellowed. He grabbed her by the hair through the mask and slammed her face-first into the muddy ground. “If you were a real soldier, I would kill you for such weakness. But the king wants you alive… for now.”

He whipped her twenty times that night while the entire camp watched. Aria screamed until her voice broke.

Later that night, alone in her hut, she sat on the floor, trembling. She slowly lifted the edge of her mask just enough to see the fresh red welts and bruises covering her arms and legs. Blood had dried on her back. Every inch of her small body hurt.

Tears rolled down her cheeks silently at first, then turned into heavy, painful sobs.

“Mira… Mama Mira…” she cried softly, hugging her knees. “I miss you… I miss your stories… I miss your warm hands… Why did they take me away from you? I was happy with you… even if I was ugly to everyone else…”

She rocked herself gently, voice barely a whisper in the dark hut.

“But I am strong… I am beautiful… just like you told me. I am strong… I am beautiful like a goddess. They can’t break me… They can’t break me… right?”

Her voice cracked. Fresh tears fell onto her wounds, making them sting even more.

Outside, the soldiers were laughing and drinking around campfires. Inside, the forgotten princess cried herself to sleep again, whispering Mira’s words like a prayer to survive one more day.

The pain was unbearable.

The loneliness was worse.

But somewhere deep inside her shattered heart, a tiny, stubborn flame still refused to die.