“Give it to me!” she screamed hysterically. ”Give it, or—”

“I can’t!” I cried passionately, fighting against the chains with difficulty restraining me in place. “Please, stop, I can’t! I know what you’ve done. You’re a monster. How can you do this to Rachel and all those others?”

She convulsively tightened her unbreakable hold of Rachel’s ragged fur and thrust her down again. Her erratic movements were growing slowly. Weak. Twitches more than struggles.

My sore heart was racing in my chest, my shallow breath coming out as sobs. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening!

“You will surrender the sword to me. If you don't, after I count to ten, I will stab Rachel again. I will count down again and pierce her again over and over again. To the bitter end, a stab to the heart. One, two, three…”

“Don’t listen to her Inka!”

“You don’t seem to be taking me seriously.” Wicked Queen Ellen gets the cutting blade to Rachel’s throat. Her grave eyes filled with lightning, their light crackling along with the blue of her irises.

"Your wounded friend doesn’t have long,” the wicked queen hissed. ”Hand over the sword and I’ll stop.”

"Why did you get rid of our memories of all these soldiers? What do you get?” I interrupt.

“It's easier that way. Everyone wants to be one. Great benefits they think. I gain an armory for free. They're replaceable.”

“How can you do this?”

“As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. Her sharp smile said otherwise.

I surrender the sword to her because I am a miserable coward and don’t know who to scarcely trust. I cover my mouth with both nervous hands as tears streak from wide eyes and my shoulders shake in ominous silence.

She decides to sentence me to death for the soldiers of the shipwreck.

"You're weak," murmured the queen. "I dislike weakness."

The Queen's eyes were cold and bore no traces of fear.

"Nothing to say?" she sheepishly asked through pursed lips. “Take her away, lock her up and guard her.”

I curl up in a ball in the corner of my cell, hoarsely whisper-singing the sentimental song my dear father always sang to soothe me. The pleasant thought that my kind father will rescue me and sing merrily it to me again is one of the only things steadfastly keeping me going.

As I felt my new face, I began to cry from all the anguish I felt. The uncontrollable tears ran amok down my feathery cheeks unabashedly. An indignant soul inside, that I hadn't been aware of, came screaming forth. My hideous face was now a contemptuous sneer. How did I end up here?

I’m a fisherman, not a warrior. Why did I believe I could do this? Why did Rachel and Titan believe in me so much? I hope that Rachel will be alright now that Queen Ellen has what she wanted. Now if only she can take the armor off of me as well.

By Cristina Collazo