Prologue

When she was young, Evelyn had loved poppies. They were abundant, everywhere. They littered the fields, the hills, and the gardens, from the center of town to the horizon. According to her older brother, Jonas, they were a symbol of their kingdom. 

When she was young, they had had a kingdom. Her father was king, her mother, who came from across the sea, was queen, and Evelyn and her siblings were princes and princesses. 

When she was young, she had been a princess. Now, she didn't know what she was. She was a girl, who had learned too much about the world, and yearned for the days when she was ignorant.

When she was young, she had been ignorant. She had paid no attention to the messengers that came to the castle with threats of war, and only stared with curiosity when the Empire's soldiers marched through the city streets. 

When she was young, the streets were used. Now, they were policed. People only went out when they had to, and anything that resembled the old kingdom was forbidden. 

The poppies were forbidden too. They burned them, all of them. They scorched the earth all around the town, wherever they found even a single poppy. 

When people resisted, they threw them in to burn with the poppies. The fires raged for days. When they went out, they forced the townsfolk to till and plant all of the burnt ground. 

Evelyn was kept in the castle dungeons, with no one but her shrinking family. Her father was executed in the town square, and after a week his head was given back to them.

Her mother screamed and fainted when she saw the rotting flesh of her husband's face, but it didn't trouble her for long. It wasn't long before she was taken away, not that anyone knew where to.

All of Evelyn's brothers over the age of eight were killed, hung in the streets from posts. The few who were younger than that were sold as slaves, and sent to noble houses in the Empire. 

Her sisters were taken as prizes, either as concubines for the generals and young men who had led the army, or sent to the Imperial capital to be handed out there. 

In the end, only Evelyn remained. When she turned twelve, her eye changed, the dark brown pupil taking the shape of a blood-red poppy. She knew they would kill her if they saw it, and decided her life was worth more than her eye.

When she was young, Evelyn had loved poppies. Now, they were all gone, just like every other memory from her old life. Crying in pain on the floor of her cell, blood mixing in with her tears, a wooden fork gripped tightly in her hand. 

She swore, to herself, her parents, her brothers and sisters, that she would bring things back. Before she could die, she swore, she would see and love a poppy once more.