Whim was always interesting, to say the least. My younger, gung-ho, done-with-the-world cousin would seem quiet at first glance, but later you would find out that she’s actually a little crazy. Out of the sixteen years that I’ve known her, I’ve only had a dozen or so actual conversations with her. Although, strangely, I wish I could’ve had more. She never cared much for me, and I’m pretty sure that she saw me as something other than I am. She saw me as a true royal, always attentive to studies and focused on one day becoming queen. In her eyes, I was the glamorous Princess Evelyn. Also known as: the exact opposite of her. 

In our brief conversations, we would discuss things like our magic lessons and horses, her favorite animal. Once, she ranted to me about magic and how the age restriction was stupid and pointless. I thought that it seemed a bit hypocritical of her to say that people under eighteen could be very responsible when she was anything but. Another time, she told me about horse riding and how much she loved it. She did excel in equestrian teachings.

Once, she bumped into me in the hallway and appeared to be fuming over something. This was a couple of days before her first escape attempt.

The audacity of her to just run away—I couldn’t believe it when I heard. She was only nine. And she lasted almost a day before getting found in the woods. My parents told me to take Whim as an example of what not to do. They told me that they didn’t even want me to associate with her, even though most of the conversations I had with her were after this. I can’t figure out why I feel this way, but after she tried to run away she got my respect. Of course, I tried to deplore her behavior. But I couldn’t help it. I thought that it was amazing that she tried to run away. 

I’ve always wanted to have that kind of confidence. Sometimes I even wish that I could run away myself, just to get away from life for a bit. I know that I would come back if I ever did run away, but I just want a break. I want less responsibility. After she tried to run away, I tried to adopt Whim’s determination. I know that, especially in these past few years, she didn’t particularly enjoy living the life of a princess. She wasn’t even a real princess, actually. Just a possible one if I ever died. I sometimes feel a bit of resentment towards life, too. Once in a while I wish that I could be somewhere far away, with no palace or parents to please or looming future as a queen. Sometimes I would want to share these thoughts with Whim, to have somebody to relate to.

A couple of weeks ago, Whim disappeared. 

We got reports from guards that she was seen running into the forest. They never found her after that. They sent out hounds and they didn’t find blood. They didn’t find clothes. The idea of her dying in the woods was out of question. She had run off somewhere, escaping successfully at last. The only thing the hounds found was a bag with survival gear and food. It definitely belonged to Whim.

So why didn’t she take it with her? I ponder this question while staring out windows in the palace, gazing at the woods where she vanished. I haven’t come to any clear conclusions about what happened to her, but I’m certain of one thing. I don’t know how I can tell, but I feel like she has to still be alive, wherever she is. It’s not like her to die so easily. If something took her, then she would’ve fought it. I know that she’s out there in the world, living freely somewhere far away. I don’t feel any spite or disapproval towards her; I only feel regret that I couldn’t be the one to run away. I feel glad for her, sort of. And every day I send my respects to her on the wind, full of rueful hope.