Entertainment Circle11 min read
Queen Falls, Star Rises
ButterPicks15 views
I slapped the air and cursed, hard.
"Are you awake?" a voice said.
I blinked. White lights. A bed that was not my bed. Two men leaning over me like they owned the place.
"Her vitals are normal," the man with the nervous smile said. "She should wake soon."
"She fell three ribs ago," the other said. "Big crash."
Big crash? I tried to rise and my hand found nothing—no power, no weight, no force.
"Hey — you okay?" the nervous man asked again. He had a name badge: August Cook.
I stood anyway. I pushed.
I hit the floor.
"She just fell out of bed!" the doctor swore. "Three broken ribs—how is she—"
"Don't worry," I said. "I am Lucia Cherry, queen of Su Li country. Who dares—"
They both went silent. I heard my own voice and it sounded like a strange song in a strange room.
"You said queen?" August touched his forehead. "This is the emergency ward of Central City Hospital. Miss, your name—"
"You are rude," I snapped, then stopped. My head hurt. My right side buzzed. "Who are you two?"
"I'm August." He bowed awkwardly. "I'm your manager now. No, that sounds odd."
"Manager?" I frowned. "I have ministers. Where are my ministers?"
"Not here," the doctor said. He smiled softly. "I'm Dr. Freeman."
They stared at me like I had stepped off a stage.
"You crashed onto my car three nights ago," August blurted. "You fell from the sky and hit my hood. I thought it was... something else."
"It was supposed to be a cliff," I said, more to myself than them. "I was pushed."
"You were pushed?" Dr. Freeman's eyes narrowed. He checked my chart. "You had a head injury and three broken ribs. You should not be moving."
I looked at my left hand. I tried to push the cup on the table with my mind. Nothing moved.
"You have no power here," I said. "My qi—it's gone."
August swallowed. "If that's true, it's a miracle you're walking."
"Am I walking?" I tested. I stood, straight as a pole, and then—boom—my foot slipped on an electric sickle of carpet and I nearly fell.
"Please don't try to fight anyone," Dr. Freeman chuckled. "We will give you a lot of tests."
I hummed. I had been an emperor rank cultivator at a hundred—too young to stop. The memory of the cliff flashed through me, then the fall, then black.
"Where is my sword? Where are my guards?"
"You had no sword," August said. "You had a parachute? No. Listen, Miss Lucia... whatever is going on, come with me. You can't be alone."
I looked at the room. Instruments twitched with a pale glow. They looked like—no. Not instruments. Tools.
"You call them what?" I asked.
"Machines, apps, phones," Dr. Freeman said. "Not 'spirit tools.'"
"Odd names," I said. "You people like odd names."
August laughed. "You think you were saved by a god? You were in the middle of a canyon and my car got hit. I brought you here. I—"
"You will be repaid," I said, dropping into a bow before they could protest.
August's jaw almost fell off. "She's doing that bow thing," he said softly. "She called herself queen. This is either a great act or a very strange woman."
"Act? I am Lucia Cherry," I said. The name came out sharp. "I remember everything except... this place."
That night August took me home. I touched the car's steering wheel and it came loose in my hand.
"Why did that break?" August swore softly.
"Bad tool," I said and poked the wheel. "It is cheap."
"You really shouldn't joke," August said, but his mouth trembled in a grin.
Inside his small two-bedroom apartment, I did something I had never expected.
"There's something in my head," I said later, in the quiet of his living room. "A voice."
"A voice?" August sat down close, as if he were waiting for fireworks.
A small chime rang in my mind. "Welcome, Lucia Cherry. I am Momo, your assistance system."
"A what?" I asked aloud.
"A system?" August repeated, then frowned. "Like a game?"
"Yes," Momo said in my mind, as bright and childish as a bell. "Complete tasks, gain spirit air."
"Spirit—" I said. "Momo, can you give me a little qi?"
"Small test," Momo sang. "Task one: make a ponytail. Reward: 0.1 cube."
August blinked. "A ponytail?"
"You give me a comb and a band and I will make a tail," I said. August produced items like an eager fool and demonstrated how a small rubber band pulled hair.
"That's your test?" I said, but I tried. I copied the movement. It was clumsy but I did it.
"Task complete," Momo chimed. A warm thrill ran through my chest and a napkin on the table slid a little.
August nearly screamed. "Show me again."
I focused, this time pulling a small piece of paper across the table with my will. It moved like a moth.
"That is not small," August said. "You have—"
"Just a little," I said. "Give me more tasks."
Momo hummed. "Task two: learn a phone. Reward: 1 cube."
I learned the phone in one day. I learned how to swipe, tap, call. I learned the apps August showed me. My memory was sharp. I memorized positions, images, the way an app opened like a small door.
"Do it again," August whispered.
I reached out with my mind and pulled a cup to my hand.
August's hands shook. "You are not normal."
"Thank you," I said. "Teach me your city."
Within a week I sat with a thin paper card and a strange photo ID. August had signed me up for a show called "Tomorrow's Star." I learned the word "audition" and that people could win money and roles if they shone.
"Why would you enter?" August asked, handing me the application. "You don't know the world. You don't know the rules."
"Because Momo says." I tapped the small voice in my head. "The tasks get me spirit air. I need spirit air to go home."
August folded his hands and smiled in a way that made me warm. "Then we'll go win your spirit back."
The audition hall smelled of hairspray and nerves. Cameras blinked like small moons. The other girls wore bright dresses and practiced smiles. I wore jeans and a white shirt and a ponytail, simple as a guard.
"Miss Lucia," a woman from makeup said. "Can we do a light touch?"
"No makeup," I said, but I let a single brush of color stay. They made a ponytail neat and strong.
"Five minutes," the host said into the microphone. "Play!"
Someone filmed me when I stumbled into the light earlier that week. The clip had already gone online: "Girl Kicks Camera, Breaks It." I had knocked an old camera to pieces by accident and then grabbed the cameraman by the collar in a habit that would not leave me. The clip had grown like a fire.
On stage Forrest Allison, the CEO, looked up from the judge's table. He was a tall, grave man with short hair and the look of someone who had served and had not been spoiled by the world.
"You fight?" he asked.
"No." I straightened. "I do not fight unless I must."
He laughed. "Let's spar. I'll take it easy."
He threw a move I should have known—old guard shapes, a practiced punch. I stepped aside, a small shadow, and came behind him. My leg found his center and he fell.
The hall gasped. Forrest lay on the floor like a man who had been thrown out of order.
"You sure you were not using harnesses?" the host asked.
"No harness," Forrest said, both embarrassed and amused. He sat up and looked at me with a clearer light. "You're not a typical performer."
"You don't know that," I said. "I just did one thing."
"Talent," Forrest said. "We need talent."
After that the clips multiplied. I learned to move with ropes and music. I learned to dance a sword without a sword. At night, in August's tiny living room, Momo gave me small tasks and paid me little cubes of spirit air.
"Complete two or three tasks a day," Momo said. "You need to build up."
I did. When I practiced, I did not remember the palace sun or the lake where my court lived. I only remembered the scent of a red ribbon, a silk that hung from my sleeve the day I was pushed.
August watched me work, his face often spread in soft, proud lines. He bought me a comb and tied my hair for me a dozen times. He taught me to take the subway and to eat with a fork.
"You miss a thing," he said one night, watching me eat a bowl of hot noodles. "You stare sometimes, like you see through people."
"Maybe I am still queen," I said. "Maybe they all look small."
"You're not small to me," he replied too quickly. "Don't be queen here. Be Lucia."
I did not know how to be Lucia. I only knew I liked August's hands and the way he worried.
The show had rounds. I passed the first with a fight and a joke about repaying a camera. The second round, they asked for skill.
"Use your skill," Forrest said, smiling.
I wrapped a red ribbon around my wrist and danced with it. The ribbon slapped the big drum in the front row like a blade. The crowd felt it in their ribs.
"How?" people said. "How could a ribbon make a drum sound like that?"
"It is not the ribbon," I said, but the judges applauded and the audience stood. Clips spread like hot foil.
"You're a mystery," Forrest said. "But a good mystery."
The system marked me with more spirit air. I felt my chest fill. I could lift heavier things now. I could make tiny sparks in the air. August's grin was a sunrise. The judge table buzzed with offers.
"Sign with us," Forrest said quietly one night. "I will give you the best team, the best training. I want you for a new drama."
A name had started to appear online: a tall actor, famous and untouchable—Willem Crow. His movies were the kind that made people line up in the rain.
"You know that name?" August asked.
"I know the face," I said. "He looks like my king."
August's phone buzzed. He read a message and then laughed like a child with a secret. "Willem is coming."
Willem Crow arrived the day we were called "subject to contract." He walked through the doors like a kingdom arriving.
"Lucia," he said, and my whole chest tightened like a drum.
"You are my fan?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I am your fan."
The whole world tilted. The stage made him a statue. He sat among the judges and watched me like a man who had found a path.
I learned lines, then songs, then how to cry on cue. Momo gave me tasks that made small rushes of spirit air. I practiced like a woman building a wall of water, a little brick at a time.
Then the blackmail came.
"Lucia is fake," someone posted. "She used favors. She and her manager are lovers. Her file is blank. She bought her way in."
The posts burned like a sudden wind. Fans argued. I sat in the green room while a director's assistant, a woman named Amara Sanders, whispered that the crew would be forced to drop me.
August's face went hard. "They planted it," he said. "We will find them."
A nurse named Addison Mills posted two videos. One showed me waking in the hospital, lost and calling strange words. The other showed me stumbling and being helped by August.
"She's confused," Addison wrote. "She was found and cared for."
The tide turned. Fans who had been ready to throw me under a bus now ran to my side. Willem posted a short message: "I believe her. I will stand by the truth."
They found a man who had made the posts: a small puppet for a director who had wanted a star. The director broke. He cried in the legal office like a man who had been found by his own sins.
"She is clean," Forrest said on the live feed. "We will not have cheaters."
The show let me stay. The crowd cheered. My heart beat like a drum. August's hands did not leave my shoulder.
"Be calm," he whispered. "They will not take you away."
Then the film round came. The judges gave me "Titanic" scenes. The lines were foreign. The words tasted like stones.
"Can you do this?" the host asked.
I watched the clip twice and mimicked the sound. I had learned to copy. I made the words into breath and held them like a child holds breath before a dive.
"You'll be all right now," I said in the strange tongue.
The audience looked like they had been knocked by wind. Forrest covered his mouth. Willem's eyes shone.
"You learned that in two takes?" he asked later.
"Two," I said. "You can learn if you watch."
"That is not normal," Forrest said, but his voice had warmth.
I rose through the rounds. Fans made me a queen and a child and a fighter and a joke. They made groups and banners and lists. They named me "Queen Lucia" and "the Little Ship Girl."
There were fights. There were people who said I had it easy. There were others who said all I had was luck. I did not care. I had a task list and a stack of cubes and a memory that sometimes came back in pieces like broken glass.
At night, I dreamt of a red sleeve and a cold cliff, and Willem was there, older, with eyes that knew cities I did not.
The final day arrived. The stage lights were bright like morning gongs. I stood at backstage and my hands trembled.
"Remember your task," Momo whispered. "Final reward: ten cubes."
"It is not about the cubes," I said to him. "It is about getting home."
"Do what you do best," August said and squeezed my hand.
I stepped out. The crowd rose in a wave. Cameras flashed like stars fallen into a puddle.
"Your last scene is this," the board said. "Play a daughter missing her parents."
I did not think. I walked and I spoke as the child I had been a thousand years ago and a hundred years ago and the moment before I fell.
"Mother," I said to the emptiness, "I will be good."
The auditorium held its breath. Some people sobbed. Willem wiped his face. August looked like he might break.
The judges gave me full marks. The audience cheered. I took the cup, feeling the metal cold and kind in my hands.
After the show, they offered me a contract. Forrest put his hand on it and smiled. "We will write your path," he said.
Willem stepped forward, unafraid now of words. "Will you star in my film?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. It sounded like taking a sword.
So I signed. The contracts came with a small house, with money that would touch my stomach like warm soup. I had fans who made clubs and called themselves "the Court." Willem was my secret first follower and my open friend.
But the story was not over.
A director who had been angry and small tried one more thing. He leaked something about August, something cheap and rotten. The Court rose like a tide. Fans poured noise until the leaker sat down and apologized and promised to fingers the truth. The law came like a long blade and the dirt was cleared.
"You are fighting too much," August told me the night after. "Let me be your shield."
"Then be my manager," I said. "And nothing more."
August laughed. "I will be both. I will hold the shield and the tea."
Willem watched us and gave a quiet smile. "Two quiet guardians," he said. "That is a fine line of defense."
Months passed. The stages turned into sets. I learned lines faster than a thief learns pockets. I learned how to hold a hand in a scene, how to hold grief, how to make people feel a small honest thing. The system still gave me spirit air, and I used it to call small things to me: a cup, a pen, a ribbon across a stage. The world noticed.
"Why are you here?" August asked me once, as we sat outside the small house he had found for me, the city lights like rice.
"To get back," I said. "But I am not sure yet."
"To your world?" he asked.
"To anyone who needs me," I said. "Maybe my place is both."
Willem came by that night with a book. "Do you ever feel like someone else holds your old life?" he asked.
"Every night," I said. "I dream of a red ribbon on my sleeve."
He pulled something from his coat. A strip of red fabric, worn at the end. "I found this in the prop room," he said. "Maybe it belongs to you."
I took it and my hands shook.
"It will help you remember," he said.
I tied the strip to the mirror in my new dressing room. It felt like a promise.
The final scene that made my name huge involved a drum and a ribbon and a moment where silence fell and everyone knew—this was not a trick.
After the awards and the contracts and the scandals and the cleaning of dirt, I walked out one afternoon onto a quiet balcony and looked at my reflection. The red ribbon fluttered.
"Mother," I whispered into the glass, remembering how the court smelled of tea and incense, of iron and jasmine, of the heavy weight of crown. "I will be good."
A wind came and lifted the ribbon. For a moment I felt the weight of a thousand years and a hundred smiles and one broken cliff. For a moment I felt the shape of my life inside the small house, the stage, and the quiet room beside August's kitchen.
Willem watched from the doorway and said nothing. August placed a warm cup in my hands and said, "You already are."
"Will I ever go back?" I asked the mirror.
"You've built two homes now," Willem answered. "One of stone, one of light. Choose when you are ready."
I smiled and tied the ribbon tighter.
Momo chimed in with a small, happy ping. "Mission complete, Lucia Cherry. Reward sent."
"Thank you," I said aloud and then to August, "I think I am ready to be Lucia here, with all my old pieces."
August took my hand and did not let go.
Willem stepped close and placed a thin, polite kiss on my wrist, like a seal. "You are truly a queen," he said.
"You are truly a king of many screens," I said.
He laughed. The city around us blinked. My fans shouted online and on streets. My old world sat inside me like a shell waiting for me to open it. But I had people now—August, Forrest who gave me a chance, Willem who had seen me before I was called anything, my friends Claudia and Astrid and Ludmila who practiced sword and laughed at midnight, and a million small faces who called me their queen and their child.
I wrapped the red ribbon around my wrist and made a small, quiet vow.
"When I go back," I said, "I will bring both worlds with me."
Then I stepped into the light. I bowed to no one and everyone.
The End
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