Cassandra walked along the top of the city walls, enjoying the early morning air. Her slippers made only the faintest of sounds as they brushed the stone, but her father’s sentries were alert, and they would always turn and bow slightly as she passed. They were used to the Princess’s strange habits.

Cassandra nodded to the first sentry absently, then turned sharply back. The man had a shimmering arrow sticking in his side. Cassandra was no expert, but shouldn’t he be in pain? The man had turned back to look over the land for any approaching threats, as was his duty. He didn’t notice her scrutiny.

She shook her head and continued. As she passed the second sentry, she noticed several dents and cuts in his armor, shining with a strange light, blood leaking out. Why were these injured men on duty? She decided her father must have some good reason. She continued.

A cry went up, around a corner ahead of her, raised voices shouting. She kept walking at the same pace. A Princess should not run. When she reached the corner where the soldiers were now chatting excitedly, she peered over the stone. A ship was approaching. Hovering above the ship was a glittering, dark cloaked figure. Cassandra blinked. Or was it a cloud? She looked away from the ship and found that the stone she was gripping was red, dripping with glowing red blood. She swayed, dizzy. Glowing figures appeared and faded, only for other to take their place. Vultures circled, a horse pranced around with dozens of miniature laughing soldiers clinging to it, her eldest brother reached for her while covered in dirt and blood, eyes gauged out leaving only empty black holes in their place.

Something was wrong.

Cassandra ran. She ran as fast as she could to the nearest guard tower, ran down the steps and through the city toward the keep, ignoring the questions of bystanders. With every step, the shimmering green grass wilted and died. The buildings flickered with violent red flames, the children cried. Two healthy trees rotted black and fell, crushing people under them. Everything was covered in a strange halo. Still she ran.

Cassandra burst into the throne room. “Father!” she cried, panting, forgetting to bow. “Something is wrong! I see death all around us! The ship sailing to us brings doom for us all.”

The king looked up. His neck was slashed, blood oozing gruesomely from the cut. Cassandra blinked rapidly and shook her head, clearing the visions of death only to hear him say, “Cassandra, stop these mutterings at once. That ship holds your brother, Paris, who is returning home. This is a joyous occasion!”

Cassandra now saw the man standing in front of the throne who had been speaking to the King when she came in. He was dressed in the uniform of an army messenger. His hand was cut off, the glowing stump a gruesome sight.

“Mark my words, father. Paris is bringing with him the death of everyone in this city. He brings a war to us. If that ship lands in our harbor, we are doomed.” Cassandra felt the words flow out of her mouth, so calm and steady, unlike what she was feeling. As soon as she heard them, they struck a cord of truth within her and she knew that they were true.

King Priam’s eyes widened. He must have heard the truth in her words. Her father would take care of it, would ensure that none of these horrors ever came to pass.

Then his eyes narrowed, head shaking. “That is ridiculous. He is my son and your brother! Paris would never harm us. You are just a woman, what would you know of war? We are perfectly safe in our city. Go practice your weaving.” He said.

A soldier came to escort her to her room. Cassandra walked, stunned by her father’s words and the unceasing visions of destruction. When the soldier left, she collapsed onto the hard floor, sobbing.

Troy was doomed.