The villagers lived a peaceful life. For centuries they slept, they ate, and they existed in only resolute darkness; each task blindly learned by repetition until one mastered the movements. The cliffside village stood proudly at the edge of the world, perfectly content with their beautiful obscurities. Light never existed, as the light was never needed.

It took three months for the sun to rise. At first, the villagers didn’t notice; not until the sliver of light turned into to a waning crescent, and the waning crescent turned into a half moon, and the half moon enveloped the cliffside village in a blazing light that refused to leave. The confusion of their new world lasted for days: the villagers stayed in their homes as they watched the only world they knew transform into one of fairy tales. Darkness was the tyrant, and his people were unwillingly thrown from his rule.

“Don’t go outside.” Her mother laid a firm hand on her shoulder. “Not yet.”

Anya sat on the ground of their hut, running her fingers over the dirt. It was brown, the same color as her mother’s eyes, the same color of her father’s hair, the same color as the tree trunks that surrounded her home.
Anya had lost track of the time since the sun had risen, but her mother began to cook lunch anyways. Her pale eyelids rested over those dirt-colored eyes, blocking out any unnatural ray of light. Maybe it was because that was the only thing that felt natural, or maybe she was just stubborn. Anya noticed herself doing the same thing. When she made her bed or swept the floor she closed her eyes and let the muscle memory take over.
“Why can’t I go outside?” Anya asked.

“Because it could be dangerous.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“Anya.” Mina said, and Anya knew the conversation was over.

It took three months before the village began to work again. Three months before Anya went back to school, or before her mother went back to her shop. Three months of monotony. Three months of silence. Somedays, Anya would close her eyes and imagine climbing the trees sitting just outside of her hut. She’d put her hands on the first branch, the one just below her chin, and propel herself towards the top like she always did. But this time, Anya would be able to see everything; the expansive, lapping ocean, the tops of the snow-capped mountains, and the way the earth curved when it met the horizon.

At the edge of the village stood the schoolyard, filled with people Anya didn’t know existed; girls with twisting brown hair and boys with eyes so green they contested treetops. Each child called out to their friends as they tried to find them and see what they looked like. It was mostly the same: brown hair, brown eyes, and blindingly pale skin. There was one girl, though, a few years older than Anya, that no one could stop talking about.

“Her hair is as bright as the sun,” a girl Anya’s age said. “And her eyes! They’re the bluest blue I’ve ever seen. You need to see her, Anya. She’s the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Beautiful. A person, beautiful. Anya almost laughed.

Trees were beautiful. Oceans were beautiful. Her father’s voice when he sang was beautiful. The sound of crashing waves was beautiful. But just a girl? How could a girl ever compare to the world around her?

“Oh, there she is!”

Anya craned her neck over the crowd, waiting to see what the most beautiful girl in the world could possibly look like. Her hair fell in snake-like tendrils and her eyes challenged the sky. That is beauty, Anya thought.
Hoards of school kids called the girl’s name. “Alina! Alina!”

The schoolyard rushed towards her, Alina’s head poking out like a dandelion among the muddy brown-haired children surrounding her. She smiled gently before pushing her way towards the school. Anya could only stare as she waltzed by.

“You wouldn’t believe it, Mama,” Anya said when she arrived home. “She doesn’t look like anyone else. She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not beautiful,” Mina said, setting a plate down in front of her daughter. “A simple girl cannot be beautiful. Now eat your dinner.”

But she was. The way she walked and talked and smiled rivaled the beauty that surrounded her. The village Elders were in awe of the girl. Soon enough, she had a spot on the village council; the youngest person ever to be appointed a position. Her mother told Anya that they were blinded by her beauty, that it was wrong. Alina was far too young to hold such an important position.

Every dawn of the first day of summer, the Elders held a village meeting, and every villager was expected to come. The Elders assessed the trading reports and the success of the school-age children. One by one, the villagers poured into the empty clearing.

At the head of the opening was a single stump reserved for the highest Elder, the oldest person in all of the village. Slowly, the Elders entered the expanse and formed a semi-circle around the stump, waiting for the meeting to commence. The sun began to rise over the village, casting a hazy purple glow across the forest. Alina carried the tail end of the line, her golden hair draped over her shoulders. Without missing a beat, Alina took a seat at the stump, grinning ear to ear at the villagers in front of her.  The village gasped.

“Let us begin,” she said.

Before anyone could stop her, Alina was crowned queen of the small, cliffside village. She ruled with a dainty hand, still forceful enough to revolutionize their simple way of life. It took only days for Alina to take control over the village, and years before she took darkness’s place as the rightful tyrant and redefined beauty.