He sat on the armchair slowly sharpening his long, broad sword. Awaiting her arrival. He stared at the flames dancing in the hearth. When he heard the tall oak door creaking open, he stood and sauntered over to the fireplace, setting down the weapon with a quiet clatter. The woman stood petrified in the doorway, both of them focused on the other. Each anticipating the other’s move. To run or to fight to the death. Only problem, she came unarmed. No weapon in her hand and no magical powers that he’d heard she had.
Now I know what you must be thinking: “Wow, she must be really dumb.” Well, that may be how it seems, but really it was quite smart of her. Leading him into a false sense of security, because concealed under her extravagant ball gown was a small knife. Sharpened to the point of perfection. They stared at each other for what felt like hours. Neither of them dared to utter a single word. The only sound was her ragged breathing, which was expected, as she had run all the way here with layers upon layers that were her dress. Finally, she built up the courage to say something. “You,” she breathed barely above a whisper. “Sorry?” he asked, turning his ear in her direction. “You,” she muttered louder this time. “One more time,” he said, a smirk growing on his face. “You!” she yelled, releasing her anger. “Yes, yes me,” he replied, gesturing around himself with his arms. “How could you!?” she yelled, full of rage. He just stared at her blankly, his smirk dropping momentarily.
“So, I welcome you in my home and this is how you repay me? Where are your manners?” He asked with a hint of humour back in his voice, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.
“I don’t owe you anything, let alone a curtsy,” she replied, voice dripping with venom.
He turned and sat back down on the luscious, velvet armchair. By some miracle he goaded her closer to where he sat, so that he could get a better look at her. Her previously perfect, floor-length watermelon-colour dress was burnt off just below her knee and charred to a black colour at the ends. Her bare feet had blisters and welts forming slowly but certainly painfully on them. She found relief at the contrast of the damp, branch-strewn forest floor to the cold, hard stone floor of his living quarters. The cause of her horrid state was a fire that had happened only hours ago, which she has reason to believe is his fault. Which to be fair it is. “You did this,” she accused, gesturing outside the door and her dress. “And you know you did.”
He feigned confusion. “Do what?” he asked, trying to act innocently, but ultimately failing and opting for a grin that made her want to punch him in the face. She then decided to actually hit him in the face and started scanning her surroundings for the most painful way of hurting him. He, almost as if sensing her urge for a fight, clenched his fists and tensed his body, tilting towards his great sword, still lying on the mantel. She eventually stopped her search, only then realising the silence that had fallen over them both. He calmed down and leaned back in his chair, eyes boring into hers with a mischievous glint, almost as if he was staring into her soul. It was unsettling to say the least. She started fidgeting with her hands, the eye contact now becoming too long and uncomfortable. His gaze was a strong and unnerving one. He smiled once again and looked over to the hearth, the flames dancing around in his eyes. She was thankful for the distraction and directed her attention to the fireplace as well. Even just looking at the fire reminded her of the traumatic experience that had just occurred.
The castle always held the most elegant balls and dances. This was no exception. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles on each table, casting a soft glow on the pearly white tablecloth. There was a large area in the middle left bare, the dance floor. People were piled on the dance floor, the women’s dresses flowing with every step and swishing with every turn. Smiling faces were seen all around, some laughing as a group and others beaming at each other from across the floor. Everyone had someone else. Everyone had someone to share these happy moments with, whether it be a partner or a friend, but she was alone. Her family was hosting the ball. The royal family. Known across the land for their wealth and power. As her favourite song started playing, she could smell the definite scent of smoke. It filled the air completely. No one seemed to notice until the room filled with the grey stuff. They panicked and some even fled. That’s when it all came apart. The ceiling beams caught fire and started falling all around. One happened to fall right on top of the thrones. She called out to her parents and ran over, quickly digging through the burning wood. Her hands were starting to hurt but she didn’t stop until she saw the beam right across her parents’ bodies. They were dead. As she turned to leave, her expensive dress got caught on the wood. The flames were climbing up her dress at a quick pace. Without thinking she grabbed her knife and slashed at her dress, cutting off the bottom. She turned and sprinted out of the collapsing palace. She was relieved to see a large group of people outside. Most of them survived. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a black figure run from behind the castle. She knew this was the culprit. There was a glint of red from underneath the hood and instantly, she knew it was him. She let him run away, swearing she would get him. She focused on the people who now called her their queen. Comforting them and moving between the ranks of weeping people, calling for medics all around. A while later, she had finished and started running into the thicket, chasing in the direction she saw him run off.
She drew her attention away from the flames to see him staring in her direction. “You know why I did this, right?” he asked, making eye contact with her again. “Why?” She whispered. “It was for you! It’s always for you. Everything I do,” was the only thing he said to her.
