Runaways
Author's notes: Maladicta's runaway. Or Maladict. Oh man, I feel like crying. Hug!
Disclaimer: I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing here because I don't own anything.
The Lady Maladicta scrambled over the windowsill, swearing as her borrowed cloak snagged on the edge. She launched herself into the night, enjoying the feel of wind against her skin. Landing on a branch, she vaulted over the castle gates and onto the ground. She sat down and began to wait.
Finally, the coach pulled up and she swept over, pulling the door open. Lady Maladicta's hand twisted the handle; Maladict stepped into the coach and sat down. As the coach trundled off into the distance, Maladict twisted around to catch a glimpse of the castle where he had been born. Maladict. A tear made its soft way down his cheek but was dashed away hurriedly. Soldiers did not cry.
Silently, as the coach made its way down the path away from her home, Maladicta wept silently for all she had lost, Maladict sat in the back, stonily sipping coffee from a flask. One thought echoed in both minds, shared always and forever.
Maladict.
