She'd never loved anyone, not in a romantic sense. She loved her father, mother, brother, and friends. But she'd never loved anyone in this foreign, romantic way she was so often reminded of. Was that feeling really even love? Or, perhaps, some other emotion no one could place, therefore categorized into something already known. People tended to do that, didn't they?

She was forced to conclude that boyfriends, romance and dating were useless to her. Besides, she was hardly wife material; she knew nothing of being feminine, couldn't cook, despised anything overtly frilly or gaudy, refused to indulge in frivolities, and cared only for her figure because her duty bound her to staying in shape.

As she drew her practice sword out of her demolished practice dummy, she swiped perspiration off her brow and contemplated exactly who would bare her heart, anyway. No man had ever asked her on a date or suggested interest in her.

The only men she loved were her brother and father. She'd heard that lovers often couldn't shake their partner's face from their mind, and spent long periods of time just thinking about their other half. She persistently thought of her father. Was that not love enough for a woman? Sure, she didn't think of her father or brother as lovers do, but she had wishes to keep Kiel safe and happy. As for her father, she strove to bring a smile to his face to the day he perished.

She remembered his chiseled face, and dark, raven hair. She easily recalled many fond memories of her dad; her favorite happened to be the day he taught her to fight. "You're stronger than your brother, Forte; you're persistent and good-spirited. I believe you would make a fine knight," he'd declared. It was a lot to think about for a ten-year-old, but she proved mature enough to understand.

So she grew up and did as she was told, perfectly single and drama-free. And she was happy about it.

Wasn't she?

"Forte! Dinner's ready!" Kiel chirped, sticking his head in the doorway. His eyes widened. "Woah! You look like you've been run over by an airship! You definitely should wash up and get dinner, sis," he frowned.

Forte, resolve weakened by his large, pleading eyes, stumbled consent, "A-alright, Kiel. I'll be right in." She smiled in assurance and laid her sword against her bed before sliding open the door to her washroom.

"Okay!" he replied, "Do be quick!"

Forte nodded and slid the door closed. Turning, she gasped at the image looking back at her in the mirror.

Her clear turquoise eyes were sunken in and rimmed by a sickly purple color, the rest of her face pale, as if she'd seen... A ghost. Of course, ghosts most certainly weren't real. They were only a figment of her imagination. Anyway, she could only wonder how she'd run herself ragged like that. Perhaps she should get to bed earlier... But who would watch the town late at night? Although a few others were keen with a sword, it was her duty to protect the town. Still, she couldn't perform her duty if she collapsed on the job.

Bado was too lazy, Illuminata would get sidetracked within ten seconds, Frey, being the princess, was far too occupied with duties of her own, Kiel wasn't strong enough nor interested in fighting, Volkanon had his duties as well, Dylas... Well, he wouldn't talk to her as it was, Arthur...

Everyone was so busy in Selphia.

Sighing, she turned on the faucet and grabbed the bar of soap, scrubbing her hands free of the sweat and dirt accumulated during the day. She heaved another sigh. Lately she'd found she was more tired than usual. Nothing had changed, really.

Well... Princess Frey had arrived. Although, that occured nearly a year beforehand, and Forte had settled into her new schedule by June, so she doubted that had anything to do with it. September had just swung around and summer's last golden rays were beginning to falter. ... Like her health, except she hadn't a clue why it was declining. Not to mention that Lady Ventuswill had recently collapsed, and no one seemed to know why.

Well, I shall put it aside for now, she commanded herself, dabbing a towel roughly on her hands and forearms.

She folded the rag and set it aside neatly on the counter, placing the soap bar on top of it. "Right then," she muttered, sliding the door open and making her way to their humble kitchen. She trotted up the short steps.

Kiel was standing at the sink, washing something. Dinner, a hearty mountain stew, was already on the table and ready to be consumed.

"Thank you for the meal," she smiled, pulling out her chair and slumping into its red cushion. The old wood creaked and protested, but she ignored it and whipped her napkin onto her lap.

Kiel merely chuckled, "No problem! It's all I can do while you work so hard!" The boy shook the water off his hands and wiped them on a towel. He turned on his heels. "Oh, guess what!" he exclaimed, and continued without waiting for Forte to respond, "Lady Ventuswill was sleeping peacefully today! She didn't look upset or yell in her sleep. It was really... Nice." He sat and grinned cheerfully, as if it were great that their dragon god was still incapacitated.

"Mm," she nodded, shoveling bite after bite into her mouth, remembering not to slouch. At least Lady Venti, er, Ventuswill could finally have peace for once. Forte put the spoon down at last to dab her napkin at the broth dribbling from the corners of her mouth. For a moment, they ate in reflective (and hungry) silence. Forte scraped every last bit of food from the bottom and drank the remaining broth.

"Forte," Kiel blurted suddenly.

She set the bowl down. "Yes?"

"Are you all right?" he inquired, but cut off her answer, "Actually, no, you aren't. You've seemed kinda off lately. Is anything wrong? Anything I can help with?"

Forte licked her lips, eyes drifting downward and settling on a stain on the table. How should she answer him? She hadn't any idea what could have changed. "I honestly don't know what's going on, Kiel," she replied quietly. She uttered the truth, after all.

He eyed her suspiciously, concern lacing his gaze. "If you say so," he sighed, "but please tell me if I can do something." With that, the blonde slowly backed his chair away from the table and grabbed his plate.

When he reached for hers, she gently grabbed his wrist. "Thank you, but I can get it."

"No, get some rest. I'll take care if the dishes," he denied her.

Feeling too worn to argue for once she wearily agreed. Besides, being a knight meant knowing your limits, and she knew full well that she was pushing hers in that moment. She stepped meekly to her doorway, slid her door open, and left it halfway open like she'd always done since their childhood. Kiel was ten himself when their father passed away, four years after their mother's passing. Although he tried to man up and cope, often woke up from horrid night terrors and scrambled into bed with his fourteen-year-old sister. He was only ten, after all.

But the memories were simply memories by then. Both handled their problems like grown adults, as they should.

Forte grasped her sword and set it against the wall beside her bed, then stumbled into the covers and yanked them over her body. She only sat up to lean over and blow out a candle on her bedside table.

Having always been a light sleeper, she naturally lied awake in the night, the darkness itself a warm blanket, amber rays of light pouring from the half-opened doorway.

Perhaps she really was just working herself too hard, and that happened to be a bad thing, because again, she couldn't perform properly if she was deprived of rest. What a terrible knight I am for allowing this to happen, she internally reprimanded as she rolled over, pulling the covers further over her body.