One-shot.
The moon seemed to be asleep that night; it held no smile, no elegance- barely any glow.
You were afraid. You were crying.
That night, I was given an objective; I'd kill you and be rewarded. I'd kill the ugly witch, rid the world of yet another monstrosity.
But you were weak.
I looked at you, and for a moment the moon's dying halo, a soft, dimming light, caught your face and every one of your childish features seemed ethereal, so perfectly innocent. You were barely processing the danger you were in; you shrank back.
You reached out, so afraid and fearful, so little.
You spoke; your voice was barely audible, a simple ghost's breathe, catching onto every tug of the wind.
It was angelic.
"Who.. are you?"
"I am not an enemy. Your name?"
"A-Angela…"
I crouched down in front of you. My hand reached for your chin and I lifted your head so that our eyes met, and for a tiny moment we shared something perfectly blissful.
You were four then, maybe a little bit older.
But weren't we both the same? Both broken and simply waiting for our escape.
"Where are we going?"
"I'll take you to somewhere safe. You'll be okay."
"Will they kill me?"
"No."
You smiled then.
"They were going to kill me, though. Why didn't they?"
I took you in my arms then, and my fingers spread across your eyelids gently. Your eyes closed and after a few strained moments, you were at peace, sleeping soundly.
"They'd have to get past me first."
You surprised me then—although asleep, your smile widened, and your grip around my arm relaxed.
Things were serene, despite the danger we were in.
That was the night I found you.